The Eye of the Wolf

by Sadie Vanderveen

  Will looked over the stack of scrolls that littered the table. “I see you’ve been in here awhile. Not making much progress, eh?”

  Mikayla rolled her shoulders and kept her wary eyes focused on him. Mikayla glanced briefly at the scrolls on the table. She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes again. “You could say that, but I don’t need your help. Thank you very much.”

  Will picked up one scroll and unrolled it. He scanned it briefly, “Do you practice that haughty tone when you are at home or is it just natural?” Just as he finished speaking and Mikayla’s eyes flared with a hidden temper that she had learned long ago to keep in check, he flung the scroll back on the table.

  Mikayla jumped and grabbed the scroll. She carefully rolled it back up and set it gently on the table.

  He smiled up at her as she scowled down at him. He had been testing her. She had passed. “You aren’t going to find what you’re looking for in here, I can tell you that. You aren’t really interested in how many goats the king was given in exchange for granting a piece of property to the local tavern owner, are you?”

  Mikayla gathered up the scrolls and walked around the table. Will liked the way she moved, smoothly but in a hurry. That was one thing he hated about Americans: they were always in a hurry to get wherever they were going. At least her movements were smooth, not jerky like he had seen in many Americans during his many world travels. She was smooth, cool, and aloof, but there was something else there, something hidden, something that suggested a hidden fire, a hidden passion.

  Mikayla gently set the scrolls in the box she had found them in and placed the cover over them. She turned to face him with her hands on her hips, anger blazing in her eyes. “How dare you treat important historical artifacts with such a laissez faire attitude? Do you realize how old these are? They could fall apart just from being exposed to the air. You can’t just throw them across the table!” Her pitch rose slightly, and her cheeks darkened.

  Will tried to swallow the grin that wanted to escape his lips. Her hair, her eyes blazing away with fury, and her blush were the most appealing things he had ever seen. He felt a pull from deep inside. He bowed his head slightly and swallowed a sudden need to wrap her auburn curls around his fingers and yank her to him to kiss that scowl off of her beautiful face. Will stood from his seat. He walked around the table until he was just in front of her.

  Mikayla watched him carefully. He smelled of the outside: salt, and fresh air. He flooded her senses with his scent. When he moved to her, she stood her ground even though her first instinct was to run. She knew that even if she had needed to, she couldn’t run from him, now or possibly ever. She tipped her head back to meet his eyes in challenge and felt herself start to melt.

  “I apologize, Mikayla, for making light of the situation, but you see, you are never going to learn anything in here.” His voice was soft, smooth as cream, and threatened to drown her. The sound of her name was song-like. She had never realized how truly sexy her own name could be coming from someone else’s lips. “Come with me. Let me show you Amor.” His fingertip gently grazed the curve of her chin. A tingle went up his arm.

  The gentle fragrance of vanilla enveloped him. It was warm, inviting, like a hug, or his grandmother’s house where cookies were always baking. Her skin was smooth, silk-like to the touch. He imagined her hair would be just as silky if he ran his fingers through it, releasing it from its captivity.

  A tingle ran through her body, not a warning tingle, but an inviting tingle that promised more than she was willing to take, more than she was willing to explore. Mikayla looked away. She stepped back and picked up a stack of books. She set them on the table. “I’m sorry, but I have work to be completed. And, my research assistants always call me Dr. Knight. I would prefer if you did not call me by my first name.” She walked around the table to her chair. Her head held high. He was shocked she could still see where she was going and that her pert nose didn’t rub against the ceiling it was so high in the air.

  “Now, if you are truly here to help me, you can pick up one of the books and begin reading. As you read, take notes on a notepad of important items.” She sat down at the table and opened the dusty tomb before her. She looked up over the edge of her glasses. “Can you manage that?”

  Will shook his head and straddled one of the rickety wooden chairs. He picked up the simple ball-point pen that sat on a yellow legal pad. The paper was new and the pen was new, probably fresh from the package. Books sat in stacks on the table. “Is there anywhere you would like me to begin, Doctor Knight.” He stressed her academic title and looked her earnestly in the face. He had a sneaking suspicion Mikayla had a specific organization already going, and that she would become very moody if he upset her organization. She just looked so organized.

  Mikayla looked him up and down briefly and sighed. She pointed to the stack immediately to Will’s left. “This stack contains books reporting on the general history of the area especially during the Middle Ages, Renaissance, and closer to our present time. This stack,” she gestured to the stack between them on the table, “contains what island records I have been able to find in the past few days in this room that predate Henry’s landing on Amor. Apparently,” she shifted her reading glasses so they hung precariously from her ears, “Amor was a thriving fishing island prior to the Crusades.”

  Will nodded. He felt his brain starting to overload. He suspected that if he had looked in her dresser drawers at home, everything would have been color-coded and arranged by season. “What about this pile right here?” He pointed to the books immediately to his right.

  Mikayla nodded and slipped her glasses on again. “Ah yes, those are records from the past three monarch’s reigns. They are relatively recent and really not a concern, but they are interesting for their modern value concerning the isolationist policies of Amor, especially during the World Wars.”

  Will nodded again. He leaned on the table with one hand and reached across to toy with a stray hair that had escaped her untidy bun. Mikayla jerked back, out of his reach. Will smiled at her. The smile stopped her heart. It was a lazy sort of smile that should have been classified a federal offense, but perhaps it was the fire that smoldered behind his eyes or her own innate sense that men just didn’t look at her that way. No other man ever had.

  “So, Mr. Chambers, where do you want to begin?” Mikayla gestured to the many books on the table and the bookshelves lining the walls. “Perhaps you would like to begin with the history predating King Henry, or perhaps, you would like to read about Renard the Sheepherder giving the King 50 goats in exchange for the best grazing land?”

  He smiled and shook his head. He grabbed one of the books off of the stack and turned the chair around so he could sit properly. He leaned back until his feet could rest on the table and flipped open the book. He rested it on his lap and waved the dust away. “Ah, here is the history of Joshua the Brave and his Knights of the Triangular Table. How terribly interesting!” He grinned across the table at her and then settled into reading.

  Mikayla shook her head and snickered to herself. Then, she settled in to read about the history of the Crusades from the Middle Eastern point of view presented in the book she had chosen.

  Chapter 4

  He stood on the parapet overlooking the beach. The sun had set and darkness had fallen on the island of Amor. It was peaceful and had he been the type of man to relax and savor, he would have; however, he was not the type of man to relax and enjoy simple pleasures. He was paid to not relax when all others were enjoying life’s fripperies. He was paid to know everything about the island of Amor and all of the people on it. He was paid very well to insure that things went according to plan. He was paid to be the servant.

  He looked down at the small, blue house at the base of the Secluded City. All of the lights were off except for the one in the main bedroom. The gauzy curtains moved faintly in the evening ocean breeze, and Mikayla moved about the room. Every so often, she stopped at the window and looke
d out. When she did, he stepped back into the nighttime shadows even though he knew she couldn’t see him at the top of the giant wall. He couldn’t take any chances.

  In his hand, he held that day’s report. All of her movements were recorded in minut detail. He didn’t need to read the report to know that she had been on the island for over two weeks and had not left the Hall of Records other than to eat, sleep, and wander the museum. She had made several phone calls to the States, all to her family in Michigan. He couldn’t take any chances, not this time. It was too important and too dangerous. The Wolf was too dangerous.

  He shuddered at the thought of the golden eyes that could freeze a man in one spot. The feral movements when the Wolf was angry with one of his employees, and how those employees who angered the Wolf or who did not follow directions somehow came up missing.

  The servant shivered with the thought and then glanced at his watch. It was time. He turned and walked along the parapet until he came to one of the guard towers. It spired into the blackness of the night. A glow from within either welcomed or warned the visitor. There were stories that the ghost of a king past walked the parapet at night, searching for vengeance for his death. Those stories often included the light that glowed in the guard tower on nights when the moon was full in the sky. Many said it was the king’s unhappy soul bloodlessly killing the guard who should have been protecting the castle. He knew that the light within was the signal, not the restless soul of a butchered king. The Wolf was waiting.

  The servant pushed the heavy wooden door inward and swept inside. He closed the door quickly, wishing he would remember to bring oil so that door didn’t creak as loudly. He turned and faced the darkened room. The only light came from the fireplace that was used in the past to keep the guards warm on cold nights. Ancient tables and chairs that decorated the room were thrown into shadow. He looked through the thin light, but there was nothing but shadow.

  Then, he heard the rustle of clothing on furniture from behind him. He turned carefully and felt himself pinned by the yellow eyes glowing from the darkness. His heart froze in his chest. For a moment, he stood, not breathing, frozen in terror. Then, just as quickly, his heart began to race and his breathing was shallow. It was like this every time he met with the Wolf. Terror. He was the prey caught in the trap, the only difference was, he couldn’t run. He had sought out the terror and the power that came with it.

  As he regained his composure, the Wolf moved about the room but only in the shadow. The Wolf was only but a shadow with a fiercesome bite. Beneath the glowing yellow eyes, white teeth shone in a crooked sneer. “Still terrified, my servant?” The voice was soft and lethal. “I would think that after all of our years together you would no longer suffer from such fright.” A low, malicious laugh floated from a darkened corner where the Wolf rested on a chair.

  He straightened himself and his tie. He swallowed. “Not fright, Sire, merely startled. That is all.” He pulled a rickety chair from the table. He carefully sat down. Once seated, he folded his hands on the table and waited. The Wolf always wanted a person to wait; it was part of the hunt.

  The Wolf laughed again. “Ah, what would I do without you? You are by far the best person for the job I have outlined.” A flame flickered from his fingertip and lit the end of a cigarette. He passed this cigarette to his servant who took it warily. Then, the Wolf lit another and inhaled deeply.

  The Wolf laughed again. “Come, you and I have shared many a drink together. Do you honestly believe I would kill you now, with a cigarette, when there are so many things to be accomplished.” He laughed again, deep and low, almost a growl.

  The servant smiled across the room to the shadow with the glowing eyes, white smile, and smoldering fire. He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. He then took a long drag, feeling the drug of choice, whatever the Wolf had laced the tobacco with float into his brain. “I apologize, Sire. I meant you no disrespect.”

  The fiery tip waved through the air in a gesture of dismissal, to forget the slight. The gleaming eyes grew larger and more insistent. “Now, my servant, fill me in on the progress of our resident historian.” He inhaled again and slowly let out the smoke, pleasuring in the buzz that rose to his brain and fogged it slightly. “How is she progressing in her research. Not to far I hope!”

  He relaxed. The Wolf needed him. The plan couldn’t be carried out by the bungling idiot, Dejeune. The Wolf needed someone who was close to the royal family but wouldn’t be suspected. The Wolf needed someone who was clever and cunning, intelligent, and trustworthy. The Wolf needed him, and he needed the money that was guaranteed to him at the end of this one job. He put out his cigarette. “Well, Sire, she hasn’t made much progress; I have personally seen to that.” He pulled some tobacco from his tongue that had flaked off from the unfiltered cigarette. “She has spent the majority of her time searching through old population records. There isn’t a whole lot in the Hall of Records, you realize.”

  The Wolf nodded. “Has she been through the Secluded City yet?”

  The servant shook his head. “I have prevented that as you requested. I think she is feeling frustrated though.” He leaned forward, “I feel that perhaps she will become problematic if she isn’t allowed within the City soon. I believe that she is more intelligent and more skillful than Dejeune originally gave her credit. Perhaps there is something to her reputation that he didn’t take into account.”

  The unblinking yellow eyes closed for a moment. “Hmm…yes, I hadn’t thought of that.” The eyes flickered open and intensified their gaze.

  He felt his skin begin to crawl with the gaze. He had seen that gaze before, right before the Wolf had ordered him to kill Dejeune’s assistant for asking one too many questions. It was a messy business, killing a person; he didn’t want to have to repeat the performance.

  “Grant her the tour.” The command was sharp, a bark.

  He jumped. “What, Sire?” His heart began to beat again.

  The Wolf rose and began to move about the room, on the prowl. He watched as flames of the fire cast shadow on the cloak worn by the Wolf as he moved about the room. “I said, grant the tour. Keep it short and limited to more public areas. Don’t allow her to take pictures or record anything. Then, allow her to meet with the Princess Royale. Keep her far from the King. That should curb her curiosity.”

  The Wolf leaned down, his breath hot on the ear and neck of his servant. In his pacing, the Wolf had slipped behind him in his chair without his knowledge. The servant swallowed and held still. He didn’t dare turn, but his mouth was dry. “And if it doesn’t?” He asked weakly. He hated himself for his weakness.

  The Wolf’s voice was low, growling in his ear. “Then, you will kill her.”

  Chapter 5

  Mikayla walked slowly through the halls and galleries of the Museum of History. Her tennis shoes squeaked faintly on the highly polished floor, like nurses’ shoes do on the floors of a hospital. Lights glimmered off the finish like perfect ice on a starry night. It was quiet, as if she were the only person in the building, on the earth. She had noticed that about Amor. Everything was quiet, a murmur of the city she had left behind to come to this strange, tropical paradise. That was what it was. It was paradise.

  She had never known this kind of peace, tranquility. Her life, up to that point had been a bustle of activity, from class to society parties in Baltimore to be with Alex as he worked his way through the powerful, beautiful people of Maryland politics. When she wasn’t teaching or playing the dutiful fiancée, she had been traveling to Europe, Greenland, Iceland, and the Middle East to study some relic, some scroll, some parchment, some decimated building that had once been beautiful, that held some secret to the past. A past that was far more intriguing than the present.

  Mikayla craned her head back to study the mural covering the ceiling of the main hall of artifacts. It was breath-taking. The slashes of color, the life-like angels who watched her from on high. She wasn’t a religious person, but she could under
stand the draw to the angels and God, the draw to miracles and the repulsion of hell. The angels smiled down on her, protectors in that room, protectors in life, perhaps, had she believed in the power of prayer and deities.

  Mikayla moved over to the glass cases that held the crowns, sceptors, and swords of the monarchs who had come before, who had reigned from the Secluded City, almost god-like in their need to be separate and above their subjects. She leaned over the glass and allowed herself to be drawn into the beauty of the jewels that gleamed out of the satin lining at her. Sapphire, ruby, and diamond necklaces glittered against blood-red satin. Men had died and women had cried over those jewels, she knew. The history of every piece of jewelry that dated prior to the modern century was the same, whether it be the Hope Diamond or the Coeur de la Mere. Every piece of jewelry was a death-wish to the person who wore it and to those who protected it.

  Mikayla traced her fingers along the glass above a diamond collar. The diamonds shot fire into the case and dulled the other jewels that surrounded it. She squatted down to look through the side, directly at the collar. Five layers of diamonds, balanced precariously on one another, delicate, yet strong enough to cut glass, and deadly enough to cause men to bleed. It was a breath-taking piece. She had never seen its equal, not even among the British royal jewels, which were the best collection of ancient jewels in the world. It was the type of necklace given from a man to a woman who owns his passion, who is above all others in his heart and in his life. It was the type of necklace that made a homely woman feel beautiful, and a beautiful woman feel like a queen.

  The brass tag sewn into the satin lining designated that collar as the necklace of Queen Amelia. It had been her bride price from her husband, the current king of Amor. She had worn it once, on her wedding day, before placing it in the vault for safe-keeping until another occasion arose to wear that beautiful piece. Unfortunately for the royal family of Amor, that occasion never arose for Queen Amelia.