Page 82 of Wolves’ Witch

Chapter Forty-One

With the help of Gaharet and D’Artagnon, Edmond shielded Isobella from the keep guard, but Lothair’s eyes, dark circles beneath them, didn’t miss a thing.

Lothair lowered his sword. “Guards, leave us. Wait at the end of the corridor. No one comes in, no one leaves without my authority.”

They sheathed their weapons and filed out, clomping down the hall with a jingle of chain mail. Lothair closed the door and stepped further into the room. Far enough to get a clear view of Isobella naked, the grimoire on the floor and Aubert’s hands around Douglas’ throat.

Edmond held his wolf in check. If Lothair so much as looked in Isobella’s direction one more time, it would not be possible for him to contain himself, or his wolf. Attacking Lothair would not be wise. He released Isobella long enough to remove his tunic and slip it over her head, then she lunged for the grimoire.

Lothair stabbed the cover with the point of his sword, and she snatched her hand away, retreating. Edmond pulled her back into the safety of his arms.

“I thought she was but a witch, but now I see she is both witch and wolf.” Lothair shook his head. “Another one turned, I take it, and still you do not accede to my request. Tsk, tsk, Gaharet, this is getting tiresome.” He tapped the book with the tip of his sword. “And what is so important about this book?” He scooped it up from the floor, flicking through the pages, his frown deepening. “And who is this man Aubert is intent on choking the life out of?”

“He is a warlock,” said Gaharet. “One of the witch Cordelia’s underlings.”

Lothair’s face brightened. “Excellent. He should be full of all manner of information.” Lothair gestured to the hole in the floor. “It is a fortuitous thing my men haven’t finished filling in my underground chamber. He can go in there until he gives up all his secrets. Aubert, let him go. A few days locked in the dark with Renaud’s corpse should loosen his tongue.”

Aubert snarled. Edmond’s hold on Isobella tightened. What Lothair proposed for Douglas was unpleasant, but their mate’s fury, her pain, hung in the air thicker than an autumn fog. Douglas deserved more than unpleasant.

Gaharet laid a hand on Aubert’s shoulder. “Let him go.”

Aubert’s growl filled the room, and for a moment Edmond thought he would refuse. It was one thing to kill a man in Lothair’s keep. It was another defying a direct command from both him and their alpha.

Aubert let go, and Douglas dropped to the floor, gasping for breath and clasping his throat. Aubert fake lunged at him, and Douglas scrambled back into the corner, but once beyond Aubert’s reach his sly grin was back.

Lothair waved his sword at the hole in the floor. “Put him in the underground chamber and lock the grate. I will question him myself in the morn.”

No one moved. A muscle ticked in Lothair’s jaw.

“Do you think that is wise?” asked Gaharet. “He is—”

“Gaharet.” Lothair turned tired eyes on their alpha. Disheveled, Lothair had the look of a man who had either not slept or not slept well. “I am in no mood for you to challenge my wishes. Lock him in the underground chamber. Now.”

With obvious reluctance, Gaharet and D’Artagnon grabbed Douglas by the arms and pulled him to his feet. He made no protest when they dragged him to the hole in the ground.

They stepped back, and Gaharet grabbed the grate. “Down you go.”

Douglas backed down one step, then another. Red marks the shape of Aubert’s hands colored the skin of his throat, but Douglas was not cowed. Not in the slightest. Because he was a warlock? Would an iron grate hold him? From the smug grin on Douglas’ face, Edmond did not believe so.

Aubert shoved the warlock down another step. “He said, down you go.”

Douglas glanced over his shoulder at the looming darkness that would soon swallow him. He shrugged, then looked straight at Isobella. He cocked his fingers in an odd manner, one finger pointing at Isobella and his thumb raised. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

Before anyone could stop him, Aubert was upon Douglas, his dagger in his hand, thrusting it into Douglas’ chest. The warlock gasped, his breath forced from his lungs. He grabbed for the dagger with both hands, but Aubert was a skilled warrior, and with his strength behind his blade he had driven deep. Angled it to create maximum damage. It was too late. The warlock was already dead, though he did not yet realize it.

Aubert wrenched the dagger free. Douglas choked and coughed up blood. Then Aubert gave Douglas a shove, and he toppled backward down the stairs, disappearing into the darkness. He hit the bottom with a sickening thud.

“Well,” said Edmond. “He is in your underground chamber, and unlikely to ever leave it. Company for Renaud.”

Edmond could not say he was sorry. If Douglas were free, Isobella would never be safe. Edmond would have bet the entire coin in their estate if Douglas were to have been left alone, iron grate or no, he would have been gone by morn.

Aubert wiped the blood from his dagger on his tunic and slipped it back into its sheath. D’Artagnon understood. He would have killed Didier for hurting Constance if he had had the chance. From the hint of a shrug from Gaharet, it was clear his alpha did too. And Edmond…he would have done the same if he had had the chance.

Lothair’s face was taut, his hand gripped tight around the hilt of his sword. From the fury in his eyes, he wanted to strike him. Or perhaps run him through. Or both. Aubert ignored him and crossed the room to stand in front of Isobella. She reeked of sex and Edmond, his brother’s tunic loose around her shoulders, the neckline plunging between her breasts. The sight of her had him wanting to drop to his knees and pull her close, but he did not. Though it sliced him to the bone as surely as Lothair’s sword would, he had to know. “Is it true?”

Wide brown eyes stared up at him.

“Did you volunteer?”