She wanted to scream out her anguish, to rail at fate, to curse Charmion for her wickedness. Sin or not, she was suddenly glad she had killed the witch.
Blinded by her tears, she almost pitched forward over Misty’s neck when the mare came to an abrupt halt. Snorting softly, Misty danced sideways. It was then that Kristine saw the wolves. Four of them. Three sleek black ones and a large gray one. They stood side by side across the foot of the trail, blocking their passage. Fear slid down her spine. Were they Charmion’s pets, put there to prevent their escape?
“Erik?” She gathered Misty’s reins. “Erik?”
“It’s all right, Kristine,” he said reassuringly.
“What do you mean?” she asked, and then stared, mouth open, as one of the black wolves transformed into a beautiful young woman with luminous brown eyes. Thick, waist-length black hair fell down her back and over her bare breasts.
Feeling suddenly light-headed, Kristine clutched the reins. A gasp escaped her lips. Darkness gathered around her. “Erik . . .”
He glanced over his shoulder, then vaulted from the saddle and ran to Misty’s side. He caught Kristine as she toppled from the mare’s back.
Valaree came to stand beside him. “Is she all right?”
“She’s fainted.”
Valaree smiled. “I didn’t mean to frighten her.”
“It’s not just you. She’s been through a rather bad time in the last few weeks.” He stared down at Kristine’s pale face. “She killed Charmion.”
“The sorceress is dead?” Valaree exclaimed. Her gaze ran over Erik, her brows drawing together in a frown. “But the curse is not broken.”
“No,” he replied heavily. “I fear there is no way to break it now.”
“I know of a powerful mage who lives on the far side of the River Onyx. Perhaps he can help you.”
With a shake of his head, Erik muttered, “I doubt it.” His arms tightened around Kristine. “But I’m willing to try.”
He glanced down at Kristine as she stirred in his arms. Slowly, her eyelids fluttered open. “What happened?”
“You fainted.”
She stared at him a moment, and then she frowned. “The wolves . . .”
“They are friends of mine,” Erik said.
“Friends? Of yours? But one of them changed into a woman. I saw her.”
“They’re werewolves, Kristine, but there’s nothing to fear. They will not harm you.”
Kristine peered over Erik’s shoulder. The black-haired woman stood near Misty, her brown eyes serene. The other wolves sat in a group, tongues lolling, ears pricked forward.
“Are you feeling all right now?” Erik asked.
“I guess so.”
“Can you ride?”
She nodded.
Gently, he placed her on her feet, then put his good arm around her and drew her close to his side. “Don’t be afraid, Kristine. Valaree saved my life not long ago.”
Kristine looked up at him through narrowed eyes, unaccountably jealous of the affection she heard in his voice. “When? How?”
“Later.” He glanced up the narrow path, a shiver of unease slithering down his spine. “Let us get away from here and find a place to spend the night.”
Kristine nodded. She, too, was anxious to put as much distance between them and this place as possible. Erik lifted her onto Misty’s back, then mounted his own horse. Kristine looked around for Valaree, but the girl was gone, having transformed herself into a wolf again.
With a sigh, Kristine took up Misty’s reins, wondering if her life would ever be normal again.
They sought shelter in a small cave that was known to Valaree and her family. Erik tethered the horses to a nearby tree, fighting the despair that threatened to overtake him. Seeing Valaree again only served to remind him of what he would soon become. But unlike Valaree and her family, he would not have the advantage of changing into human form.
He shook the morbid thoughts from his mind and ducked inside the cave. A small fire burned near the entrance. Valaree knelt beside the fire, stirring something in a pot. A tall man rested with his back against the cave wall. One of the wolves lay beside him, its head resting on his lap, its eyes closed. A girl of perhaps two and twenty sat on his other side, brushing her hair. She sent Erik a friendly smile.
“Hello,” she said, “I’m Valaree’s sister, Elsbeth. This is my father, Ulric, and that,” she pointed at the wolf, “is my mother, Yolanthe.”
Erik nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Elsbeth.” He hesitated a moment, then offered Ulric his hand.
The werewolf sniffed Erik’s fingers, then took his hand. His handshake was strong and firm. “Are you certain Charmion is dead?”
Erik frowned. “As certain as I can be.”
“Did you take her head and her heart?”
“No.” Erik glanced at Kristine, saw the blood drain from her face.
“It is the only way to be certain she is truly dead,” Ulric remarked.
“But she had no pulse,” Kristine said. “No heartbeat.”
Ulric smiled reassuringly. “No doubt she is dead, then. Come, let us eat.”
Kristine had no appetite for food. Saying she had a headache, she went to the rear of the cave and stretched out on one of the furs spread against the back wall.
Erik sat near the fire with Valaree and her family. Valaree served up bowls of thick lamb stew. Erik recalled passing a small flock of sheep on their way to the cave, and Ulric’s subsequent disappearance. No doubt Valaree’s father had provided the meat for the stew.
“Your woman’s time is very close,” Elsbeth remarked.
“Yes,” Erik said. He slid furtive glances at Valaree and her family. Save for their eyes, which were slanted and thickly lashed, they appeared quite human as they sat across from him.
Valaree had told him this was a cave they used often. They kept a supply of clothing here, along with blankets and furs and several flasks filled with water. It was, she said, just one of the many places where they had supplies.
“You have questions,” Ulric said. “Ask them.”
“I’m sorry, I did not mean to stare.”
“It is natural for you to be curious,” Ulric remarked.
Erik nodded. Curious did not begin to describe what he was feeling, thinking. Fearing.
“When you are ready to talk, we are here to listen.” Ulric stood up, and the wolf stood with him. “Come,” he said, gesturing to his daughters. “Let us run beneath the stars.”