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

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Ulrik kept his arms fisted at his side as he let Lothair drag Rebekah away from him. For once, she was silent. It seemed his little fire breather had run out of insults. If their situation were not so precarious, he might have found that amusing .

Lothair kicked Ulrik’s sword further away. “Is this what it has come to, Gaharet?”

“You forced my hand, Lothair,” said Gaharet, stepping down from the dais. “But I did not come here to fight you.”

“Your bloodied sword suggests otherwise.”

“I could have killed you many times over the years, Lothair, but I did not. You are as safe with me as you have ever been.”

As Gaharet kept Lothair talking, Ulrik edged himself to the left, closer to his sword.

“Your keep is by far more secure than the last time I was here,” said Gaharet. “As once your adviser and commander of your troops, I commend this improvement, but it has meant there were unfortunate casualties.”

Lothair’s attention snapped to Ulrik, and he pressed his sword against Rebekah’s stomach. She sucked in a breath and Ulrik halted. It had been a bold move for Lothair to send all his guards away. Even with only the two of them, they far outmatched him. Either Lothair was delusional about his chances against two werewolves, shifted or human, or he had the fortitude of a wild boar. Perhaps it was a little of both. That he held Rebekah complicated matters, but Ulrik would give his all to ensure his mate walked away from this confrontation.

“Ulrik has brought you a gift,” said Gaharet, drawing Lothair’s attention again.

“A gift?” Lothair cocked his head. “Am I going to like it?”

“I liked it,” rasped Ulrik, but Lothair ignored him.

He took another step toward his sword.

Gaharet shrugged. “Perhaps you will like it. Perhaps not. But it is something you need.”

“Something I need?” The disdain in Lothair’s voice was unmistakable.

Careful, Gaharet. Ulrik eased two more steps to the left.

“The gift of understanding.”

Lothair shifted slightly, keeping both him and Gaharet in his sights. Lothair was an experienced and fearless warrior. Taking him down, even with their advantages, would not be easy.

“And where is this… gift ?”

“In your underground chamber. Bound in silver.” Ulrik grinned, letting his canines show. “We thought you might like someone to replace me.”

Lothair’s eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting between the two of them. “You put Godfrey in there? Is he Renaud’s informant?”

Godfrey? Was it possible? Could Renaud have uncovered Godfrey’s secret and used it against him?

“It is not Godfrey,” said Gaharet. “But I think you will appreciate our choice.”

“You let Ulrik bite someone?”

Gaharet chuckled. “Oh, I gave him my blessing.”

Lothair’s eyes blazed with an unwholesome longing. Ulrik suppressed a shudder. He hoped Gaharet was right. That the turning would kill Renaud. They needed information from the archeveque—the name of his informant—but they would forgo it to keep their abilities, their advantages, out of Lothair’s hands.

“Who have you put in my underground chamber, Ulrik?” asked Lothair.

Gaharet inclined his head toward the door behind the dais. “Come and see for yourself.”

Lothair considered them both, his dark eyes restless and wary. “Very well. Lead the way.” Lothair pointed his sword at Ulrik, halting him. “Not you. Gaharet.” He dipped his head at Rebekah. “And her.”

Ulrik’s wolf reared up, and he almost shifted on the spot. It was only the presence of his alpha, strong and sure, that stopped him. “No.” His wolf hovered close—a tingle of awareness along his spine. The trust reflected in Rebekah’s eyes warmed him. He hoped he could live up to her belief. “Where she goes, I go.”

“You think your greatest weakness is wolfsbane? Or silver?” Lothair tugged Rebekah closer, moving the edge of his sword flush against Rebekah’s throat. Rebekah paled and Ulrik took a step forward until Lothair pressed the blade in firmer, halting him. “You could not be more wrong. Your greatest weakness is your women.”

“Or our greatest strength,” said Gaharet. “Never underestimate the lengths one of our kind will go to, to protect his woman. It is an unwise man who would turn his back on a wolf when you have threatened his mate.” Gaharet backed toward the door. “Your choice, Lothair.”

The prickle of a shift hovered below the surface of Ulrik’s skin, and his musky scent grew stronger.

“Go, then,” Lothair snarled. “After Gaharet.”

Ulrik met Lothair’s snarl with one of his own, but he pushed his wolf down. If he were to shift now, his clothes would shred, but his armor would entangle him. He would be of no help to Rebekah. Though the hackles on his neck rose at having an armed Lothair at his back, he would suffer it. He liked the idea of Rebekah being taken from him even less.

He followed Gaharet’s lead, and they trooped along corridors and down two flights of stairs until they were standing in the room with the grate. Ulrik eyed the bloodied bodies of the four guards. Would this savagery alarm Rebekah? Offend her? As grateful as she was he had come to her aid, would she view him the same knowing him capable of this?

He stepped over a body as he moved into the room. In the periphery of his vision, Rebekah’s lips twitched and a grim satisfaction played across her face. She liked the justice he had meted out to those who had captured her. His lungs filled and his chest puffed out. His woman was strong and resilient.

Gaharet opened the grate with a screech of hinges, lit a candle and they descended the stairs. Ulrik did not need the light to discern the moaning shape of a man curled on the floor. Renaud, his arms and neck red and blistered from the silver shackles chaining him to the wall, twitched, then his back bowed as a spasm hit him hard.

Ulrik had sat by Aimon as he had gone through his turning. Listened to his agonized screams for days. His inability to do little but hold Aimon down, wash his burning brow with cool water and cover him with blankets when he shivered like a newborn left out in the snow, had tormented him. He had no such sympathy for Renaud. Archeveque Renaud had trapped and killed many of his kind—men, women and children. Friends. All so that he could… What? Rise through the ranks of the church and become a cardinal? The man deserved every twitch, every spasm, every slice of agony the turning would bring him.

Gaharet held the candle aloft, lighting up the space and the figure on the ground.

“Renaud?” Lothair’s face twisted in grotesque fury. He spun on Ulrik, dragging Rebekah with him. “You bit Renaud ? I wanted an army of werewolves, not some decrepit werewolf priest!”

Ulrik stood his ground, conscious of the sword against Rebekah’s quivering throat. “You wanted me to bite someone. I wanted to bite Renaud.”

Renaud struggled to his feet with a clinking of chains, panting, his blood-tinged lips peeled back in a snarl. He must have bitten his tongue. Renaud opened his mouth to speak, but another spasm hit. He strained against his chains and let out a bloodcurdling shriek that bounced off the walls and pierced Ulrik’s sensitive ears. Renaud dropped to his knees, his chest heaving.

Feel it all, you miserable old cretin. You deserve every bit and more.

“Be grateful I did not bite you,” Ulrik rasped. “That is what Renaud wanted. You turned and bound in silver. So he could present you to Rome, no doubt. He had plans to rise in the church ranks. He had eyes on a cardinal’s robes.”

“And what, pray tell,” spat Lothair, tension rippling through his body, “am I supposed to do with him now ?”

His grip tightened on Rebekah, and she whimpered. Ulrik clenched his fists, fighting the urge to lunge at him.

“If I hand him over to the church as a werewolf, they will descend on my county in droves. If I kill him—the same. I cannot have him wandering my county, free. I would not trust Renaud as a werewolf any more than I do as a man.”

“Look at him, Lothair.” Ulrik stabbed his finger toward the archeveque. “Look at what being turned means.”

Another spasm hit Renaud, and his teeth snapped at the air. His eyes rolled back in his head, revealing only the whites of his eyes, and his veins stood out blue against his pallid, sweaty forehead. He tipped his head toward the ceiling and howled. Lothair recoiled.

“Three days of this. He will be lucky to survive. If he does, he could well have lost all sense and be nothing more than the ravaging monster the myths proclaim us to be. Is that what you want for yourself? For your men? Is that a risk you want to take?”

Lothair stared at the groaning shape on the floor. Renaud reached out and his blood-shot eyes pleaded. Lothair pulled back, dragging Rebekah with him. Ulrik edged closer. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide as the horror of a turning unfolded in front of her. With Lothair so distracted, could he pull her free of his grasp? He reached for her, and she slipped her hand into his.

Renaud staggered to his feet, his bony hands clutching at the wispy strands of his gray hair. The silver prevented him from shifting, but there was nothing human about him. His eyes bulged, and he bared his teeth, gnashing at the air. He pulled against his chains, straining them to their limits.

Ulrik’s grip tightened around Rebekah’s hand. Aimon had snapped his bindings in the throes of his turning. It had taken everything both he and Gaharet had to restrain him. Aimon’s straps had been leather. Iron chains held Renaud fast to the wall, but would they hold?

Renaud shuddered and shrank back, the chains slackening as he leaned against the wall, panting. He wrapped his arms around himself, hissing as fresh welts appeared on his wrists and fixed a malevolent stare on Lothair.

No hint of Renaud remained in his blood-shot eyes, only pain and rage. He roared and lunged, hitting the end of the chains hard and, as Ulrik had feared, the iron chain snapped. Renaud fell to his hands and knees. Lothair stumbled back and raised his sword, and Ulrik took his chance, pulling Rebekah from him. He shoved her behind him, shielding her with his body.

Renaud held up his hands, the broken chains dangling from his wrists. He lurched to his feet and roared his triumph. Then something happened Ulrik had never thought possible. Still bound by the silver shackles, Renaud part shifted.

Merde.

Ulrik pushed Rebekah toward the safety of the stairs. He had no weapon other than himself, and he had no time to remove his armor. Renaud’s head, fully wolf, swiveled to follow Rebekah’s retreat and his lips peeled back, revealing slavering jaws.

“Gaharet.” Lothair’s voice had an alarmed edge to it that Ulrik had never experienced. Not even on the battlefield. “I thought silver would contain your kind.”

Renaud’s gaze snapped to the comte.

Gaharet gaped, his shock writ large across his face. “So did I.”

Ulrik eyed the monstrosity that had once been Renaud, his body tense and preparing for anything. How much of Renaud had shifted, he could not be certain, with his black robes hiding his body. He stood on two feet like a man, but his head was all wolf, and coarse gray fur covered his hands. The silver had to be preventing the full shift. There was no way Renaud had the mental control to part shift. That required rigorous training. That he could even shift at all…

A shudder rippled through the archeveque’s body, and he hunched over. Renaud had to die. Now. Ulrik looked to Gaharet for confirmation, but Gaharet stared past him, alarm stamped across his face.

Rebekah? No! She had run up the steps, had she not?

Ulrik could not risk turning to check, but he did not have to look to know she was there. He scented her fear and her determination. Why had she not run up the stairs as he had told her to? Locked the grate? She would be safe. He needed her to be safe.

She thrust something into his hand, and his fingers closed around the familiar grip of a sword. His brave mate had come back to arm him. His heart swelled, then all but lodged in his throat as she moved to stand beside him. With both hands, she gripped a sword of her own and held it in front of her. If they got out of this alive, he would show her how much he loved her courage and her determination. Then he would spank her perfect, lush ass for risking her life.

The thing that was Renaud lifted its head. It straightened, eyes bereft of anything but rage as it stared at them. Then it lunged.

Ulrik swung his sword in a wide arc toward the beast, and with a single stroke he lopped off its head. Renaud dropped with a thud and a rattle of broken chain. The wolf’s head fell with a sickening squelch, rolling away from the black-robed body.

The underground chamber was suddenly bereft of sound, save for heavy breathing.

Ulrik dared not move or say a word. Lothair no longer had a werewolf in chains. How long would it take before the comte forced him to take Renaud’s place? He could take Rebekah and flee, though he doubted they would get far. And Lothair would forever hunt them. No. He had made a vow. His life for hers, and he would stand by it to see her safe.

Visibly shaken, Lothair was the first to move, stepping forward and toeing the body. “Are you certain he is dead?”

Ulrik forced out a laugh. “It would take more than werewolf blood to reattach a man’s head.”

“Good to know. Though we had it wrong about the silver.” He eyed both Gaharet and Ulrik. “This goes no further than this room. I will have your vow on that.”

“You have it,” said Gaharet.

“Ulrik?”

Ulrik nodded. Having the church find out about their existence would not be good for their pack, any more than it would for Lothair.

“I will have a few of my most trusted men fill this room in, bury it”—he nudged the body again, as though to be truly certain Renaud would not suddenly rise again—“and him with rubble. I do not need to tell you the consequences if the church were to find I have a dead archeveque in my keep, werewolf or no.” He sheathed his sword and strode to the stairwell.

At the base of the stairs, he halted. “You have given me much to consider, but this is not the end of things. I expect every one of you werewolves”—he looked pointedly at Ulrik—“in my hall within the week, kneeling before me.”

Ulrik stared, lost for words, as Lothair climbed the stairs. That was it? He was free ? He had killed Renaud. Was his life not forfeit? He clutched Rebekah to his side, waiting for Lothair to change his mind. To remember the efforts he had gone to, to have Ulrik in his clutches.

“And, Gaharet?” Lothair’s voice floated down the stairwell. “I expect to see all of your men, so you had best find Godfrey.”