Page 29 of Wolves’ Witch

Chapter Fifteen

Their mount reared, and Isobella held onto Edmond for dear life. What was happening? The darkened forest, Douglas, the chevaliers were…gone. Now there were…stone walls? She clutched at Edmond’s surcoat, staring at the gold disc hanging from a chain around his neck as he got the horse under control.

“It worked.” Edmond barked out a surprised laugh. “I did not know it would, what with the horses and all.”

She took in the soaring ceiling, the large and colorful wall hangings she’d never seen the likes of, the fire pit in the middle of the room, the large table. Out of their seats, women tucked behind them, were men—chevaliers, werewolves—brandishing swords.

“We’re at the d’Louncrais keep?” Isobella almost cried. She was here. Finally. The place she’d been aiming for when she’d stood in Muir Woods.

“We are.” Edmond helped her from the horse. “I guess we made quite an entrance.”

The man standing at the apex of the table sheathed his weapon. “That you did.”

With black hair and a beard, he had an aura so imposing it would be impossible to mistake him for anyone other than the alpha of the Langeais wolves. That he wore the binding amulet, still glowing, confirmed it.

Edmond nudged her forward with a gentle hand on her back as swords were put away and everyone resumed their seats. “Isobella, this is—”

“Gaharet d’Louncrais.”

Her voice came out in a hushed, awed whisper, but they heard her, and keen eyes followed her advance on the table.

“Gaharet d’Louncrais.” Her voice was firmer, more sure. “Alpha of the Langeais wolves.”

His nostrils flared as he raked his gaze over her. Isobella straightened her spine. This was the man who ruled the pack she’d been sent here to help. Stef’s ancestor. The man to whom, not so long ago, she had promised the twins she would acknowledge and claim all responsibility for her turning. She swallowed, her mouth drier, her face hotter under scrutiny than if she were standing in Death Valley on a summer’s day.

She slid her gaze away and settled on the blonde woman by his side. “Erin Richardson. Australian archeologist.”

Erin’s eyes widened, and she shared a glance with her mate. Had she cowered before Gaharet when she’d first met him like Isobella wanted to now? Erin raised her chin, meeting her stare head on. Maybe not.

She turned her gaze to the man on the other side of Erin. “D’Artagnon.” So like his brother, but scarred and missing an eye. The woman next to him. “Constance.” The witch with one blue eye and one green, who’d mated D’Artagnon after he’d returned from a nine-year exile. A witch with the second sight, like Cordelia.

Isobella continued around the table, naming the faces so recognizable from Stef’s descriptions. “Ulrik Voclain.” A sandy-haired man who had once challenged Gaharet and lost, the scars on his throat a permanent reminder. “Rebekah ‘Bek’ Clarke, bartender from London.” Ulrik’s mate. Her tattoos and piercings were gone, but the fading green streaks in her hair and her bold stare gave her away. “Aimon Proulx.” Younger than Isobella, his white-blond hair striking next to the copper locks of his mate. “Kathryn Beauchene.”

The older man next to Kathryn she didn’t know, but he was not a shifter. Of that, she was certain. There was a family resemblance. Perhaps he was Kathryn’s father.

“You all look exactly as I pictured you.” She beamed at Edmond, but the smile had gone from his face. She glanced at Aubert. He wore his usual scowl, though there was a ferocious edge to it that had her looking away. She turned back to the table, where she had everyone’s unwavering scrutiny. Maybe she should have introduced herself first.

“You’re an American,” said Erin, finding her voice. She grabbed her mate by the arm. “Gaharet, she’s an American. Another woman from the future.”

“Yes! Yes! I’m like you. Kind of.” Isobella took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “Let me start at the beginning. I’m Isobella Rodriguez, and I’m from San Francisco. I’m here because the San Francisco Bay coven, my coven, and the Langeais wolves, your descendants, sent me here.”

A horse snorted behind her. Everyone at the table stared. It had been less nerve-wracking facing the entire coven, waiting for anyone to object to her initiation.

“Wait a minute.” Erin held up a hand. “You were sent here? And you’re part of a coven?”

“As interesting as this is”—Gaharet set his hand on the table—“it must wait.”

Erin opened her mouth to protest but shut it at the look from Gaharet.

“First—” He beckoned to a servant hovering in the doorway. “Send for the stable hands.” As the man slipped from the hall, he turned his attention back to them. “I take it you had reason to use the amulets?”

Edmond nodded. “We did.”

Two men entered, took the reins and led the mounts away. If it surprised them to find horses inside the keep, inside this grand hall, they didn’t show it.

“And?”

Edmond guided her to a seat at the table, positioning her between him and Aubert, Remi on the other side. “You know Faucher has allied with House Allard?”