Page 23

“Mm, not quite.” Isobella shivered. Holding that grimoire, the oily sensation that had swirled in her gut as she’d read the spell would be something she’d never forget. “The spell I used came from a blood witch.”

Edmond cocked his head. “A blood witch?”

“Blood witches get their power from their blood.” Annabelle was a blood witch. So too was Cordelia. The whole damn King clan were blood witches. “They use it in their spells. It’s powerful, though some blood witches are stronger than others.” Like Cordelia.

“You are not a blood witch?”

“I can use blood magic, but… Blood magic can have a darker element that I’m not comfortable with.” She’d used it to come here. Desperate times had called for desperate measures. “I prefer working with plants and herbs. With nature. It’s a gentler form of magic.”

It was why she’d chosen to study horticulture and to work at a nursery. Well, she had worked at a plant nursery. She’d had to resign to come on this mission. It’d been hard. Isobella had loved working there—the quiet greenhouses, the loamy smell of fresh potting mix, the hiss of the reticulated irrigation and the hum of energy from the plants. She might have found solace out here in the forest had she not been on the run from the comtesse’s men. From Faucher.

“And your coven, and the Langeais wolves from your time, they sent you to help us with Faucher?” asked Edmond.

Heat flooded Isobella’s cheeks. “I know, from the looks of things, where you found me and all, doesn’t look like I’m doing a very good job.” She was doing a terrible job. Served herself up to Faucher on a silver platter. “Something went wrong with the spell, and I didn’t end up at the d’Louncrais keep like I was supposed to.”

Her ex-fiancé went wrong. Douglas. She’d forgotten about him. Had he made it through, or was he still in the twenty-first century?

Isobella pushed thoughts of Douglas aside. He was not her concern. Not anymore. “I wasn’t supposed to take on Faucher on my own. My instructions were clear. I was to come back to the tenth century and find the Langeais wolves. Together, we would deal with Faucher. But I got distracted as I was reciting the spell, and instead of materializing at the d’Louncrais keep, it spat me out in the chapel, right at Eveque Faucher’s feet. I might as well have had a sign stuck to my forehead saying ‘witch’.”

Edmond chortled. “I would have sold my soul to the Christian devil to see Faucher’s face when you appeared in front of him.”

“Well, it wasn’t what you’d expect. He was less surprised, more…” The chill air of the approaching evening stole beneath her cloak, and she shivered. “I don’t think Faucher is entirely sane.”

A lone howl, long and mournful, split the air, startling a few birds from their perches. Isobella clutched her hands tighter around Edmond, searching the darkening forest.

Edmond tensed and urged the horse into a trot. “No need to fear. It is Aubert.”

The wolf howled again, lower, coarser. There was an edge to it. A warning. The prickle of unease in her veins intensified. She shouldn’t be frightened. She was with Edmond. A huge warrior, a werewolf. She was a werewolf with remarkable healing abilities. Very few things could kill her now, but Isobella still jumped at every noise, every shadow. Never had a forest seemed so ominous, so full of danger.

She scanned the trees. Everything was too loud, too bright. Sights, sounds and smells assaulted her senses. The horse beneath them. Edmond. The trees. Insects scurrying. Her heartbeat pounding loud in her ears. Her labored breathing. It was too much. She put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes, but it didn’t help.

“Isobella.” Edmond reined the horse in. “Isobella.” There was a punch of command in Edmond’s voice. “Get off the horse.”

What? No. Not here. Not now.

“Now.”

Edmond’s voice was a roar in her ears. She slid from the horse, backing away, spinning in circles, everything swirling in front of her eyes. The trees closed in.

Edmond swung off the horse, holding his hands out to her.

She stared at him, watching his mouth move, unable to cut through the noise to make any sense of what he was saying.

Edmond grabbed her hands. “Isobella. Bella. Look at me. You opened your senses. Your wolf senses. You are hovering on the verge of a shift. The horse is well trained, but it would not stand for that.”

“Everything’s so loud. It’s too much.”

“I know, I know. With practice, you will learn to control it.” He rubbed his thumbs over the backs of her hands. “I am here, Bella. Trust me. Listen to me. Take a deep breath and find your center.”

Isobella swallowed, closed her eyes, and focused on his touch, his voice. His scent. The soothing rub of his thumbs against the back of her hands. His grip, warm and steady, and his solid presence. Like a ship being battered in a storm, she let him anchor her. She clung to it all, to him, wrapping him around her, so he sheltered her from the sensory overload.

The noise dimmed. The smells remained, but they were less intense. Her heart rate eased, no longer pounding its frantic rhythm. Isobella sucked in a shaky breath and opened her eyes. The forest no longer seemed a living, breathing entity ready to devour her. There was only Edmond.

Isobella sagged into his arms. Big and solid, as immovable as a mountain, he held her close, and she rested her head on his chest. Relieved. Embarrassed. She’d bet Annabelle hadn’t freaked out like this after Gabriel had turned her.

Swamped in Edmond’s warmth, his musky werewolf scent enveloped her. She breathed it in, her body reacting in an entirely different way. She had an insane urge to rub herself all over him.

She backed out of his arms, studying the grass at her feet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… It was all just so…”

A pair of boots stepped into her field of vision. Edmond curled his finger under her chin, tipping her face up. “There is nothing to be sorry for, chaton.”

Chaton. Kitten. A long-forgotten warmth seeped into her chest.

Edmond cupped her cheek. “We are being hunted by Faucher. He has two score of chevaliers tracking us down. After what you have been through, it is reasonable for you to be afraid. You are newly turned, and strong emotions can trigger a wolf you have yet to learn how to control.” He stroked his thumb across her skin, a gentle caress. “We will teach you. Show you how to listen to the world around you. To block out all else but what you are seeking to hear.”

Something loosened in her belly, and her knees went a little weak.

“To sniff out scent not only of that which is visible but of that which is hidden. Emotions. Intent.”

Intent? Isobella leaned closer.

He tucked a loose curl behind her ear, and his gaze dipped to her mouth. Dark shadows shifted in his eyes, and his musky scent intensified. Was he breathing a little heavier? She was. Was he going to kiss her? She wanted him to.

Edmond stilled, his head cocked, listening, then he spun around and drew his sword, pulling her behind him. Shadows moved in the forest. No, not shadows. Men. They closed in on them, slipping through the gloom. Chevaliers, the blue and white of their shields visible in the fading light. Blue with a white lion. House Allard. The comtesse’s men. But where was Faucher? And what had happened to Aubert and Remi?