He stepped back, away from her, and in the moonlight coming through the trees, she got a better look at him. He was barefoot, dressed only in his breeches and shirt, and the shirt was untucked and disheveled, as if he’d thrown it on in a hurry.
“Then watch me and see if you think I have anything to do with those soldier-wolves,” he said.
Pulling his shirt off, he exposed his chest and the long, tight muscles in his shoulders and arms. Céline stood watching with her back against the tree.
In the next breath, he was on all fours and the hair on his head began receding as black fur sprouted from his skin. His face elongated and his arms changed into front legs.
Within seconds, Céline was staring at a tall black wolf. He was beautiful. There had been no pain involved—not even any real effort. The change had been quick and natural.
The wolf moved forward, and its back legs stepped out of Marcus’s breeches. Céline crouched down and held out one hand. It came to her, licking her hand and then pressing its nose into her cheek. When it pulled back slightly, she looked into its eyes. They were amber now, and not black, but she could see him in there.
The wolf was Marcus.
A few moments later, the fur receded and the hair on his head grew, and his snout receded and she was looking into the black eyes of a man again. He was naked but reached back for his breeches. He didn’t seem remotely embarrassed.
“I’ve nothing to do with whatever is happening to these soldiers,” he whispered. “I don’t care how many of them die, but I’m not responsible. My ability is natural, like yours, and I wouldn’t know how to pass it to someone else if I wanted to. Do you believe me now?”
Unfortunately, she did, which meant that with Keegan off the list, she had no suspects at all. However, Jaromir might feel quite differently about this situation.
As if reading her mind, Marcus asked, “Will you give me up to your lieutenant?”
“No. I won’t. I don’t think that would accomplish anything.”
Still holding his breeches in front of himself, he reached down for his shirt. “You should get back to camp and stay there.”
She knew he was right, but it felt wrong to leave things like this, as if they had more to say to each other—she simply had no idea what. “Marcus, be careful. Don’t let any of the soldiers see you . . . in your other form. Don’t give them any excuse to kill you.”
Then she walked away, heading back to camp. Once she was among the soldiers’ tents again, she went straight into Keegan’s and stood over his bed. He was still sleeping easily.
But she hadn’t even sat down when footsteps sounded from behind her, and Corporal Quinn came around the tapestry. Though he looked tired and troubled, he was apparently still his normal capable self.
“I’m sorry you’ve been left here so long,” he said. “I was overseeing the night watch, but I think we’re as secure as possible, and the lieutenant is hiding in the barn, guarding Graham.” It was a pity he’d chosen to serve under Keegan. He could have gone further in his career by now. “Your man, Rurik, is waiting outside to take you back to your own tent to get some rest.”
“Oh . . . are you sure, Corporal? I don’t mind sitting with the captain.”
“No, you go. I’ll sit with him.”
Céline wasn’t sure she could sleep, but she was beyond tempted by the thought of crawling under her covers and closing her eyes and shutting out the world for a little while.
So she stood up. “Thank you.”
As she made to leave, he said, “My lady?”
“Yes?”
“Did you . . . did you really see a vision of Guardsman Graham as the next man to be turned? I don’t mean to insult you, but this isn’t just a ruse the lieutenant planned to try to lure out whoever is responsible?”
Céline sighed softly. “I don’t exactly see visions, but, yes, I saw Graham changing.”
“So you can see the future, and your sister can see the past?”
This was becoming tiresome. “Of course we can. Prince Anton would never risk disappointing his father by sending two charlatans all the way out here, would he?”
“No . . . I suppose not. Forgive me.”
“Good night, Corporal.”
She left the tent and was so relieved at the sight of uncomplicated, good-natured Rurik waiting for her outside that she took his right arm with both hands.
“How is Amelie?” she asked as they walked.
“Asleep,” he answered, “but she went to bed fully clothed and told me to suggest the same to you, just in case . . . in case . . .”
Céline nodded, still gripping his arm. “Yes, just in case.”
Chapter Twelve
Amelie was sleeping deeply when a sound registered on the edge of her awareness. She rolled onto her side, and the sound came again. This time, she opened her eyes. Before going to bed, she’d left their small lantern glowing, and it still provided some light. The first thing she saw was Céline sleeping beside her, dressed in her lavender wool. Amelie had left on her own light blue gown in the event that something should happen in the night.
Had Céline made a sound that woke her?
The sound came again, and Amelie froze. She’d heard a low growl.
Rolling ever so slowly toward the outside of the bed, she looked into the open space of the tent. Two red eyes stared back at her.
“Céline,” she whispered, reaching back to touch her sister. “Wake up.”
Céline murmured, “What? Amelie, what did you say?”
“Wake up, but don’t move.”
The beast crouched on the floor snarled this time, and Céline sat up.
“No!” Amelie cried, but it was too late.
The movement caused the enormous wolf to rush, and on instinct, Amelie grabbed Céline and rolled off the other side of the bed, onto the fur-covered ground.
“Rurik!” Amelie screamed as loudly as she could, hoping he had a spear in his tent. “Rurik!”
Both sisters scrambled backward as the wolf-beast landed on their bed, slavering and snarling and sniffing the air. Its red eyes fixed on them, and it leaped again. Cursing, Amelie shoved Céline aside and then cast about for anything she might use as a weapon.
But she saw nothing except the beast in midair, leaping straight toward her.
Suddenly, it yelped and was knocked aside, and Amelie jumped to her feet. A smaller wolf—black—had knocked the massive one off its feet and was slashing at it with teeth and claws.
The wolf-beast roared in pain as the smaller one got ahold of one side of its throat and held on. Coming back to herself, Amelie made a dash for her boot, for her dagger—the only weapon she had in this tent. Gripping the sheath, she jerked the blade from the boot and whirled toward the pair of snarling wolves rolling on the ground.
“Don’t hurt the black one,” Céline cried. “It’s Marcus.”
But as the words left her mouth, the black wolf yelped as the larger one slashed it across the chest, and the massive one bolted for the back of the tent, breaking out underneath the canvas wall, ripping out a tent peg in the process, and leaving a large portion of fabric flapping in the night breeze.
A groan sounded, and Amelie spun around to see Marcus lying on the ground, naked and bleeding from the chest.
“Amelie!” a voice called.
Rurik came running past the tent flap into the tent, wielding a sword. He looked around wildly for something to fight, and his eyes lowered to Marcus on the floor. Céline had dropped beside Marcus and covered the lower half of his body with her red cloak.
“What . . . what’s happening?” Rurik asked.
“It was inside the tent,” Amelie blurted, “one of the wolves, but Marcus fought it off and it ran out there.” She pointed to the loose tent wall flapping in the night air.