Page 41 of Wolf’s Return (The Wolves of Langeais #4)

D’Artagnon’s eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared at the scene before him.

Two naked women cowered in the corner, raised welts and bloody claw marks across their backs and thighs.

They huddled together, whimpering. Fully armored, Lance faced him.

His sense of smell was as strong as theirs. He had known they were coming.

“Well, well, well.” Lance drew his sword.

“Look who is back from the dead.” His gaze slid past D’Artagnon.

“And you have enlisted the aid of the pup and the pack’s embarrassment.

” His smile was devoid of any humor. “You think any of you are a match for me ?” He angled his sword at Aimon.

“ You are but three years turned. You ”—he pointed his sword at Ulrik—“have barely had you head out of a wine barrel for years. And you ”—he swung his sword around to D’Artagnon—"I cut you down once. I will do it again. This time I will make certain you are—”

“How about me?” Gaharet pushed into the room. “And them?”

Edmond, Aubert and Farren stood behind him in the doorway.

A muscle ticked in Lance’s jaw. “Well, I guess there is no point in proclaiming my innocence.”

D’Artagnon blocked Gaharet with his body and advanced on Lance. The room was small, with little space to swing a sword, but that would not stop him from taking Lance’s head.

Lance backed toward the window, but Ulrik outflanked him, blocking his escape. Lance snarled, but he did not appear cowed.

“Where is Godfrey, Lance?”

At his brother’s words, D’Artagnon halted. Lance had nowhere to go, and they needed answers.

Lance shrugged. “Somewhere you will never find him.”

D’Artagnon pressed forward. You could do a lot of damage to a werewolf before killing him. Of that, D’Artagnon was living proof. And if that is what it took to get information from Lance, D’Artagnon would not hesitate.

Lance scowled at D’Artagnon. “Why could you not have just curled up and died?” He jabbed his sword at Gaharet. “And you. W hy were you not more like your father? Why did you remain so strong? It was meant to be mine! All of it. You took it from me. She was meant to be mine. And Jacques took her.”

Spittle flecked Lance’s lips, his veneer of civility slipping. He had fooled them all. They tightened the circle, hemming in their betrayer. There was no escape for him. Time for his debt to be paid.

Lance threw back his head and laughed. “You think yourself so powerful . So untouchable. I showed you. I showed you all. It was me. All of it. I may have used Renaud, but it was I who took away your pack and reduced you to a handful of men.” He shook his head, focusing on Gaharet.

“And still you believe in your own power.” There was a smugness to his smile.

“You were stupid coming here. With all of your men at your back. You have left your most prized possession unguarded.” His face contorted, his eyes filled with an unholy rage.

“I will have my due! The d’Louncrais will fall! ”

The growls of his pack surrounded him.

Gaharet stepped forward, his brow furrowed. “There are seven of us, and but one of you. What makes you think you will leave this room alive?”

Unease slithered in D’Artagnon’s gut. His brother was right to be cautious, to be curious. Faced with six werewolves and an experienced chevalier, why was Lance so confident? His reactions were not those of a cornered man. One facing his own death.

“You think you are the only one with access to a witch?” said Lance. “That is the benefit that comes with age, Gaharet. I know things you do not. My witch once cooked a man’s blood, boiled him alive from the inside out. Can yours do that?”

Cordelia. How is that possible? Tumas had been but a boy. Lance might be older, and werewolves lived longer lives, but would a witch? She would have to be very old.

Lance raised his sword, but did not brandish it at D’Artagnon or Gaharet. Instead, he sliced the blade across his palm. Blood dripped to the floor. “Did your witch teach you blood magic?”

Lance began to chant. No! D’Artagnon roared and lunged for him, but clutched on empty air, colliding with the wall. Lance was gone. His nemesis had vanished. Only his scent and the hum of his bitterness lingered in the room.

Merde. D’Artagnon spun around to the shocked expressions of his pack mates.

“We left our most prized possession unguarded. That is what Lance said. He has gone to the keep.” Gaharet’s face paled. “Erin.”

The blood in his veins turned to ice. With blood magic like that, no amount of guards or fortifications would keep him out. Constance.

D’Artagnon pushed past the twins and Farren and pounded down the stairs, Gaharet, Aimon and Ulrik close on his heels.

They had all left their mates behind. He plunged from the rank air of the pleasure house and out into the street, and skidded to a halt.

Lothair, surrounded by his keep guard, blocked their way.

Merde.

With a slow shake of his head, Comte Lothair crossed his arms. “Gaharet, Gaharet, Gaharet. You have you been keeping secrets from me again?”

Lothair eyed D’Artagnon up and down, settling on his scar, and D’Artagnon fought the instinct to hide it beneath his hair.

Curiosity and a myriad of questions brimmed in the comte’s eyes.

Questions D’Artagnon had no intention of answering.

Not now. His brother’s mate and unborn pup were in grave peril.

And Constance was with them. He took a step toward the comte, with a mind to shoulder his way through the keep guards.

A ring of steel snapped into place, swords leveled at his chest.

Lothair sidled up to him. “Now, now D’Artagnon. What is the rush?”

D’Artagnon stood his ground. It would take more than Comte Lothair and a handful of his keep guards to stop D’Artagnon from going after Lance. Ending this once and for all.

Gaharet stepped between them. “Now is not the place for this discussion. Nor the time.” He leaned closer to the comte, keeping his voice low. “Lance was Renaud’s informant.”

“Well, then.” Lothair gestured at the pleasure house. “Let us apprehend him.”

D’Artagnon snarled his frustration.

“He is no longer inside,” muttered Gaharet.

Lothair’s brows shot up toward his hairline. “No longer—” He waved his hand at them. “Lance got past all of you?”

“We need to get back to my keep. Now .”

Lothair scrutinized them all, then gave a nod to his men. “Lower your swords.” He looked around. “Where are the rest of your horses?”

Gaharet pointed beyond the wall. “In the forest.”

“Capitaine , ” Lothair called the man over. “Send two men to fetch their horses. And bring me a score of mounted men, and my horse saddled and ready to ride. Meet me at the gate. Go.”

The capitaine issued orders and scurried off with the guards.

Lothair turned toward the gate. “Walk with me.”

D’Artagnon gritted his teeth, but followed. At least they were heading in the right direction. And the keep guard was gone. Their drawn swords had made his skin itch, his wolf bursting to come out.

They hustled out of the alley, the few people in these narrow back streets scurrying out of their way.

“I guessed you were after Lance when you all converged on the pleasure house,” said Lothair.

“I have spies, too, Gaharet. There is nothing that goes on in my county that I do not know about.” He gave D’Artagnon a hard look.

“Mostly. But why are we heading for your keep? Would we not be better served going after Lance?”

Lothair was helping them?

“Lance has gone after our mates,” said Gaharet, the fear for Erin and his pup in the pace of his strides and the terseness of his voice.

Lothair grunted. “It is a wonder your kind has survived this long. Threaten your women and it brings you to your knees. How did Lance evade you all? He did not leave through the door as you did. Out the window, perhaps?”

D’Artagnon could not stop the growl that rumbled in his chest at the thought of Cordelia. “He has a witch on his side.”

Lothair stopped abruptly. “A witch?” He shook his head and caught up with them.

“Werewolves, magical amulets, a chevalier who comes back from the dead. It should not surprise me witches also exist.” Lothair sighed.

“Best we keep this information from that witch hunter, Faucher. Or maybe we tell him and use Faucher to track her down.”

D’Artagnon tightened his grip on his sword. Risk Faucher finding Constance? If he had to silence Lothair himself, he would not let that happen.

Gaharet halted. “This is pack business, Lothair. Do not involve yourself in it. It gives you plausible deniability if Faucher does become involved.”

“On no.” Lothair squared off with Gaharet.

“Lance is as much my problem as he is yours. Do you not remember your vows that you so recently swore to me? You serve me, and in return, I grant you my protection. You are my most trusted vassal, Gaharet. Dare I say you are my friend? I protect what is mine . If you are going to face Lance, then so am I. With my keep guard at my back. Let them all see we are a united force.”

D’Artagnon rounded on Lothair and his brother. “We are wasting time.”

“Very well, Lothair. Your men may prove helpful,” said Gaharet. “They will grant us clear passage to my keep. But I warn you, no one, not even you, will interfere with pack justice. And if the witch should make an appearance, leave her to us.”

His brother trusted Lothair? Wariness leaked from his brother. No, Gaharet did not trust their comte. Not completely.

“Of course.” He held his hand out in front of him. “Shall we?”

They hastened through the square, murmurs of Mon Seigneur Comte following them.

D’Artagnon’s skin crawled. So many people.

Too many. He quickened his pace. He wanted to be free of the village and on his way back to the keep.

If the spell Lance had used was anything like the one on the amulets, Lance was already there.