Page 49 of Wolves’ Witch

Chapter Twenty-Four

Isobella leaned her head against the stone wall. Her lips tingled and her body thrummed, but her mind… She closed her eyes. She didn’t know what she was thinking. Her wolf urged her to go after Aubert. Aubert and Edmond. But what if they didn’t want her to?

The idea that she might be the mate of a Langeais wolf had fueled more than a few of her fantasies and, if she were honest, had played a part in her decision to undertake this mission. Gabriel doted on Annabelle with a single-mindedness Isobella envied. He’d used an evil witch’s spell with zero preparation, risking his life to go back in time and save her. She couldn’t have counted on Douglas to stop by the drugstore or cook her some chicken soup when she was laid up in bed with the flu. And that was early in their relationship. Before Irena had come along.

Isobella couldn’t deny it. She wanted what Annabelle had. But with a man who, despite kissing her as if he couldn’t live another minute without her, didn’t want her?

And Edmond? He’d run after his brother. Of course he had. They were twins. Like Pierre and Louis. Those two did everything together. Aubert and Edmond were likely the same. Inseparable, Anne had said. Isobella would not come between brothers.

“Isobella?”

She snapped her eyes open. Gaharet stood at the end of the corridor, his dark eyes radiating concern.

“Are you well?”

Was she? She was alive. She was healthy, strong—stronger than she’d ever been—but… “Training has been a bit…difficult this morning.” Did Gaharet notice the whisker burn on her face? Did he smell Aubert on her?

He moved closer. Alone with him in the corridor, he was no less intimidating than when she’d first met him.

“Aubert was hard on you this morn.”

Her gut churned, and she fought the flush of heat threatening her face. She supposed everyone in the keep would know that. Every werewolf. “He’s working really hard to get me up to speed.”

Gaharet frowned. He didn’t believe her?

She pasted on a bright smile, as though her muscles didn’t ache and her heart wasn’t sore. “We don’t have time to waste. Cordelia is out there. Douglas, too. And let’s not forget the reason why I’m here. Faucher.”

“Mm.”

Isobella clutched her boots to her stomach, unnerved by Gaharet’s intense scrutiny. Mm? What does that mean?

“And Edmond?”

Isobella raised her chin. She might compare them in her mind, but she wouldn’t disparage either of them to their alpha. “Edmond is working me just as hard.”

“Mm, mm.”

Isobella was conscious of the soles of her boots digging into her palms.

Gaharet inclined his head toward the stairs. “Get some rest. You will have training again on the morrow. For, as you say, we must prepare. I will have the servants ready a bath for you and one of the girls from the kitchen bring you up some food.”

“Thank you.” Ducking her head, she slipped past Gaharet.

“Isobella,” Gaharet called after her.

She paused at the top of the stairs.

“Before you set your mind about Aubert, ask them about Sabine.”

Sabine? Could that be what Anne had been referring to? A woman? One they had competed over? Isobella made her way down the stairs. All the more reason not to come between them.

Gaharet lingered a moment in the corridor, staring into the empty training room. Isobella’s arousal tainted the air. As did Aubert’s. Edmond’s too. Yesterday morn she had insisted she bear full responsibility for her turning. That any repercussions fall on her, not the twins. And now, after experiencing a more punishing training session than Gaharet had ever been witness to, she refused to speak ill of Aubert. She had every cause to, but she had not. Edmond was right. Isobella was nothing like Sabine.

Yet, it concerned him all the same. Her very difference, her sweet nature, could only make the situation more complicated. For the twins, for her and for the pack. Because in the end, whether she pitted them against each other or not, she would have to choose.

Gaharet descended the stairs, ordered a servant to see to Isobella’s bath, then continued down to the kitchen.

Anne hovered over a pot of stew, her face flushed. “He has been hard on the poor girl this morn.”