Page 5

Every cell in Gabriel’s body was attuned to the woman in his arms. His enhanced senses, his wolf and his hard-as-granite cock.

Oui , it wanted in. He wanted to rip off her clothes, stretch her naked body out on the cold tiles and devour her.

He wanted to sink into her wet heat, fuck her seven ways to Sunday until she forgave him.

Until she told him she was his in every way.

But as the pleasure from her orgasm faded, so, too, did Annabelle’s willingness to remain in his arms.

Her legs unclenched from around his hips, and she pushed against his chest, squirming in his hold. “Let me go.”

As much as his wolf rebelled, he did as she asked, stepping back and allowing her to slip off the vanity.

“Annabelle—”

“Don’t.”

She readjusted her soutien-gorge— a delicate pink lace that cupped her beautiful breasts to perfection and made him want to sink his face between those glorious, creamy mounds.

“This…” She wouldn’t look at him as she buttoned up her cardigan.

“It was a mistake. It shouldn’t have happened.

” Her face was flushed, and her eyes were bright, but she pressed her lips into a thin line and tilted her chin up at him.

“We have a job to do, and it doesn’t involve you fucking me and leaving again. ”

She pushed past him, flicking the lock and opening the door. “Call the High Priestess when you’re ready to get down to actual business. Until then, I’ve got work to do.”

He reached for her, but she slipped out of the bathroom and slammed the door in his face.

He raked a hand through his hair. “Well, that went better than I expected.”

His cock didn’t agree. It pressed up against his zipper, throbbing in tandem with his balls. He took a deep breath, willing it to calm down. He couldn’t very well step out into the hall and front up to the High Priestess with a raging erection.

The door to the bathroom swung open and Stef leaned against the door frame, her arms folded across her chest. “Tell me you didn’t just do what I think you did?”

He rubbed his hand across his chin. “Nope.”

“Oh, please. I can smell her on you, and I could hear you.”

“I didn’t fuck her, Stef. I wanted to, and she wanted me to, no matter what she might say, but I didn’t.” He clocked her skeptical expression, and waved his hand in front of his groin. “You think I’d still be in this condition if I had?”

Stef blew out a breath. “So, want to fill me in? Before this becomes a complete mess and the High Priestess sends us packing.”

“Annabelle and I have history. ”

Stef chortled. “Big surprise there.” She tilted her head and regarded him with those piercing green eyes of hers. “ This must be difficult for you, finding out you’ve slept with your ancestor.”

He shook his head. “She’s not. She can’t be. Look at her, Stef. She’s blonde and…and… Caucasian .”

Stef shrugged. “We wouldn’t be the first to make assumptions based on racial stereotypes. There could be any number of explanations for your features. One of your more recent ancestors may have been Spanish. Any one of them in the last thousand years, really, when you think about it.”

“That’s possible, I suppose, but…”

“Bella Rodriguez. Annabelle Jackson- Rodriguez. It seems pretty conclusive to me.” She slapped him on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “Come on, Gabriel. We’re werewolves. More than most, we should know better than to judge someone by their appearance.”

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “ Oui. I know, but … She can’t be my tenth-century ancestors’ mate. Edmond and Aubert can’t have her.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s mine .”

Stef pushed off from the door frame. “Are you sure?”

Was he sure? Yes. He recognized the signs.

The way he growled at Dutton when the warlock had staked his claim.

Even in Paris, he’d known. When he’d touched her, and his body had shot to attention in a heartbeat.

The way his cock no longer responded to any other woman but her, no matter how often he’d tried.

He’d given up in the end and, putain , he was tired of using his own hand.

Three long years of celibacy had sucked.

If that didn’t tell him she was his mate… “ Oui.”

“ Well then, this is going to be interesting.”

“ Oui.” He adjusted himself in his jeans.

“Can you liaise with the High Priestess? We need to set up a meeting with Annabelle, and at least appear to be coaching her for her trip back in time. See if you can find out anything about other coven members. Maybe suggest we need a standby, a back-up plan, should something happen to Annabelle. With any luck, she’ll suggest the right Bella and not that connard , Dutton. ”

She shrugged. “Okay, but you know, if there is no other Bella , she has to go. If she doesn’t, you won’t exist.”

“There has to be another Bella.” He pulled out his phone, searched his contacts and hit dial when he found the one he was looking for. “I’ll see if Pierre and Louis have finished their deep dive into the coven. Maybe they’ll have something.”

“Good luck.” Stef retreated to the High Priestess’ office.

There had to be another Bella. All the Montagnes in a long line of Montagnes had dark hair, dark eyes and olive skin.

They’d believed they’d gotten it from Bella Rodriguez.

Racial stereotypes aside, with a name like that, what they knew about her, and their appearance, it wasn’t a big leap to assume she was Hispanic or Latino. Had they got it wrong?

Stef was right. It could have come from any ancestor between then and now.

Knowing of Bella, they’d looked no deeper into the Montagne family tree.

Putain. What if the woman he knew as Annabelle Newman, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, was the woman who was supposed to go back in time?

His gut clenched and a hand fisted around his heart.

No. She’s mine. I’m sure of it.

Merde. Why the hell couldn’t his ancestors have been more like Stef’s?

It was the d’Louncrais journal that had warned them about Erin Richardson, the archaeologist who disappeared on a dig site in Langeais in 2016, only to turn up in the tenth century as the mate of Gaharet d’Louncrais.

Apparently, Stef had inherited her green eyes.

Next had come Rebekah Clarke, a bartender from London who’d disappeared one rainy night in two thousand and twenty-two. She’d mated Ulrik Voclain.

Then there was Bella Rodriguez—a witch from the United States. She’d traveled back to the tenth century some time in 2024 and mated his ancestors, twins Edmond and Aubert Montagne. Though the journal had mentioned Rebekah and Bella, the only one with any detail, any description, had been Erin.

The ringing stopped, and the phone clicked. Finally.

“Pierre—”

“ Je ne suis pas en mesure de répondre a votre appel pour le moment. Veuillez laisser un message et je vous repondrai des que possible.”

“ Putain. ” His voicemail.

He selected another number and tried again. Same answer. This time from Louis.

Gabriel hit end and checked his watch—five p.m. That made it…

one a.m. in France. Pierre and Louis were either sleeping or partying.

Or, knowing his younger brothers, they had a party for three going on.

He snorted. What was it with the twins in their family?

Like his tenth-century ancestors, Edmond and Aubert, his brothers preferred to share.

He shoved his phone back into his pocket.

He’d get nothing from them for a few hours.

Gabriel retraced his steps back to the High Priestess’ office.

Stef was right. If Annabelle was the Bella Rodriguez the journal talked about, he’d have to let her go.

If he didn’t, he wouldn’t exist. His whole life, everything, gone in the blink of an eye as if he had never been born at all.

But letting her go… He’d walked away from her once, in Paris, and it was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.

To let her go again might very well destroy him.