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He had claimed his mate, as it should have been the first time. And she had claimed him, too. He collapsed back onto the covers with her, cradling her in his arms. He retracted his canines and licked the wound on her shoulder, watching it close. She was his, and he was hers. Right now, despite the trouble their pack faced, that was all that mattered to him in this world.

* * * *

Isobella stirred. Beside her, wrapped around her, was Edmond, snoring softly. She smiled and stretched within his arms, her body deliciously sore. After he’d taken great care in cleaning her, he’d fed her. Slices of cheese and pieces of fruit, the brush of his fingers against her lips reigniting the tingles in her core. Popped grapes between his teeth and offered them to her, making her take them directly from his mouth. Holding a goblet of wine to her lips for her to drink, spilling some over her breasts—deliberately—then licking her clean. She hadn’t laughed so much in a long time. And they’d had sex—no, made love—twice more. What they’d shared was not just sex. It was more. It was fun, but it was tender. An exploration of each other, a learning, with a connection that went beyond the body. It was everything she’d ever hoped for and then some, but had never had.

Isobella chewed on the inside of her cheek. She suspected she may have part shifted in the heat of the moment, but she hadn’t been brave enough to ask. Edmond hadn’t seemed to mind. Nor that she’d bitten him. She rubbed her hand across the spot between her neck and shoulder, now smooth and unmarked. He had bitten her, too. And she’d liked it. The possessiveness of it. Like he’d claimed her. Would Aubert want to bite her, too? The thought of it sparked a fresh awareness tingling across her body. She wanted that. Soon. When they returned to the d’Louncrais keep and they didn’t need to hide anything from anyone.

Isobella snuggled into Edmond, but he was so sound asleep he didn’t budge. That made her smile. She’d worn him out. He’d worn her out. The only thing that would make this more perfect was if Aubert were here.

A noise, a groan, had Isobella stiffening. She snapped her eyes open, her skin prickling with an altogether different awareness. They were no longer alone. Aubert? Could he have snuck in from the hall once everyone was asleep?

She listened, keeping as still as she could, moving only her eyes. The oil lamps had gone out, and the coals in the brazier no longer glowed. The abandoned food platter lay on the floor, the empty jug next to it. Nothing looked out of place.

A cool draft brushed against her naked shoulders. There was someone in the room.

Edmond hadn’t moved. He was still snoring softly. Isobella worried the inside of her cheek. He was a warrior, a born shifter. Nothing would get the jump on him. Was she being paranoid? Jumpy because she was in a strange place with so much danger surrounding them? That draft, as though the door to this bedchamber were open, bothered her. But if someone were truly here with them, why would she wake and not him?

Then she sensed it, barely discernible, but there all the same. A soft hum hovering over her mate. Magic. Nausea curdled her stomach. Once again, she’d failed them. Failed to recognize when magic was at play. The whole damn reason they’d brought her along to Langeais in the first place. But who? Cordelia? Her gaze slid to the table, searching, hoping she was wrong. She wasn’t. The grimoire was gone. That was what had awoken her—the release of her magic. It had overridden the spell placed on them. For her, at least.

That sense they were not alone still prickled across her skin. What was Cordelia waiting for? It had to be her, coming for her grimoire. The walls of the keep and all the keep guard wouldn’t be enough to keep her out. But if Cordelia had taken it, why was she still here? Why were they still alive? Had Isobella awoken in the nick of time?

Her instincts were screaming at her, but there was no chanting, no whisper of magic releasing. Someone was still in the room with them, but nothing was happening. Could the breaking of her ward have done more damage than she’d thought? To a witch as powerful as Cordelia?

Ignoring the rush of blood in her ears, she reached out with her senses, beyond Edmond. There. Near the open door. A sound. She focused on it, narrowed it down. Heavy breathing, gasping almost, and a softly whispered, “Bitch.”

Isobella’s eyes widened. She knew that voice. It wasn’t Cordelia.

She sat up, clutching the covers to her chest. Douglas, but not the Douglas she knew, crouched against the wall by the door. His features were shifting. One minute it was a round, ruddy face with a bulbous nose. The next it was Douglas. He’d used magic to disguise his features. And her ward had hurt him. Knocked him to the ground. He was doubled over and in obvious pain. Satisfaction burned in her chest. Serves him right.

Isobella shook Edmond, but he didn’t respond. It could be hours before the magic wore off. She might need to break the spell herself but she didn’t have time for that. The grimoire was still within her reach.

Isobella threw back the covers and skirted the bed, oblivious of her nakedness. “Douglas.” Isobella approached him. “Give me back the grimoire.”

His head jerked up, and he snarled. “Fucking bitch.”

He launched himself to his feet. She reached for him, for the grimoire. He shoved her back against the bed, then stumbled to the door and out into the corridor.

Isobella turned to Edmond. He hadn’t moved. “Edmond.” She shook him again. “Edmond, wake up! Douglas has the grimoire.” She slapped him hard. His snores didn’t even miss a beat.

Shit.

She would have to go after Douglas herself. She ignored her chemise, her boots and her dress, and slipped on her underdress—it would have to do. She raced out of the door in time to see Douglas disappearing down the stairs. He wasn’t moving fast. He limped, doubled over. Smug satisfaction filled her. So much for her magic being useless.