Wolf’s Redemption (The Wolves of Langeais #3)

Chapter Nineteen

Ulrik glanced over his shoulder at Rebekah, her dark head down, her pace flagging and her feet dragging. He stopped, allowing her to catch up to him, and cocked his head and listened. Not a sound of pursuit on horseback or on foot. Nothing to indicate Lothair had picked up their trail. Nor was there any sign of Lance. Catching wind of his fellow wolf would be a greater reason for alarm than any keep guard. Lance would track them far more efficiently than any human.

For two days he had pushed them, changing direction often and keeping the breeze at their backs. They had walked all day, stopping only to eat and to take care of bodily functions. He had kept them walking on after night had fallen and had them rising before the dawn, lighting no fires and rationing out the remnants of the bread and mead, not willing to risk leaving her alone to hunt again.

Getting her to lie beside him on his surcoat to sleep had been a constant contest of wills, but logic, and the cold night air, had prevailed. Each night she had resolutely turned her back to him, insisting he turn his to her. He had complied, amused by her stubborn refusal to admit what her body told him she wanted. Had the sense of urgency to be gone from the area not pulled at him, had she not been overcome with exhaustion, he might have teased her and pushed at the boundaries she had so clearly set on their interactions.

At least now he knew what had burned his tongue. Even so, the mere thought of having her mouth on him had his cock responding. He tamped down on the growl forming in his throat. She’d use that piece of metal to keep him at bay. It would have to go.

She reached him, skidding to a halt and her head jerking up. “We’ve stopped. Oh, thank God.”

She slid to the ground, lines of fatigue about her eyes. She pulled the stopper off the wineskin and took a sip.

A weary sigh escaped her lips. “Not that I don’t like wine and all, but any chance we can swing by a creek and fill this up? I’m so thirsty.”

He looked up at the dark clouds gathering. A big, fat rain drop splattered on his cheek. He smiled. Thank the fates. Rain.

“I think there will be water enough to appease you soon.”

A gust of wind buffeted them, and a familiar musky scent teased at his nostrils. He stilled.

Lance.

A crack of thunder split the air, and the wind swirled clouds of leaves and dirt around them. His nostrils flared again.

And Godfrey.

He grabbed Rebekah’s arm, pulling her to her feet.

“Give me a moment to catch my—”

“No. We leave now.”

Her shoulders slumped.

“I know you are exhausted, Rebekah. I will carry you if needs be, but we must move now. They have found us.”

Her eyes widened and she scanned the forest. “How do you know? I can’t see anyone. Did you hear them? Where are they?”

“Close. Too close. Though I doubt you will see them until it is too late.”

“Are you sure? We’ve not seen a single soul for days. It’s like we’re the only people in this whole damn forest.”

He cupped her face in his hands. “Believe me when I tell you, we must move now. Trust me, Rebekah.”

She threw her hands in the air. “Okay, fine, but I’m not a sack of potatoes. I can walk.”

He grimaced, but dropped his hands to clasp her arm, tugging her along through the forest as fast as she could go. If he’d thought she would go quietly across his shoulder, he would have given her no option.

He eyed the darkened sky. More heavy raindrops fell as the heavens opened, dousing the landscape in water. His torn and sodden tunic whipped about in the bitter wind and the rain soon plastered his hair to his skull. He released her and spun around, his arms out and his head thrown back to the sky, laughing into the stinging rain. Any trace of their scent was now gone. All he had to do was stay ahead of them and get lost in the storm.

Rebekah stared at him. “Trust him, he says. We have to move now . They’ve found us. Then he stops to dance in the rain. The guy’s not right in the head.”

He laughed at her muttered words and grabbed hold of her hand. “Come, Rebekah. The rain has washed away our scent, but we must keep ahead of them lest they stumble across us by chance.”

Ulrik forced her on through the rain-drenched forest, league after league, lightning slashing across the sky and the roll of thunder reverberating through the trees. He pushed against the wind, avoiding falling branches, each squelching, muddy step hard won. He dodged a falling limb, pulling Rebekah out of harm’s way and clutching her to his side. She pressed her face against his chest, her woolen dress sodden and her body shivering. He pulled his surcoat from the sack and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Let me carry you,” he shouted over the driving rain.

She shook her head. “No!”

L’enfer. Stubborn woman.

She pushed out of his arms, took a few more steps and slipped, falling to her hands and knees in the mud. Ulrik cursed.

Before she could get to her feet, he scooped her up and cradled her in his arms. “Hold on, Rebekah. We are almost there.” I hope .

This time, she did not fight him. Tucking her head into the crook of his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his neck, she let him carry her through the rain.

* * * *

The sight of the small hut huddling in the sheltered clearing, smoke curling from its thatched roof, nearly brought Ulrik to his knees. The rain had been a boon, but also a hindrance. He had worried he might not be able to locate it. With Rebekah shivering and pale, he had more than one reason to find it.

The door swung open and a glow from the fire inside illuminated the woman standing in the doorway. She beckoned them in, closing the door behind them, shutting out the bitter wind and muffling the sound of the rain. The room was small but cozy, with herbs hanging along the walls and crystals and jars of powder lining the shelves. Faint, but discernable to his sensitive nose, was the lingering scent of his alpha and his alpha’s mate. It was all the confirmation Ulrik needed. He had found the right place.

“I am Ulrik. This is Rebekah.”

“I am Constance.”

She smiled, and Ulrik stared. The pretty young woman with the unusual eyes was not at all what he had expected.

“Put her over there.” Constance directed him to a small cot on the far wall, and Ulrik eased Rebekah down. He raised an eyebrow at the pile of women’s clothing laid out.

The witch met his gaze. “Your arrival is not unexpected.”

Gaharet. “Erin? Did she…”

What state would Gaharet be in if Erin had died?

“Survive the turning? Yes.”

A hint of sadness hung over Constance, teasing at Ulrik’s nostrils. Perhaps Erin’s determination to leave had resulted in success. And what did this witch know of the turning? Of them? Had Gaharet confided in her?

“She is well? They are well? Does Erin remain with Gaharet?”

Rebekah groaned and curled in on herself, her body wracked with shivers. He gently brushed a strand of wet hair from her face. She barely registered his touch. It would surprise him if she had caught the witch’s words. He did not believe she spoke his language. That was a good thing. Some secrets were not meant to be shared.

“Yes.” Again, the hint of Constance’s sadness teased him. Ulrik frowned. Not sadness for Erin and Gaharet then. He brought his wolf forward, reaching out with his senses. A soul-deep loneliness wafted off her in thick waves. No. The sorrow was the woman’s own. He reached out a hand to offer what little comfort he could.

“Go,” she said, jerking her head toward the door. “Make sure we are safe. That the other two wolves have not followed you here. I will tend to your mate.”

Ulrik shook his head. “She is not…”

Constance had turned away. She knew about his kind? She knew something, but now was not the time to question her. Not with Godfrey and Lance somewhere out there, searching for him.

He dropped the sack and the wineskin and stepped out into the storm, leaving Rebekah in the witch’s care. He unbuckled his sword, stripped off his sodden clothing, and allowed the change to flow through him. On all fours, insulated against the cold and wet by sandy-colored fur, he disappeared into the forest. He had not escaped the keep and come this far to be brought down by his brothers.

* * * *

The cold wind and the relentless rain made his old injuries ache, but the one-eyed wolf kept still as the sandy wolf slunk off into the sodden forest. The sense that he knew this wolf, had known him, settled in his bones. Perhaps when he had lived as a man. When he had had a family and had lived in a stone keep. When he had had a brother. He shook the feeling off. It was of no consequence to him now.

His gaze shifted to the hut. A woman lived here. Alone. Slight in stature, her long hair twisted about her head in wheat-colored braids and her clothes patched and worn, she drew his attention away from the wolf. Had he known her before, too? He did not think so, and yet she drew him in a way that suggested he had.

Before she had closed the door, she had turned and stared out into the storm, scanning the trees where he lay. Her gaze had hovered over him. He had feared she had seen him. And yet he had wanted her to see him. Strange.

He resisted the urge to slink closer, to scent her. He had not come here for her. Nor for the big sandy wolf. He had lost his quarry in the storm, only to come across the sandy wolf and his woman by chance. He had followed them in the hopes he may reclaim the trail of his nemesis.

With the image of the woman in the hut haunting his thoughts, he slipped away into the forest. Avoiding the path of the sandy wolf, he continued his search. He would have his answers, and then he would have his vengeance.