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

Chapter Thirty-One

Crushed in the burly arms of her captor, the pounding of hooves beneath her reverberating along her spine and the forest flashing by, Bek struggled to free herself. The way they’d scrutinized her hair, her piercings, pulled up her sleeves to reveal her tattoos—it all pointed to the keep guard. They’d come for Ulrik and they’d found her. Now they were taking her back. Back to the keep, to the count and, most likely, to that dungeon. The last place she wanted to go.

Her captor cursed at her in French, his hold around her ribs tightening, making it hard for her to breathe. The sour stench of his body odor mingled with the metallic scent of steel stung her nostrils and made her eyes water. If he squeezed any harder, he’d cut off her air and she’d pass out.

Be smart, Bek. Think.

She stopped struggling and willed herself to relax against him. If she could remain calm and bide her time, an opportunity to escape might present itself.

The tight band of his arm around her eased a little and she sucked in deep lungfuls of air. Behind them, the sounds of pursuit faded, her captor’s laugh cut off by the mournful howl of a wolf. Ulrik? Did she imagine the anguish in the long notes as the howl trailed away? Or had the wolf pursuing them been Gaharet? She hadn’t seen it, only heard its snarls, the crashing through the forest undergrowth and the panicked squealing of the horses as it closed in on them.

She’d tried to fight, to free herself and run toward it, but her captor had been too strong. Her cheek burned from his brutal backhanded slap, and her arm throbbed from where she’d tried to elbow him in the ribs, only to be met with the steel links of his armor. Now the wolf had fallen behind. Or given up?

Gaharet had a pregnant wife to think of. Would he risk his own life to save her? And Ulrik… Would he come after her, mount a rescue attempt? Bek swallowed the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. She couldn’t blame him if he didn’t. She’d given him a damn good reason to walk away. The risk of him returning to the keep would have to outweigh any responsibility he might feel toward her. Especially after what she’d said. A few rounds of awesome sex didn’t a connection make. She couldn’t pin her hopes on something that might not happen.

You’re on your own now, Bek.

Déjà vu slapped her in the face. Again she was being marched toward prison, on a horse this time, instead of in the back of a police van. Again, her reason for apprehension was a man. But as she’d come to realize during her time in prison, the blame did not solely rest with them. Nobody had forced her to be a biker Vice President’s old lady. To throw her lot in with a bunch of criminals. Just as no one had forced her to leave the cottage to find Ulrik. That was all on her. Gaharet and Ulrik had both insisted she stay. That the danger was too great to risk her going out alone. She’d ignored them.

Will I ever learn? Am I doomed to make poor decisions for the rest of my life? Which could be rather short, if Erin’s talk of Count Lothair was anything to go by. Bek needed a plan.

Her captor reined in the horse, and they settled into a jolting trot, the pommel of the saddle jarring against her ass. She was going to have more than a bruised face and elbow by the time they reached the keep. She supposed she should be thankful they’d not slung her face down over the saddle. The horse slowed further, to a walk. Thank the lord for small mercies. It still wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but it was better.

The guard said something, and the other guy looked over his shoulder and laughed. Ulrik had been helping her with her French, but the guard spoke too fast for her to make out more than the odd word. As the two men bantered, Bek took stock of her situation. Would the horse tire carrying two people? Would they stop to rest? Maybe. It was a big horse, a warhorse, bred for carrying armored men with weapons and shields. But if they did stop, what chance would she have of escaping them? Both men were armed, armored and bigger than her. She’d no hope of overpowering even one of them. The dark forest offered no help. If she did manage to slip away, they’d be on her in a flash. Two men on horseback versus a woman on foot could only end one way.

She could wait until they rode through a village— if they rode through a village—and beg the villagers to help her. That hadn’t worked for her before, and if these men were keep guard, villagers wouldn’t dare come to her aid. She shifted, angling for a better look at their surroundings and a more comfortable position, and something dug into her hip. Something in her pocket. The amulet? She traced the round object and a trickle of hope blossomed. She peeked up at her captor. Though his arm still caged her against him, his conversation with his fellow guard held all his attention. The other guard had his back to them, occasionally looking over his shoulder at them to comment or to laugh.

In the filtered moonlight beneath the canopy of the forest, she could barely make out their features. Good. Their vision was no better than hers. If she could get her hands on the amulet, if she could remember the spell and if she could cut herself somehow, she could get back to Ulrik. There were a lot of ifs, but what other option did she have?

Careful to make her movements slow and subtle, Bek inched the hem of her dress higher. Already bunched up around her knees, she needed only to raise it another foot to reach into her pocket. Watching the guard in front of them, she moved her hand only when he had his back to them.

The conversation paused and Bek stilled, her breath catching in her throat. Then the other guard chuckled, and the talk resumed. She eased out her breath and continued to edge up her dress until she could slip her hand in her pocket. Her fingers closed around the amulet. Yes. Careful not to make any sudden moves, she drew it out. Now to make herself bleed.

The guard had his sword sheathed. No chance of getting hold of that without him noticing. The knife strapped to his calf was out of her reach, and in the dim light, nothing sharp on the saddle caught her eye. She could bite her tongue, but she’d have to bite it damn hard to make it bleed. There had to be something.

A piercing?

She had one in her nose, and four in each ear. Three through the lobe and one through the cartilage at the top. She winced at the thought of ripping one out. It would hurt like a bitch, but it would make her bleed. She reached up, pretending to scratch her ear, and finding the silver loop in the first hole. Perfect. She could hook her finger in it and pull.

The men talked on around her. The horse kept its plodding pace. Bek slipped her pinky finger through the small loop, gritted her teeth and pulled.

Ah, fuck!

It took everything she had not to make a sound, to not cradle her ear in her palm. She breathed in deep breaths, struggling to hold her body still. It burned . Worse than when she’d had it pierced, but the sudden wetness made it worth it. Had the guards noticed? She glanced up. He was watching her. Bek gripped her fist tight around the amulet and dropped her hand from her ear.

The other guard edged his horse closer. Bek tried her best not to react, letting her gaze wander away, but she kept them in the periphery of her vision. The horses walked on and she waited, not daring to make another move. Not until their attention shifted away from her.

Come on, come on .

Her captor relaxed, and the guards’ banter resumed. Finally. Slow and steady, she raised her hand and gingerly touched her ear. Her fingers slick with her blood, she rubbed the amulet, smearing her blood into the grooves of the script.

God, I hope this works.

In her head, she recited the words of the spell and waited.

Nothing. No sudden darkness. No sensation of falling. She remained confined in a keep guard’s arms on the back of a horse, riding inexorably away from Ulrik, Gaharet and Erin.

Did I get the words wrong? She didn’t think so.

Her mind raced back to that night in her flat—the taste of cheap red wine on her tongue, the pounding beat of Black Sabbath seeping through the thin walls. Maybe she needed to say the words out loud.

Bollocks.

The guards were already wary of her. She’d have to whisper.

Bek clenched her fist around the amulet and drew in a shaky breath. “ Vanish from all human sight, those who favor moonlit—”

The guard’s arm tightened around her ribs.

“—night. To bloodstone shall they return—”

He reined the horse in. A shaft of moonlight settled on them, like the beam of a spaceship spotlighting them, her bloodied hand clenched around the amulet clearly visible. The other guard edged in, his horse bumping against her knees, and he grabbed her wrist. Bek struggled. He unclenched her fingers and snatched the amulet from her grasp.

“No!”

Bek reached for it as he held it up, the gold glinting in the pale light. Should she keep reciting? He held the amulet in one hand and her wrist in the other. Would it, could it, transport the three of them, horses and all, to Ulrik? It was worth a shot.

“— so no man —”

The guard laughed. He held it up, grinning and released his grip on her wrist.

Bek stopped reciting. Fuck.

She slumped against the guard and raised her fingers to her throbbing earlobe. She’d been so close. With the amulet in the guard’s possession, she had no other option than to wait and hope another opportunity presented itself. Before they locked her in that dungeon. Once there, on her own, the chances of her escaping were almost nonexistent.