Chapter Forty
Aubert woke to the echo of Isobella calling his name.
He sat up. The fire had burned low and the hall was quiet.
Had he been dreaming? His sleep, when it had come, had been restless at best. He did not like being separated from Isobella.
Had not liked knowing his brother had been pleasuring their mate.
And well, from her screams. As he would have, had their positions been reversed.
He had borne it, for it was his twin. They had agreed to share her.
Aubert sat for a few moments, listening. Nothing. He shook his head. Go back to sleep. It was a dream, nothing more.
Then he caught Gaharet’s eye. His alpha was awake, his head cocked, also listening.
“Aubert!”
Gaharet’s gaze flew toward the door. Aubert was not imagining things.
Isobella was calling for him. Not the soft call of a lover, but a panicked cry.
He sprang to his feet and raced for the door, his dagger in his hand.
Gaharet and D’Artagnon were with him by the time he had burst into the corridor.
“Stay here, Remi,” ordered Gaharet. “And keep your hands off the silverware.”
It did not surprise him the little thief was also awake. Living on the streets, sleeping light would have been what had kept him alive.
“Aubert!”
Isobella’s calls came from below. Faint, receding.
They raced along the corridor to the stairs, taking them two, three at a time.
His thoughts whirled, and his blood roared in his ears.
Where the hell was Edmond? They skidded to a halt outside the bedchamber.
The door was wide open, and Edmond was sound asleep on the bed.
Alone. Some of the tightness eased from his chest. His brother was not dead, but why had he not woken? And where was Isobella?
He stepped into the room, and it hit him—the hum surrounding Edmond. Like the black shadows in the village. “Magic?”
“Aubert!”
“Isobella!” Aubert spun on his heel and raced from the room.
“D’Artagnon, stay here and wake Edmond. I will go with Aubert,” shouted Gaharet as he followed him out of the door.
They thundered down another set of stairs, tracking his mate’s scent, and another familiar one. Not the old witch. He gripped his dagger tighter. “It is Douglas. The warlock. He has Isobella.” He would rip out the warlock’s throat if he had harmed a hair on their mate’s head.
They bounded down another set of stairs. They were in the bowels of the keep now, and there was no other way out except through them. There would be no escaping for Douglas.
They followed the scent down a long corridor, past rooms full of barrels of pitch, naphtha and wine, and burst into a room at the end.
Aubert skidded to a halt. His gaze skipped around the room—an empty storeroom—over the hole in the center of the floor, the iron grate open above it and the pile of large rocks beside it.
Descending into the darkness were rough-hewn stairs.
Lothair’s underground room where he had once imprisoned Ulrik.
And there was his mate, her hair a mess of curls, her underdress askew and baring her naked shoulder.
She was beautiful, fierce, and she was backing Douglas into a corner.
In the warlock’s arms was the grimoire they had taken from Didier’s hut.
Isobella spared them but a glance as she reached out with a hand half covered in curly black fur. “Give it to me, Douglas.”
There was a deep rumble to her voice, throaty and raw. Her wolf was threatening to take over. To shift.
Aubert stepped into the room, his dagger ready, Gaharet close behind him, his sword in hand.
Isobella was treading a fine line. She was a wolf, but she was untrained in fighting tactics, and Douglas was no stripling lad.
Given a chance, Douglas could gain the upper hand at any moment.
From the look Douglas gave them, he knew it, and he would, if given the chance. If he had Isobella in his grip…
Aubert took another step closer. “Isobella, back away from him.”
She did not look at him, keeping her focus on Douglas. “He has the grimoire. He put a spell on Edmond and me so he could sneak in and take it.”
“Edmond is fine. He…”
“I am here, Bella.” His brother eased into the room, taking a place beside him. “We both are. Let us handle Douglas.”
Douglas glanced between the two of them, and something sly reflected in his eyes.
“You want this book?” Douglas held out the grimoire, dangling it in front of Isobella, a hair’s breadth out of her reach. “You’re going to have to come and take it from me.”
Isobella stood her ground. She wasn’t stupid enough to think she could take Douglas on her own, but she had Edmond and Aubert.
She spared a glance at the doorway. Gaharet and D’Artagnon were here, too.
Douglas wasn’t getting through them. Not unless he used magic.
He’d need time for that, and she was prepared.
She wasn’t going to fail them again. “Give me the grimoire. Don’t give Cordelia what she wants. She’s using you.”
“You think I took the grimoire for Cordelia?” Douglas was incredulous.
“No, no, no, no. I’m done working for her.
Three years is more than enough. I’m working for myself now.
I took it for me. Three years of faking it with you, and for what?
To be stuck in this cesspit of a century.
” Douglas shook his head. “I don’t think so. ”
Isobella’s breath seized in her lungs. Three years? He’d been working with Cordelia for three years? She stared at him, the realization hitting hard. Three years of faking it with you. That’s what he’d said. It had all been a…a lie?
She’d done everything to make their relationship work, and now he was telling her he’d never been in love with her in the first place?
Something broke inside her—the wall that had been holding back all her frustration, her hurt and her anger. “You faked it with me?” Her voice cracked. There were no tears, not anymore. All she had for him was her rage. “How could you do that? I loved you. I gave you everything.”
Edmond and Aubert’s presence hovered in her periphery. That they had to witness this, see her naivety… She’d been such a fool.
Douglas shrugged. “I wanted something, and through Cordelia, I was going to get it.”
Coven advancement. Power. Magic. A darker magic. Cordelia was the only one that could—would—give him that. How had she ever thought she’d loved this man?
Douglas cocked his head, his smile as supercilious as it could get. “And all I had to do was stay by your side.”
A bone popped in her hand. Another in her ankle. Her wolf wanted out. It was howling for blood. Douglas’ blood. It wanted to tear into him with teeth and claws. Isobella had never had the urge to kill someone. She did now.
“I didn’t think I’d have to stick with it for three long, fucking years.” Douglas rolled his eyes. “Cordelia and her stupid visions. What a waste of my time.”
Isobella froze, and her anger stuttered and stalled.
Cordelia had a vision? Was that it? Was that the key? It all clicked into place. Douglas and his fake engagement. Dutton sniffing around Annabelle for years like a bloodhound on the scent. A son named Didier.
Second sight was notorious for its vagueness.
Cordelia had had a vision. One with a man whose name started with D.
He would do something, change something that might sway things in Cordelia’s favor.
So she’d made sure to have all her pawns in place.
Didier in the tenth century, Dutton with Annabelle and Douglas with her. Cordelia had covered all bases.
But Dutton had failed. Annabelle had escaped him and mated Gabriel. Didier was dead. He’d betrayed his own mother.
That left Douglas. Isobella stared at him, dangling Cordelia’s grimoire in front of her.
If her years with him had taught her anything, it was that she knew him well.
His smiles that hid his cruelty. The way he could never look her in the eye when he was scheming his way out of something.
Like now. Whatever it was, Isobella wouldn’t like it.
But she had something he wanted, and Douglas was all about Douglas. All about saving his own ass.
“Hand it over, Douglas.” She reached out again, not too close, lest he made a grab for her hand. “If you do, I’ll give you the time-travel spell so you can return home.”
Aubert and Edmond growled behind her. Isobella understood. Douglas didn’t deserve anything. He certainly shouldn’t have a spell that could allow him to wreak havoc in any time, past, present or future. Though Isobella wasn’t one to lie, she would if it meant he gave her the grimoire.
Douglas sneered at her. He didn’t believe her. Didn’t trust her. He shouldn’t. Not after what he’d done. Her wolf prowled in her mind, begging to be let out. She didn’t think she could control it if she did.
Douglas shifted his attention to the two men behind her, and cocked his head, taunting her with a sneer. “Did Izzy tell you?”
Izzy. Lord, she hated that name. Douglas might get past her, but he was no match for Edmond and Aubert.
If, by some miracle, he got past them, he would have to contend with the d’Louncrais brothers.
If Douglas thought he had a way out, it wasn’t physical.
He liked to use his words—to tear apart, to drag people down, make them question themselves and everything they believed in.
She saw that now. She wished she’d seen it from the start.
“Don’t do it, Douglas.” Isobella mustered up every bit of sincerity she could manage. “I promise I’ll help you get home.”
“She wasn’t the coven’s first choice for the witch to come back in time.
” He didn’t talk to her, instead he addressed those behind her.
Edmond, Aubert, Gaharet and D’Artagnon. “That was supposed to be her sister.” Douglas straightened, drawing himself to his full height.
“But Izzy, I heard she volunteered to come. Do you want to know why?”
How Douglas had come by that information was a mystery.
Probably another of Cordelia’s visions. But one thing was clear.
Douglas wasn’t going to give up the grimoire.
They would have to take it from him. Aubert and Edmond would have to take it from him.
Isobella needed to keep her wolf locked down tight.
She was too emotionally involved. She wouldn’t be able to stop herself.
As much as it pained her to admit, they needed Douglas.
If anyone knew where Cordelia was, what she was planning, it would be him.
“You should. Especially you two twins. After what happened with Sabine.” He sniggered.
“Oh, yeah. Didier told me all about her. How Cordelia had spelled her and sent her to you, promising her all the riches she could imagine if she created havoc in the pack, set the two of you against each other.” His lips twisted in a cruel semblance of a smile.
“And now Isobella. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to have two women use magic, just to get what they wanted from you. ”
Fury lashed at her. He didn’t? He had.
Fueled by her anger, Isobella shifted faster than she’d managed in the training room.
She hit Douglas with the full force of her wolf, knocking him to the floor.
He dropped the grimoire, beating at her with his fists, but she didn’t care.
She lunged for his throat, missing by the scrape of her teeth as someone hauled her off him.
Edmond. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight against his chest. “Shift back, Isobella. We have the grimoire. We have him.”
She struggled in his arms, snapping and snarling at Douglas. Her wolf was in control, her need for his blood roaring through her like a freight train, unchecked and uncontrollable.
“Ah, chaton, you do have claws,” soothed Edmond, holding her firm, stroking her fur. “But you are not a killer by nature, not deep down, and I cannot let you do something you will later regret. Ssh, now. Let us give Douglas what he deserves.”
Her wolf calmed a little, but she kept her gaze fixed on Douglas. When Aubert picked him up and threw him against the wall, holding him there by his throat, she snarled her approval. Her wolf was vicious, her idea of justice brutal and swift.
Boots echoed in the stairwell, and the scents of men and steel wafted into the room. Edmond tensed. “Shift back, chaton. Now.”
The urgency in Edmond’s whispered command reeled in her wolf. Isobella closed her eyes, centered herself and called her wolf back. Gaharet and D’Artagnon moved to block the view of her shifting forms as four keep guard, swords raised, rushed into the room.
Followed by Lothair, Comte de Anjou.