by Barb Hendee
She deserved a love of equals.
He was already married to the security of Castle Sèone and to the protection of Anton, and he could never allow himself to become involved with a woman unless he was in complete control. Anything less could leave him vulnerable, and thereby leave Castle Sèone and Anton vulnerable.
He should never have allowed himself to start something with Amelie that could not be finished. She could so easily be hurt, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. She mattered to him—much more than he cared to admit. If he were a simple soldier in some prince’s forces and she were a simple girl helping to run an apothecary shop, he’d marry her in a heartbeat and spend the rest of his life trying to make her happy.
But he wasn’t a simple soldier.
And she wasn’t a simple girl. She was Prince Anton’s seer.
And Jaromir needed to get a handle on himself damn quick.
If . . . if he could only stop thinking about the fierce manner with which she’d grasped the sleeve of his shirt and kissed him back. He’d kissed more women in his life than he could remember, and he’d never felt anything like that.
Fighting to focus on the task at hand, he squinted through the bundles of hay to gauge Graham’s breathing by the rise and fall of his chest. The young man appeared to have fallen asleep. That was probably a mercy. Still, Jaromir desperately hoped this night would yield something, some piece of information that he or Céline or Amelie could explore.
A soft scratching sound caught his attention, and he looked up and to his left. There . . . high in a window, a dark form was crawling over the sill. Jaromir held his position, just watching, uncertain what he was seeing yet.
With a fluid grace, the form leaped from the windowsill, landing lightly on the floor. Jaromir kept still as illumination from the lantern exposed the newcomer.
It was a black wolf.
It looked nothing like the creatures these soldiers had been transforming into. Lean and long legged, this animal appeared to be a normal wolf with glittering amber eyes. Slowly, it walked nearer to Graham, and Jaromir picked up the cudgel he’d brought along in case of nonlethal fighting with any of the camp soldiers. Though his sword was in its sheath on his hip, he left it there for now, as he crouched and prepared to rush.
But he didn’t rush.
The wolf wasn’t growling or even poised in a hunting stance. It simply approached Graham, lowered its head, and took a long sniff. At the sound, Graham’s eyes opened, and he sat up, backing against the wall in confused terror.
Jaromir expected him to cry out, but he didn’t. Instead, the fear faded from his face, and the wolf stepped closer, smelling him again, from his feet to his face.
Graham sat there and let it.
Locked in the spell of the bizarre sight before him, at first Jaromir didn’t move either, though his mind was racing. What was happening here? Was this how the soldiers were being turned? Was this black wolf coming to them and . . . and what?
That final thought moved him to action. He wanted to solve this mystery so badly he could taste it, but not at the expense of Graham’s life. If this creature was about to do something to him, it must be stopped.
Without a sound, Jaromir gripped the cudgel and rushed, hoping he could reach the wolf and bash its head before it saw him coming.
Unfortunately, it half spun, saw him, and dashed away, jumping out of reach. Then it leaped to the top of a stall and made a seemingly impossible jump from the top of the stall to the window.
In a flash, it was gone.
Jaromir ran to the stall, thinking he might leap up and jump to the window himself, and then he realized what a foolish notion that was, so he made a dash for the front doors, slowing only long enough to call to Graham.
“I’ll be right back!”
* * *
Céline walked alone past several tents; then she stopped beside one with a view of the barn.
Why had she come out here?
She didn’t know, and she stood there for a few moments watching the side of the barn. Then . . . a dark form appeared in a high window, and it leaped all the way to the ground, landing on all fours. It darted away into the trees, as if it was fleeing from something.
Céline followed where it had vanished, quickly passing into the trees.
* * *
Running through the barn, Jaromir cursed whoever had built it without a back door. Racing out the front doors, he ran around the side of the barn where the wolf had jumped.
The creature was gone. The ground below the window was empty.
He cursed again, fighting the urge to run into the forest and start hunting. He couldn’t just leave. Graham was tied to a stake inside, and Jaromir had vowed to watch over him for more than one reason.
Turning, he remained outside but closed the doors to the barn—for the moment—as if they’d never been opened, and he called out, “Guardsman?” knowing someone would hear him.
“Sir?”
A moment later, a guard carrying a spear emerged from around the side of the tent.
“Are you on night watch?” Jaromir asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m making my rounds, but I haven’t seen Corporal Quinn. If you know where he is, send word to him that I spotted a wolf inside the camp.” The guardsman stiffened, and Jaromir hurried on, “No, not one of those beasts, just a wolf with a black coat. It ran off when it saw me, but we’ll want the men to keep aware. Wolves don’t normally come into a large camp like this unless they’re hungry.”
The guardsman relaxed and nodded. “Oh, yes, sir. I’ll pass the word.”
The man headed back the way he’d come. Once he was out of sight, Jaromir slipped back inside the barn. He had a feeling that black wolf had come for more than food, but . . . it was just a wolf, and for now, sending an alert was the best he could do.
* * *
Without letting herself think, Céline continued walking into the dark forest. She hadn’t gone far when two strong hands grabbed her, whipped her body around, and pressed her back up against a tree.
“What are you doing out here alone?” he hissed, pinning her in place.
It was Marcus. But she’d already known that or she never would have come out here. However, along this entire journey, she was becoming rather tired of men pinning her up against trees. That would have to stop.
“What were you doing in the barn?” she countered.
She wasn’t afraid of him. She fully believed him capable of destroying these Pählen soldiers. But she was in no danger. Something about him was familiar, a connection she couldn’t explain, as if she’d known him for a thousand years. He’d die before he’d hurt her. He’d kill before he’d let anyone else hurt her.
Of this, she was certain.
“What are you?” she asked softly.
“Another side of you. You’d know that if you lived among your own people.”
“I’ll not stand here and mince words. Did Jaromir chase you out of that barn? What were you planning to do to Graham?”
“Do?” Though he took his hands from her arms, he kept his face close to hers. “You don’t think I have anything to do with the horrors taking place here?”
“I don’t know. Why did you go to the barn in your . . . other form?”
“To see what I could learn. I’d heard that you named him as the next man to turn, and I wanted to smell him, to sense him, to see if I could understand why this is happening.”
“Did you? Did you learning anything.”
“No. I only saw, smelled, sensed a filthy, frightened Pählen soldier. But you can rest assured that whatever is happening, it’s nothing to do with me. One of those things killed my brother.”
Studying his dark eyes, Céline badly wanted to believe him, but she wasn’t sure. In her life, she’d met some very good actors
—she’d even been one. His brother’s death could have been a tragic unplanned accident.
His mouth curved up in a slight smile. “You still don’t believe me?”
“I don’t know you, and I don’t know what to believe.”
“You know me.” Slowly, he leaned even farther forward, giving her every chance to move to one side or the other and pull away.
She didn’t.
He pressed his forehead against hers, and again, the action felt familiar, comfortable. “When you saw Graham’s future, did you see him change?” he whispered.
“Yes. It was awful.”
He stepped back, away from her, and in the moonlight coming through the trees, she got a better look at him. He was barefoot, dressed only in his breeches and shirt, and the shirt was untucked and disheveled, as if he’d thrown it on in a hurry.
“Then watch me and see if you think I have anything to do with those soldier-wolves,” he said.
Pulling his shirt off, he exposed his chest and the long, tight muscles in his shoulders and arms. Céline stood watching with her back against the tree.
In the next breath, he was on all fours and the hair on his head began receding as black fur sprouted from his skin. His face elongated and his arms changed into front legs.
Within seconds, Céline was staring at a tall black wolf. He was beautiful. There had been no pain involved—not even any real effort. The change had been quick and natural.
The wolf moved forward, and its back legs stepped out of Marcus’s breeches. Céline crouched down and held out one hand. It came to her, licking her hand and then pressing its nose into her cheek. When it pulled back slightly, she looked into its eyes. They were amber now, and not black, but she could see him in there.
The wolf was Marcus.
A few moments later, the fur receded and the hair on his head grew, and his snout receded and she was looking into the black eyes of a man again. He was naked but reached back for his breeches. He didn’t seem remotely embarrassed.
“I’ve nothing to do with whatever is happening to these soldiers,” he whispered. “I don’t care how many of them die, but I’m not responsible. My ability is natural, like yours, and I wouldn’t know how to pass it to someone else if I wanted to. Do you believe me now?”
Unfortunately, she did, which meant that with Keegan off the list, she had no suspects at all. However, Jaromir might feel quite differently about this situation.
As if reading her mind, Marcus asked, “Will you give me up to your lieutenant?”
“No. I won’t. I don’t think that would accomplish anything.”
Still holding his breeches in front of himself, he reached down for his shirt. “You should get back to camp and stay there.”
She knew he was right, but it felt wrong to leave things like this, as if they had more to say to each other—she simply had no idea what. “Marcus, be careful. Don’t let any of the soldiers see you . . . in your other form. Don’t give them any excuse to kill you.”
Then she walked away, heading back to camp. Once she was among the soldiers’ tents again, she went straight into Keegan’s and stood over his bed. He was still sleeping easily.
But she hadn’t even sat down when footsteps sounded from behind her, and Corporal Quinn came around the tapestry. Though he looked tired and troubled, he was apparently still his normal capable self.
“I’m sorry you’ve been left here so long,” he said. “I was overseeing the night watch, but I think we’re as secure as possible, and the lieutenant is hiding in the barn, guarding Graham.” It was a pity he’d chosen to serve under Keegan. He could have gone further in his career by now. “Your man, Rurik, is waiting outside to take you back to your own tent to get some rest.”
“Oh . . . are you sure, Corporal? I don’t mind sitting with the captain.”
“No, you go. I’ll sit with him.”
Céline wasn’t sure she could sleep, but she was beyond tempted by the thought of crawling under her covers and closing her eyes and shutting out the world for a little while.
So she stood up. “Thank you.”
As she made to leave, he said, “My lady?”
“Yes?”
“Did you . . . did you really see a vision of Guardsman Graham as the next man to be turned? I don’t mean to insult you, but this isn’t just a ruse the lieutenant planned to try to lure out whoever is responsible?”
Céline sighed softly. “I don’t exactly see visions, but, yes, I saw Graham changing.”
“So you can see the future, and your sister can see the past?”
This was becoming tiresome. “Of course we can. Prince Anton would never risk disappointing his father by sending two charlatans all the way out here, would he?”
“No . . . I suppose not. Forgive me.”
“Good night, Corporal.”
She left the tent and was so relieved at the sight of uncomplicated, good-natured Rurik waiting for her outside that she took his right arm with both hands.
“How is Amelie?” she asked as they walked.
“Asleep,” he answered, “but she went to bed fully clothed and told me to suggest the same to you, just in case . . . in case . . .”
Céline nodded, still gripping his arm. “Yes, just in case.”
Chapter Twelve
Amelie was sleeping deeply when a sound registered on the edge of her awareness. She rolled onto her side, and the sound came again. This time, she opened her eyes. Before going to bed, she’d left their small lantern glowing, and it still provided some light. The first thing she saw was Céline sleeping beside her, dressed in her lavender wool. Amelie had left on her own light blue gown in the event that something should happen in the night.
Had Céline made a sound that woke her?
The sound came again, and Amelie froze. She’d heard a low growl.
Rolling ever so slowly toward the outside of the bed, she looked into the open space of the tent. Two red eyes stared back at her.
“Céline,” she whispered, reaching back to touch her sister. “Wake up.”
Céline murmured, “What? Amelie, what did you say?”
“Wake up, but don’t move.”
The beast crouched on the floor snarled this time, and Céline sat up.
“No!” Amelie cried, but it was too late.
The movement caused the enormous wolf to rush, and on instinct, Amelie grabbed Céline and rolled off the other side of the bed, onto the fur-covered ground.
“Rurik!” Amelie screamed as loudly as she could, hoping he had a spear in his tent. “Rurik!”
Both sisters scrambled backward as the wolf-beast landed on their bed, slavering and snarling and sniffing the air. Its red eyes fixed on them, and it leaped again. Cursing, Amelie shoved Céline aside and then cast about for anything she might use as a weapon.
But she saw nothing except the beast in midair, leaping straight toward her.
Suddenly, it yelped and was knocked aside, and Amelie jumped to her feet. A smaller wolf—black—had knocked the massive one off its feet and was slashing at it with teeth and claws.
The wolf-beast roared in pain as the smaller one got ahold of one side of its throat and held on. Coming back to herself, Amelie made a dash for her boot, for her dagger—the only weapon she had in this tent. Gripping the sheath, she jerked the blade from the boot and whirled toward the pair of snarling wolves rolling on the ground.
“Don’t hurt the black one,” Céline cried. “It’s Marcus.”
But as the words left her mouth, the black wolf yelped as the larger one slashed it across the chest, and the massive one bolted for the back of the tent, breaking out underneath the canvas wall, ripping out a tent peg in the process, and leaving a large portion of fabric flapping in the night breeze.
A groan sounded, and Amelie spun around to see Marcus lyi
ng on the ground, naked and bleeding from the chest.
“Amelie!” a voice called.
Rurik came running past the tent flap into the tent, wielding a sword. He looked around wildly for something to fight, and his eyes lowered to Marcus on the floor. Céline had dropped beside Marcus and covered the lower half of his body with her red cloak.
“What . . . what’s happening?” Rurik asked.
“It was inside the tent,” Amelie blurted, “one of the wolves, but Marcus fought it off and it ran out there.” She pointed to the loose tent wall flapping in the night air.
“Marcus?” Rurik repeated in confusion, staring at Marcus’s naked form and complete lack of a weapon.
But then something else occurred to Amelie, something more disturbing. “Rurik . . . stay here with them. If that thing was Graham, then it must have attacked Jaromir to get out of the barn!”
She turned to run, ducking out the new “door” in the back.
“Amelie, you can’t go out there alone,” Rurik called.
“Just stay here with Céline!”
Once outside, she could already hear some of the soldiers shouting to one another, as there was now another beast loose inside the camp.
* * *
Jaromir heard the shouting and stepped out from his hay bundles. Graham had been lying on the floor and stood up.
“Sir, what is that?” Graham asked.
“I don’t know.”
Jaromir heard the barn doors opening, followed by the soft sound of running feet, and he gripped his cudgel tightly. To his amazement, Amelie came hurrying into view, barefoot but wearing her light blue dress and carrying her dagger.
She skidded to a stop at the sight of Graham tied to the stake. “It’s not him,” she panted, as if speaking to herself.
“Amelie!” Jaromir nearly shouted, wanting answers.
“There’s a soldier-wolf . . . a big one . . . loose in camp,” she managed to say while still panting. “It attacked me and Céline in our bed. I thought . . . I thought it was Graham, and that he might have killed you.”
“It attacked you in your . . .” He trailed off, looking back to Graham.
