Page 8 of Wolves’ Witch

* * * *

Isobella stirred, the pain in her lower abdomen pulling her from sleep. A chair creaked. Marceline? She peeled her eyes open, blinking until the large blurry shape by her bedside solidified. Not Marceline, but the big chevalier, with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His hair was loose about his shoulders, and he no longer wore a hauberk, rather a simple tunic, but there was no mistaking him as anything but a warrior.

Goosebumps rose across her skin, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. More than a warrior.

Werewolf.

She swallowed. It was as obvious as the beard on his face. The otherness. It oozed from him as surely as the musky scent from his pores.

A Langeais wolf? Which one?

She studied him through hooded eyes, fighting the fatigue that threatened to pull her under again. Not Gaharet. Not from the description Stef had given her. Nor Aimon or Ulrik. Her eyes closed, and she hovered on the edge of sleep. One of the Montagne twins? She forced her eyelids open again. Built like a linebacker, he did remind her of Gabriel. Without the olive skin and his hair a much lighter brown.

Her vision swam in and out of focus. Maybe it wasn’t a Montagne twin. She was in the tenth century. Where men wore armor and fought with swords. She closed her eyes again and drifted on the edge of consciousness. If it wasn’t a Montagne twin, then who else could it be? Godfrey? No. He wouldn’t be in a keep. Stef had told her he was missing.

Unease skittered up her spine. Could it be Lance? The one wolf Stef had warned her to avoid. Because of him, the Langeais wolves were poised on the verge of extinction. Maybe he wasn’t a Langeais wolf at all, but another type of shifter. He could be a— A spasm ripped through her pelvis and she moaned, curling up into a ball.

“She is awake.”

She snapped her eyes open to another man sitting on the other side of the bed. Another warrior. Big, his hair a wild mess about his shoulders and a thin scar cutting through his top lip, he leaned over her. Identical to the other warrior.

The Montagne twins. They had to be. She was safe. She closed her eyes and let the darkness slide over her and dreams take hold. Where Cordelia King wielded a magic so ancient and powerful none could stop her, and big, burly chevaliers sat by her bedside and waited for her to die.