Page 32

Isobella recoiled. “But I’m a vegetarian.”

A what?

“I don’t eat meat.”

Yet her nostrils flared, and she licked her lips. Those delicious plump lips he would like nothing more than to taste. He would have, had not the chevaliers from House Allard attacked them.

He held the meat closer. Her stomach rumbled. He bit back a grin. As a human, she might not have eaten meat. As a werewolf, her body would crave it. The fresher and the bloodier, the better.

She reached for the knife. He wanted to pull it away, to feed her himself. His mate. Conscious of all eyes at the table on him, including Gaharet’s, he relinquished the knife and watched, transfixed, as she took a bite. She closed her eyes, and a small moan slipped from her lips, a mere whisper of sound, but it shot straight to his cock. Aubert’s nostrils flared.

Gaharet cleared his throat, and Edmond reluctantly pulled his attention away from Isobella. Gaharet may not have been alpha at the time they had met Sabine, but he would remember. How he and Aubert had fought over her. How it had all ended. The day after he and his brother had fought almost to the death, choosing instead to reconcile.

They would talk. It was in his alpha’s eyes, but not here, not now.

Gaharet broke a piece of bread in his hands. “You said the Langeais wolves and your coven sent you here. Is that right, Isobella?”

Isobella chewed another mouthful of meat before answering. “Yes.”

“And you used a spell from this grimoire to get here.”

“Mmhmm.” Isobella nodded, slicing off another morsel.

“Probably the same one Lance used to escape us,” rasped Ulrik.

“Agreed,” said Gaharet.

Edmond slid another piece of meat onto Isobella’s plate. Then another. He hid a smile. For someone who professed to not eat meat, she was devouring it. He looked forward to the day he could take his mate on a hunt—tracking their prey, the wind in their fur, feasting on their fresh kill together.

A trickle of meat juice forged a path down her chin, and it took every ounce of discipline he had not to lean forward and lick it from her skin. Instead, he wiped it with his thumb, brushing it over those lips. Her eyes widened, and she tracked him as he sucked the juice from his thumb.

He caught Aubert watching him, the heat in his brother’s eyes unmistakable, but there was no anger, no rage at another man touching his mate. Aubert looked away, filling his own plate.

Gaharet paused in the act of slathering butter on his bread. “Why have you come, Isobella?”

Isobella ducked her head. “My task is to help you deal with Faucher.”

“Why you in particular?” Gaharet asked. “What is it that you can offer us that had both your coven and our descendants choosing to send you?”

Edmond set his knife down with a clatter. What was Gaharet’s point? Isobella was a witch. One who could command the elements. Constance was a witch, too. A strong healer. Her knowledge of their pack, her ability to heal, was unsurpassed, yet Edmond had not seen or heard of her being able to do anything like what he had witnessed Isobella do in the forest. Isobella would be a valuable asset. And her knowledge of this witch, Cordelia, was also of use.

“I…” Isobella stared at her plate, seeming to shrink before his eyes.

He glared at Gaharet and opened his mouth to defend his mate.

Gaharet held up a hand in warning. “Isobella, look at me.”

Isobella raised her gaze. Few could resist the command of an alpha. Isobella was no exception.

“Why you?”

“I…” Her gaze skipped from him to Aubert and back to Gaharet, those big brown eyes shimmering with uncertainty. “I really don’t know. All I know, all Gabriel Montagne and Stefanie d’Louncrais told me, was that it had to be me.”