Page 2 of Wolves’ Witch

Chapter Two

San Francisco

Seven months later

A half-dozen burly Langeais wolf shifters surrounded Isobella as she stepped out of the car. With a bang of doors, Annabelle, her stepsister, and Stefanie, a friend and Langeais she-wolf, joined her in their protective circle. As one they moved, Isobella lifting her skirts and ignoring the stares of day-trippers and hikers that tracked them as they entered Muir Woods. It was a toss-up if they were ogling the men—not a single unattractive one among them—or her unusual attire. She’d fit right in if she were in a tenth-century French village. Not so much in 2024 in California.

Nerves skittered up her spine. Not long now, and she would be in a tenth-century French village. Well, that was the plan. She was glad Annabelle and Stefanie were here with her for moral support. She might have bailed if they weren’t.

They left the trail and people behind, heading deeper into the woods until they came to a secluded clearing. This was it. One decision and five months of training and now she was here, ready to change the past. And hopefully her future.

With shaky hands, Isobella pulled supplies out of her backpack. Tucking her skirts out of the way, she kneeled and sorted through her ingredients. It would take a bit of getting used to—wearing layers, a chemise, a heavy dress—but she couldn’t go back in time dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.

Longer to get used to the absence of an engagement ring on her finger. The mark it’d left behind had faded, but the pain in her heart—and the humiliation—had not. She’d been wrong. Those pitying looks from other witches hadn’t been because she’d not got Douglas to walk down the aisle. They’d known. All of them. About Douglas and Irena. Isobella was one of the few who hadn’t.

How could I have been so stupid? So blind? And why was she still letting that…that culero, and what he’d done, upset her? Isobella had bigger things to worry about now. Life sure liked to kick you when you were down.

“Hey.” Stef squatted in front of her. “You’ve got this, okay? Just remember, don’t take on Eveque Faucher on your own. Find the Langeais wolves and work with them.”

Go back in time, find the Langeais wolves, take down Faucher and don’t get dead. Stef made it sound so simple. At least she wouldn’t have to face Douglas and Irena across a coven gathering anytime soon.

Isobella wasn’t sure how one twenty-first century witch was supposed to prevail against a tenth-century bishop with a reputation as a successful witch hunter, but that was her task. Bishop Faucher, Eveque Faucher, had to be dealt with. Somehow.

The fear that had plagued her from the moment her doctor had called with her test results tightened in her chest. Was she doing the right thing going back in time? She was putting a lot of faith in the Langeais wolves. In Gabriel Montagne and Stefanie d’Louncrais. They were putting a lot of faith in her, too. She wasn’t so sure their confidence, their belief in her was warranted.

Isobella placed a bowl in the dirt, along with candles, matches and a Ziploc bag of ingredients—herbs, berries and snail shells. Two sets. Gabriel, head of pack security and her stepsister’s mate, had said she would survive and thrive in the tenth century, hinting she may not be returning. Isobella was willing to put her faith in him, but only so far. If things all went to hell in the tenth century—not an unlikely possibility—Isobella wanted a way home. A way back to modern hospitals and chemotherapy, if it turned out they had it all wrong.

Survive and thrive. That was a mighty big carrot to dangle in front of someone with a cancer diagnosis. One Isobella couldn’t ignore.

Stef squeezed her hand. “Do you remember everything I told you about the Langeais wolves?”

Isobella stood, took a shaky breath and nodded. “Thanks, Stef.”

Along with practicing her skills as a witch and adding Old French to her language repertoire, Isobella had spent the last five months learning about the Langeais wolves’ tenth-century counterparts. Stef had drilled her on them relentlessly.

“Don’t forget, stay away from Comte Lothair,” said Stef. “He’s bad news.”

Avoiding Comte Lothair might prove a little difficult when they went after Faucher, but she’d do her best. From all she’d learned about him from Stef, she didn’t want to draw his attention. Not if she could help it.

“All right, everyone.” Gabriel clapped his hands. “We need to get this started. We have a limited window before the Kings or the Faucherians get wind of this. Given they’ve taken to working together, if they find out, they might descend on us with bigger numbers than we can counter.” Gabriel turned away to organize his men, shaking his head. “Faucherians. Stupid name.”

Yep. Even in the twenty-first century, Eveque Faucher had followers. Go figure. And the Kings…Cordelia King… Isobella shuddered. You’d think a woman in her eighties who knitted Christmas sweaters for her many descendants—Irena being one of them—would be content to bake cookies and spoil her grand-spawn. Not Cordelia. The woman ruled the King family with an iron fist and had more arcane power at her gnarled fingertips than any one person had a right to.

Isobella had only met her a few times, but she’d made an impression. Cordelia was one scary old lady. With any luck, she wouldn’t encounter anyone like Cordelia in the tenth century.

“You’re going to be fine.”

“Yeah.” Maybe. It’d be nice to have Stef’s confidence. The she-wolf didn’t back down from anything. Or anyone. She more than held her own against any of the male shifters. Or to have half of Annabelle’s courage. Never was there a more kick-ass witch than her stepsister.

But it wasn’t Annabelle or Stef going back to the tenth century. According to Gabriel, only Isobella could change the fate of the Langeais wolves and rewrite the history of witches. All she had to do was…what? Take out the eveque?

Annabelle wrapped Isobella in a hug. “You know I wouldn’t be letting you go if I didn’t believe it was for the best.”

A grand admission from Annabelle, since she’d been the one most against Isobella going.

“If something goes wrong, if for some reason I don’t come back, take care of my papá, yeah?”

“Of course.”