The Wolf Esprit: Lykanos Chronicles 3

My first week at the fortress proved so unlike anything I’d experienced before. Time seemed to race by. Every detail held some wonder, and I wanted more time to study it all. Even when matters of sorrow presented themselves, the three of us spoke with such ease, I forgot what it was like to live without my sixth sense.

Gabrielle continued instructing me on various scholarly subjects, from mathematics to literature, history, and art. The closest I’d ever experienced such focused study was as a six-year-old, seated at the table with Uncle Guillaume as he taught me how to read and write. Gabrielle was fierce in her scholastic focus, moving through equations or history at blinding speed, empowered by our ability to communicate as lycan, opening the most complex ideas with ease.

When she discussed Marcus Aurelius’ push for the first Marcomannic war, though my ears heard Gabrielle’s voice, and my eyes saw the text of his speech printed on the volume before me, my mind saw the man’s face as he looked up into the Roman Senate chamber. He spoke elegantly, with his hand outstretched and firm resolve in his eyes.

“Father’s memory of him,” she remarked when, reconciling the year of writing, I couldn’t comprehend how she knew the man’s living visage.

Gabrielle often littered her instruction with, “My father would say…” It was as if she felt no empirical review could ever outweigh his viewpoints. He was a master without exception; any man so old and knowledgeable must be. But I also believed no one could be a greater teacher than his daughter. Considering how deeply Gabrielle respected and honored the man who was her father and master, I presumed she wouldn’t receive my compliment, declaring it insincere flattery.

From Gabrielle came a gamut of emotions as she taught, her mind alight with joy, sorrow, humor, despair, frustration, and elation while she opened the world to me. She drenched each word in empathy for those figures she discussed. She made the subjects live and breathe inside me. It became impossible for me not to adore her.

“She’s been preparing for you for most of her life,” Maximillian told me when I said how our sessions were going. We trotted on horseback through the countryside, back to the fortress. He’d spent the morning showing me the full footprint of the estate.

“How do you mean?”

“Gabrielle was our father’s last pupil before he died. She came to him nearly your age, unable to read, knowing nothing about the world but its cruelties. And despite the abuses she’d suffered at the hands of older men, she let Father into her very soul. And then, long before she was ready to stand on her own two feet, they ripped Father away from us forever. Without warning, we became exiles, with only our memories of him left intact. Gabrielle’s spent every day since striving to complete his work by educating herself. She feels it’s the only way to honor his legacy, to repay him for what he gave us. She’s prepared herself to become the teacher other young lycan will need her to be. It would mean everything to her to know you feel about your lessons as you do.”

I blanched at the statement, confused by the sentiment, but accepting his insight. Who would know the woman better than he?

“I’ll tell her,” I said with a reluctant nod.

“Don’t worry, it won’t make me jealous,” he smiled.

“I don’t want her to think me false,” I struggled, ignoring his humor.

“Why would she ever think that? She’ll always know the truth of what you’re thinking. Even one day, when you’re strong enough to hide your mind from her, she’ll know. She’s no fool, Esprit.”

Though it was a pointed answer, the intimacy and patient affection of his voice left me feeling foolish. Of course, Gabrielle would know if I were lying. It was such an obvious oversight—a misperception worthy of a boy who hadn’t just spent a week among telepaths—and I wondered when I’d come to recognize who I now was.

“You beat yourself up over nothing,” Maximillian said with an exasperated shake.

Even that statement stunned me: how he could perceive my every thought. If possible, I felt doubly dense.

We arrived at the fortress, and Maximillian dismounted, handing his horse’s reins to the stable master. I had first struggled with riding, but with Maximillian’s help, I felt comfortable atop my horse by the third day. That comfort, however, didn’t stop me from stumbling backward when my feet touched the ground.

“Monsieur,” the stable master’s son said, and he reached to hold me by the shoulders to keep me from falling.

Embarrassed by my clumsiness, I avoided Maximillian’s gaze, though I heard his loud careful echo in my mind.

“Thank you,” I said to the young man, and looked back at him when I’d recovered.

“Monsieur,” he nodded.

I didn’t recall seeing him before this moment, but the young man must’ve been there the whole time. He looked into my eyes, as few servants would. Most stared off or looked to the ground, which was expected of them in a service position, I supposed. But he looked at me as if we were familiar.

He was taller than me by a foot with focused, dark blue eyes alive under a heavy brow. When he stared at me, my body reacted with various incongruent responses. My legs weakened, my body flooded with adrenaline, I felt my cock stiffen, and I lost the ability to speak for a full five seconds.

Despite the distraction, I asked his name.

“Tumas, Chevalier,” he nodded again without taking his eyes from mine.

“Thank you, Tumas.”

I can’t say for sure how long I lingered with his gaze. But when I turned away, Maximillian stared at me without the slightest look of concern for my footing.

“Hungry?”

His question came from a lit-up grin of mischief I deflected my eyes from with perfect mortification. And, of course, the indelicate expression never left his face throughout the following meal. Even when Gabrielle took his attention to discuss viticultural prospects, a topic that normally seized his focus, the slightest smirk never left his face.

“Have you told your aunt about your new friend?”

I didn’t look up from my pheasant, unwilling to be goaded now that Ducass had served lunch and had departed the dining room.

“Oh, how wonderful,” she answered, light filling her eyes and a smile blooming on her face. “Who’s your new friend?”

I said nothing in response but shook my head.

“Tumas,” he answered for me. “Monsieur Massart’s son.”

“Oh?” Gabrielle’s expression changed to slight hesitation.

“Yes, he fell into the boy’s arms earlier upon our return. It was quite inspiring.”

Again, I didn’t answer. I wouldn’t even look up from my plate.

“Maximo,” she whispered under her voice. I’d never heard Gabrielle call him that name, which sounded Italian or Spanish. From both their minds, I gleamed it was his true name.

“Indeed, the young man quite impressed our nephew. That was a shade of scarlet I’ve seldom seen.”

“He’s not ready,” she whispered again. “Don’t play with him like this.”

“Mon Dieu, I’m only teasing him. And he’s plenty ready. The best thing for him, I say. Seventeen is not an age to stifle such things. When I was seventeen, I couldn’t keep it in my pants.”

“Monsieur,” I said, raising my indignant eyes at him.

“Monsieur,” he answered, mirroring my tone with a sense of impatience. “My apologies if I embarrass you.”

I sighed and nodded after a moment, grateful for his apology, if not satisfied. I was relieved I’d made him stop.

“It’s just that I’m relieved to see you’re still in one piece,” he went on, correcting my presumption. “The crimes done to you—their lingering effects—it warms my heart to know they haven’t damaged that part of you. I won’t apologize for that. And I’d hope you realize by now these aren’t matters you could ever hide from us. Nor would I have you do such a thing. Embrace your feelings, son. Hold fast to them. You should follow them wherever they lead you.”

“Monsieur,” Gabrielle said to him with an amplified voice of impatience. “Enough. Can you not let him be? Why do you blind yourself from the moment? He doesn’t want you to be pushed.”

“Nonsense, madame. We all need a healthy push from those who love us. And who needs more support than one like him? He has only us now to help him step into manhood.”

“What help does he need? You said yourself he’s fine. Just let him do it on his own.”

“Esprit, forgive her,” he said to me. “She has no idea what lycan men must go through. The planning, the waiting, the teamwork involved. She still thinks she ended up in my bed by pure happenstance.”

I looked at Gabrielle, my embarrassment distracted by his statement, to find a look of perplexity in her eyes.

“Were you just feeling spontaneous that night, my love?”

Maximillian leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, evoking no response or break from her incredulous gaze.

“I can assure you it was anything but,” he eyed me with a nod. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll show you how to manage it. Hopefully, in fifty years, Tumas can also stare you down when he learns of how romance takes considerable planning and effort.”

Gabrielle stared at him with a cauldron of emotions behind the ice of her stare.

“You’re to be his pimp now, Monsieur?” she exclaimed after a long silence.

Maximillian dropped his fork on the plate with impatience.