North Wolf

by M. A. Everaux

  Blushing slightly, Gwen ducked her head. Okay, so he’s not that polite. “Um, yeah. I kind of get them whenever I…well, when I become ill.”

  “Blood spots,” he murmured, sipping.

  “Yup.” Smiling nervously, she laced her fingers together on the counter. “I’ve always gotten them. They drove my mother nuts.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, she wanted me to do pageants. You know, those beauty pageants for little girls and teens. But I always got really nervous before. And during, and after,” she amended quickly. “I would almost always throw up, and then I’d get spots and ruin everything for her. It was awful.”

  “You didn’t like doing pageants, then?” he asked carefully.

  She shook her head vehemently. “I hated them. But my mother really wanted me to do them, to coach me, you understand.”

  She fiddled with a spoon left on the counter and fell silent. She was wearing another long-sleeved shirt with a dark T-shirt over, reading I’m a bitch. Deal with it. in stenciled, red letters.

  Setting his cup down, Connor asked, “So what will you have for breakfast?”

  She looked up at him and shrugged. “Cereal is fine.”

  “You’re easy then,” he said, going to the cupboard and pulling a box down. “The boys tend to want a full meal, with eggs, bacon, potatoes and tomatoes.” He handed the box to her and took down a bowl and spoon as well.

  She took the items from him with a small smile. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure, child.”

  She prepared her bowl of cereal and then sat and munched for a few minutes. She looked up to see him studying her intently. “What?” she asked.

  As he refilled his cup, Connor said, “Go ahead. Ask anything you like.”

  Gwen choked on her cereal. Her hand flew up, covering her mouth as she mumbled, “Sorry?”

  “Those questions buzzing about in your head. Why don’t you ask what you want to know?”

  Setting her spoon aside, she gulped and tried to get her thoughts together. After a minute, she said, “Okay. I’ll ask. Where’s your wife?”

  He glanced down at the coffee cup in his hands, turning it gently between his fingers. The gold of his wedding band sparkled in the light of the kitchen. “She died. Many years ago, even before I had Eben.”

  “You adopted him, too.”

  “Yes. I found him when he was fifteen. I was touring Istanbul, and found him living on the streets. He’s been with me ever since.”

  “So I’m number three then?” She concentrated on her bowl and waited.

  “Three what?”

  She shrugged. “Rescues. You said Christian was adopted too, and I just assumed…”

  “You’re correct,” he mused, smiling over the fact. “That makes you number three, although you’re over the age of adoption.”

  “So what are you doing with me?” she questioned, getting back to the main point. “I was on a regimen of medication. You don’t even have my records, so how will you continue?”

  He sighed and set his cup aside. “Child, all those medicines were killing you. Eben could see it, Christian could see it, and when they brought you here, I saw it. You are ill, Gwen. But there’s nothing wrong in your head. Your illness is from the drugs, the environment and the lifestyle they were forcing you into.

  “How do you know?” she argued, confused. “You know nothing about me.”

  “You’re a good girl.” His eyes dared her to argue. “And you’ll do fine. My only worry is that your body will give out on you before I’m able to make you well. Now, finish your cereal.”

  Gwen frowned down at her bowl, but ate another bite.

  “I’d like to ask a question, if I may.”

  She nodded, still chewing.

  “Your wrists. I’d like to see them, please.” He watched her, a small smile on his face as she almost fell off her stool in shock.

  Her spoon clanged against the side of the bowl. She swallowed as she stared at him. “That’s not exactly a question.”

  “Call it a request, then.” He straightened in front of her, looking just how a king should look, or maybe a general when addressing his troops. “Come,” he urged. “Lay them out so I can see.” He patted a space on the counter.

  A spot of cold rushed up her spine. Slowly, she pulled her sleeves up and laid her hands on the counter, palms up.

  Connor fished in his robe pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses. After slipping them on, he turned first one wrist toward the light, and then the other, making little “hmmm” sounds as he did so.

  When he was done, he removed his glasses and slipped them back in his pocket. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at her. “You did it very precisely, didn’t you?”

  Gwen pulled her wrists back and shoved her sleeves down. Picking up her spoon, she toyed with the mushy O’s of the cereal and shrugged. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

  His eyes refused to back down. “Are you going to try it again, Gwen?”

  She stilled for a minute. Then, slowly, she shook her head. “Not that I know of.”

  He raised his brows at her answer. She sighed. “No.”

  “Good. I’d hate to be deprived of your company, child.”

  Silence overtook the kitchen. Gwen refused to meet his eyes as she methodically mashed the O’s against the side of her cereal bowl.

  “I’m going to leave you to finish your cereal and go get dressed. Afterward, I’ll show you about the property and answer any other questions you have. All right?” He tipped his head to the side and looked directly into her eyes.

  She nodded. Whistling a little tune, he left the kitchen, a slight spring in his step.

  “So what is it you guys do here?” she asked, looking out over the trees and hills. “Or does everyone own hundreds of acres just for fun?”

  So far, they’d viewed the house, all three floors—although they skipped the occupied rooms—the barns, complete with six horses, and another, smaller building where Connor stored his “stuff”, which was everything from old bicycles to broken bird feeders. They skipped over the garage, and one other building that was farther from the house. Gwen hadn’t bothered asking about it. Now, after a short walk through the woods, they had stopped at a small pond, frozen over and covered in a thick layer of snow, so she could rest and catch her breath. She inhaled deeply, reveling in the crisp fragrance of the cold air. It had a slight piney scent that reminded her of Christmas.

  Smiling slightly, Connor replied, “We like the peace and quiet. And I’m a sculptor, if you’re asking about my career. And I’ve had occasion to paint, when the mood comes on me.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Really? I’ve never met an artist before.”

  “Now you have. Shall we return? I’d hate for you to catch a chill.”

  They walked back to the house companionably. He’d put quite a bit of effort into reassuring her and making her feel comfortable. And it’d helped. She felt almost as if she were visiting a family friend.

  “I can’t believe how big this place is,” she said again as they stomped into the house.

  “It’s a vast area. Many families here own large parcels of land. And besides, the horses like it.”

  Gwen didn’t point out that most people didn’t buy so much land for their horses. “Can I see your studio?”

  Connor took her jacket from her and hung it in the closet. “If you like,” he replied easily.

  Almost squirming with excitement, Gwen nodded.

  He led the way to the second floor and opened one of the few doors he hadn’t before. Gwen gasped.

  “Holy shit.” She clapped her hand over her mouth and stepped inside the room, twirling slowly, not quite believing what she was seeing. It was simply too marvelous for words.

  “It’s nice, isn’t it?” Christian remarked from the doorway, wearing only a pair of boxers, obviously still waking up as he leaned against the doorway, his toothbrush in hand.

  Gwen ignored h
im and stared at the walls, each one completely covered with beautiful mosaics of the forest, some with dark animals peering out, but mostly just the trees and undergrowth. But there were subtle changes—each wall depicted a different season, one blending into another at the corners of the room, so that the changing of the seasons was fluid and gradual.

  “I can’t believe you did this,” she whispered in awe, eyes finally settling back on Connor. He just smiled and slid his hands into his pockets.

  Christian wandered over, yawning and stretching, completely unconcerned with his bare chest, ever the lazy playboy. “I was just as shocked when I first saw it,” he said with a slight smile, looking sexy and sleep tousled. “I do have to add that he didn’t let me see it until I’d been here a month.”

  “You were unruly,” Connor replied dryly. “I didn’t want to take the chance that you’d take a marker to my masterpiece.”

  Taking another quick look at the scenes on the walls, Gwen gave her attention to the contents of the room. There was little furniture—a supply cabinet, a work bench flush against the wall on the right side of the room, and an old leather chair, made comfortable from years of use. A potter’s wheel sat in the far right corner, and opposite was a huge block of plastic-wrapped clay. Two easels sat next to each other near the window at the back of the room, and the rest of it was bare space, just waiting to be used.

  Gwen went to a stack of canvases leaning against the wall near the cabinet. Since Connor didn’t stop her, she carefully picked up the first one. It was a woman, with beautiful chocolate-brown hair and a lush figure. She was nude, sprawled across the leather chair, and absolutely breathtaking.

  “My wife,” Connor murmured.

  “She’s beautiful.” Gwen stared at it for a minute seeing the obvious love that had gone into the painting. It was a sensual picture, filled with shadows and angles that accentuated the woman. She set the canvas aside and picked up the next one. It was of the same woman, but she was standing near a window with her hair up, wearing a pair of overalls over a white shirt. Her hand rested gently on her distended belly.

  “We lost the baby in the sixth month,” Connor said, answering her unasked question.

  “I’m sorry.” It felt inadequate to say when looking at such a personal painting.

  “As I said, it was a long time ago.”

  The next canvas was completely different. A young man, dark of skin and hair, and so fierce Gwen had a hard time looking at him, stood angrily against a wall, his displeasure obvious in every feature. She raised her eyes and frowned. “This is your son?”

  He nodded. “Eben. Not long after I found him. We were still in Turkey at the time.”

  The picture made her uncomfortable for some reason, like he was staring at her from the canvas, accusingly. Feeling slightly foolish, she set it aside. The next one was worse.

  She blushed when she realized she was staring at Christian, obviously recent, and completely nude. Much like Connor’s wife, he was curled up in the chair, with his legs curved strategically so nothing graphic was exposed.

  Christian laughed behind her. With a blush and a nervous laugh, Gwen set it aside. “I’m surprised you didn’t let everything just hang out,” she said, darting a glance at him.

  Christian laughed even harder, and Connor smirked. “He wanted to, but I wouldn’t have it. Women, I love to paint nude. I love their bodies. But I have no interest in giving intimate detail to a man’s cock on my canvas.”

  Gwen dropped the next canvas in shock. Christian only laughed harder, slapping his hand against his thigh in mirth.

  The rest of the paintings were relatively innocent, although they were obviously just as personal to Connor as the pictures of his family. One was a dead girl, lying in a street in some country, her body too thin and small. Another showed a mother breast-feeding her child in a park somewhere, her robes open and joy on her face at such a simple task.

  “They’re absolutely wonderful.” Setting the paintings back, Gwen stood and turned to Connor. “Absolutely perfect. You’re brilliant.”

  “He should be. He gets paid a mint for them,” Christian said.

  “And I’m sure they’re worth every penny,” Gwen retorted quickly, frowning slightly. There was something—something she was missing.

  Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God.” She stared at Connor in shock, and then her eyes flew to the paintings against the wall. “I know who you are. I was supposed to go to one of your exhibitions in Chicago with my art class!” Embarrassment, thick and strong, rose to the surface and flushed her face. She was an idiot!

  “Why didn’t you go?” Christian asked.

  “The accident—Dad…I can’t believe I didn’t even catch it,” she moaned. “Everyone knows who Connor Lowell is. You’re famous everywhere.”

  “Christ,” Christian said, looking at Connor. “It took me three years to figure that out. All that time I thought all you did was walls.”

  “Really?” Connor said absently.

  Gwen stared at Christian, horrified. “How could you have not known?”

  “Hey, I was only ten at the time I came to live here. Give me a break.”

  “Besides,” Connor argued, “I’m not truly that well-known. I’ve been lucky, and the museums and galleries have been kind to me.”

  He let her look through another, smaller stack of canvases. There was another of his wife, weeping, so sad it made Gwen unhappy, and another of Eben, just of his face, so close, with his eyes blazing out angrily. The rest were different scenes from his travels, some disturbing, some beautiful, but all perfect and moving in their own way.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any of the sculptures here. I let the last one go about six months ago because I got tired of dusting it,” he said apologetically.

  Gwen did a quick view of the room and sighed. It made perfect sense. Connor Lowell was known to be an eccentric. His first sculptures were all based on his wife, each one sensuous and erotic, a celebration of women’s beauty and sexuality, and as far as the art world was concerned, he was unique just for the fact that he’d been so in love with her.

  “Now,” Connor said, walking toward the cabinet. “Feel free to make use of anything you find in this room. I’ve seen your sketches, so I know you’re comfortable with charcoals and pencils. I’ve got a lovely supply here on the third shelf. But if you’re in the mood to experiment, you might want to try the ink, or even the paints. I’ve got extra supplies in the garage if I need them or if we run out of anything.”

  She stared in shock at the contents of the cabinet. It had everything from paints to erasers, any artist’s dream. “Thank you.”

  “Hey, you never let me use any of your stuff,” Christian pointed out, attempting to look pitiful.

  “You have no talent,” Connor shot over his shoulder.

  “I’m feeling particularly creative now.” Swaggering a little, Christian walked to the cabinet and plucked out a black marker. Turning to Gwen, he said, “Let’s connect the dots.” He leaned toward her face and held the marker right above her cheek.

  “Don’t you dare!” She took a step back and glared. “That’s not even funny, you creep.”

  “Children,” Connor said, with the tired patience of a mother, his mouth twitching at the corners.

  Reluctantly, Christian replaced the marker and left the room. “What time tonight?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “Eight,” Connor replied. “And Christian, I expect you to be there on time.”

  Gwen looked at him, shocked. His tone was suddenly deep and serious, full of power and authority.

  Christian stopped in the hallway and nodded. “I’ll be there,” he replied, solemn for the first time since Gwen had met him.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, once they were alone.

  Connor closed the cabinet and turned the handle. “We’re going to dinner at the pub tonight. There’ll be neighbors and friends there. I thought it might be nice for you to become acquainted with
everyone.”

  Nice wasn’t a word she’d use. In fact, the whole idea was enough to give her nightmares. Gwen sent a silent prayer to the gods above that her stomach stayed calm for the next twelve hours. “Won’t they think it’s a little strange that you just adopted a complete stranger?” she asked.

  “No.”

  Gwen glanced down at her hands and rubbed her thumb over one of the scars. “Do they know where I’m from? Where you found me?”

  Sighing, Connor nodded. “They do. But none of them will look down on you because of it.”

  A shiver of unease slithered down her spine. What if she didn’t stay? What would he tell his friends then? And wouldn’t they wonder if she was just a little groupie, looking for a free handout from the famous artist?

  They walked out of the studio. Connor made sure the lights were off and the door was firmly closed before he led her away. “Don’t worry about dinner. The Noble Savage has excellent food. You’ll enjoy it.”

  Gwen had her doubts, but she didn’t speak of them. It would be enough to go through it that evening.

  “Now then,” he said, once they were on the ground floor. “I believe Christian will be feeding the horses in a few minutes. Why don’t you go out and help him.”

  Gwen didn’t argue. It would be nice to be around something that didn’t make her nervous.

  Chapter Four

  Connor waited until she was gone before seeking out Eben. He stepped out the back door of the house and headed for the one building he’d made sure to keep Gwen away from.

  When he opened the door, he was immediately swamped with raging heat. A roaring fire was going in the pit, and it jumped about a foot with every work of the bellows.

  Eben pulled strongly on the rope that controlled the air flow to the fire. With every movement, sweat gathered on his dark skin, dripping with every contraction of his muscles.

  He let the handle go and removed the crude iron bar from the flames. It glowed orange in the dinginess of the building. Eben set it on an anvil, picked up a heavy hammer, and began pounding away, his movements smooth and methodical, timed so well it sounded like a metronome.