The Eye of the Wolf

by Sadie Vanderveen

  She wished for it, once upon a time, when fairy tales came true. She had wished for it desperately, and then, at some point in her early adult years, Mikayla realized that love wasn’t necessarily like the storybooks said for everyone, if it was for anyone.

  Mikayla sipped from her glass and watched the teal colored water of the Mediterranean roll in on the shore not far from the patio where she sat. The sound of the waves crashing was lolling, relaxing. She sighed and closed her eyes, allowing the ambiance of the small Italian restaurant to engulf her. Her thoughts returned to the lovers across the patio who were now wrapped in one another’s arms as if the world were about to end and this was their last moment on earth to be with one another, as if there were no one else on the face of the earth who was as important as the other. As she watched, the young man slipped something from his pocket and onto the ring finger of his lover. The woman’s eyes glistened, and then, she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. He held on just as tight with tears streaking his own face.

  Mikayla wondered what it would be like to feel that intensity for another, to forget the world for just one moment and exist solely for another. As she thought Will’s face slipped into her mind’s eye. Inwardly, Mikayla groaned at his presence in her inner musings, but she didn’t dismiss his face from her memory. He was pleasant to look at, she had to admit that, even if he did drive her crazy with his easy-going attitude about life and work. She smiled to herself as she pictured the warmth of his smile, his perfect white teeth, and the gleam in his eye as he tried to pull the wool over her. His gray eyes would laugh at her and at some secret that she didn’t really understand. The sound of his laughter warmed her every time she heard it. Then, there was his touch…Mikayla laid her hand on her heart, sipped her wine, and kept her eyes closed. She could almost feel his hand on hers as he pointed out something in one of the infernal texts they had been working through or as he pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear when they were working together in close proximity. He always smelled of sunshine and the ocean.

  Will made her mouth go dry, her palms sweat, and her pulse race. Mikayla didn’t really understand the reaction she had to him except to say to herself that she was lonely and enjoying the attention, attention she had never received before. Perhaps that was why Will slipped into her every waking thought, the scent and feel of him, because no one had ever been like Will, adventurous and mysterious. Men had come and gone, they would never be more than passing diversions; they had never been the type of men to make a woman’s pulse scramble unless she enjoyed hearing the latest stock quotes or tennis score in the Club’s Open. They never stopped her quest for the success that was just beyond her fingertips.

  Will was more than any of the others. He was more than Alex. He had a free spirit that matched her own. He understood the need to comprehend the actions of the past in order to reach the future. He viewed the world through a camera lens and saw its possibilities instead of its probabilities. It was almost as if he understood her. He made her pulse quicken just with a thought, a touch, a look. Will made Mikayla feel alive; whether he intended to or not, he did.

  Mikayla sipped her wine and smiled again to herself. She looked across the patio at the lovers who were now feeding one another breadsticks. They were sweet. She wondered if someday there might be someone to feed her breadsticks on a cobblestone patio by the sea. She slipped on her sunglasses and looked back out at the sea, content to feel the sea breezes through her hair for the moment, even if she was alone.

  Will paused at the gate of the patio before entering. He tilted his head and allowed the dying rays of the sun to shoot fire through her hair. He watched Mikayla slip on her sunglasses and turn her attention to the sea with a private, secret smile playing on her rosy lips. Her feet were crossed and rested on the railing that separated the patio from the sand. A long, linen skirt covered her legs, but Will treasured the glimpse of a long, tan leg that the slit allowed to peek out. Her feet were covered in leather sandals that were more functional than beautiful, but on her feet, where pink nail polish teased, the sandals were intriguing and becoming. She wore a teal tank that showcased well-toned arms with a faint tan. Her slender hands and fingers tapped against her wine glass to the music playing through the outdoor speakers, something Spanish, he supposed. Her long, curly hair shone in the fading sunlight like a dying fire. He felt the sudden punch of lust deep in his belly, but he dampened it just as he had the night before when she had looked so beautiful standing beneath her porch light with sleeping tropical flowers surrounding her in an ocean of fragrance. She looked so content sitting there alone, lost in her own musings, totally different than the first night when he had found her sitting there, alone.

  The first night, he had decided to dine on the patio instead of at home and had been surprised to find her there, reading a book about the royal family of Amor. He had contemplated turning to walk away but had joined her instead. It had been easy to decide to interrupt her solitude. He had known it would irritate her beyond belief and raise her passions to the surface. He had accomplished his goal that evening and was pleased when the next morning she had yelled at him three or four times within the first hour simply because he was there and he annoyed her, or so she said. She had spent too much of her life, it seemed, lost in her own world, accomplishing her own goals, and being allowed to stay within her shell. Besides, he enjoyed her when her temper was raised. Her blue eyes were bright like the hottest part of a flame. Her cheeks would flush to a rosy glow and her lips would tremble, just a little, just enough to drive him to near distraction until she was the only thing in his mind.

  The second night he had followed an instinct and found her there again, at the same table, talking quietly with Stephen, the waiter. She had laughed then, at Stephen and something he had said. It had a musical quality and warmed the air around her. The light had sparkled against the water and glimmered in her hair. He had felt his chest tighten with an ache that he couldn’t explain and had felt a stab of jealousy that she would laugh at a waiter but never at him. That stab of jealousy had disturbed him so much that he had marched through the gate and pulled out a chair without even saying hello. He had seated himself, barked an order in Italian to Stephen, and helped himself to a glass of wine from the bottle on the table. Stephen and Mikayla had both been so surprised that neither had said a word. She had been irritated with him at first, he could tell, and then, she softened. He had made her laugh, and it had been the most wonderful moment of his life, to hear the music in the air that was her laughter.

  The third night had been much the same, but there was a change in the air. He no longer irritated her. He was her dinner companion. They had drank, eaten, and laughed at his stories of life on Amor. Then, he had walked her home. He had sung her love songs from his ancestors as they walked along the cobbled streets of the city. He had plucked a flower from a window box as they passed and tucked it in her hair. The moonlight had reflected off of her skin, and there had been stars in her eyes. At her door, the door of the little teal house beneath the Secluded City, he had felt the need to draw her close, smell her scent, the vanilla that wrapped itself around her and anyone near. He had felt the need to kiss her lips, gently, just to get the taste of her. But Will Chambers was a gentleman to the end. In the end, he had wished her goodnight and walked away into the darkness, up the stairs, to his own home, only to lay awake in the dark, thinking of her and wishing he wasn’t. Wishing she didn’t devastate him with one look from beneath long lashes.

  Now, here Mikayla was again, lost in her own reverie, and Will had no desire to disturb her private thoughts. He only wanted to be near her again, to be wrapped in her intoxicating fragrance and hold her close. Will turned to walk away when he saw in the corner of his eye the movement of the signature black suit and the tap of the walking stick on brick. There was only one person on Amor who wore a black suit regardless of the time of day or month of the year. There was also only one person on Amor who religiously carried a walking
stick. Antonio Kankaredes.

  Will slipped behind the trellis of pink flowers that provided a privacy barrier for the patio from the street. He moved the flowers slightly to the side and watched carefully as Kankaredes approached Mikayla, rapping his walking stick with a wolf-head on the brick.

  Mikayla opened her eyes as she heard his approach. The smile on her lips faded when Kankaredes came into view. Despite the setting sun, Mikayla felt darkness come over her and fear, a deep-rooted fear that she couldn’t explain. She set her feet on the ground and removed her sunglasses. She watched him closely as he approached her table. He moved with precision, almost stealthily, like the wolf that topped his walking stick.

  Kankaredes stopped at her table and tapped the walking stick on the brick once. He then pulled out the chair that had been waiting for Will, poured wine into the glass that was meant for Will, and sipped casually from the glass. He swished the wine in his mouth, savoring the taste, even though he wasn’t a large fan of Italian wines.

  Mikayla watched him closely. She measured her words carefully before speaking. “Please, make yourself comfortable, Mr. Kankaredes.”

  Her tone was soft, but there was enough sarcasm overlaying her words that Kankaredes narrowed his eyes as he regarded her across the table. He had little regard for Americans, and even less respect for this particular American. His job was to prevent her from picking up the scent of those secrets that must remain hidden. Dejeune had said she wasn’t very smart, but Kankaredes had read her notes. He had seen her notebook and the sketches she was making. He had had Dejeune remove information and plant information in the Hall of Records. She had been getting close, whether she knew it or not, she had been getting close, too close. He had to prevent it; the Wolf had declared it so.

  “Good evening, Miss Knight.” He swirled his glass, watching her over the rim of the glass. He knew he made her nervous. He liked knowing he made her nervous; it gave him the power, the power of the Wolf.

  Mikayla set her own wine glass down and swiveled in her chair until she faced him directly across the table. “Mr. Kankaredes, I worked very hard to achieve my doctorate. I would appreciate it if you would acknowledge my position with the appropriate title.”

  Kankaredes raised an eyebrow, enough so to give a look of disdain, enough to make Mikayla feel about five years old. “As you wish, Doctor Knight.” He stressed her academic title, knowing that that would make her feel even smaller.

  Mikayla shifted uneasily in her chair. Again, she felt like a spoiled five year old who hadn’t been allowed to get the prize out of the cereal box. She straightened in her chair and moved a stray strand of hair that had blown into her mouth. She wouldn’t allow him to belittle her efforts, her hard-work. He was a pompous, arrogant man who probably kept his own wife chained to the kitchen, bare-foot, and pregnant. “Can I help you with anything, Mr. Kankaredes?” Silently, she added, since you haven’t helped me one bit.

  Kankaredes filled his wine glass again and settled back into his chair. He liked the way she attempted to be tall, proud, and haughty. It only increased his already low opinion of Americans and women, in particular. She was nothing, he realized, nothing but a woman attempting to be something she wasn’t. She would fail. She would publish her book, but she would never understand the truth of her research because she was stupid. Another stupid American. “I received your messages. I wanted to invite you to tour the Secluded City the day after tomorrow.”

  Mikayla looked into his eyes and found them deep and disturbing but guileless. He sat straight in the chair, watching her; there was no other movement other than his jeweled hand moving the wine glass to his mouth. “All right. What time should I be there?”

  Kankaredes set the glass down and gripped the handle of his walking stick. Every movement was a practice in control. It was important that he remain in control of the situation, the information, everything. He couldn’t allow that control to slip from his fingers. “I will send the Royal Guard down to greet you and escort you through the gates. They will arrive at your dwelling at 8:00 sharp.” He looked at her sharply. “You will have exactly two hours for the tour. After that, you will be escorted back to your house.”

  Mikayla instinctively reached out a hand. She grabbed his sleeve. She jerked her hand back when he froze her with a glance and remained still. “What about the royal family?”

  Kankaredes sighed inwardly. “They are not available.” His answer was short, cold, and sharp as a knife. “You will leave your camera and tape recorder at home. You will only bring a pencil and paper. Is that understood?”

  Mikayla nodded. She was incapable of any other response. Kankaredes turned and strode away, rapping the walking stick on the patio brick. Mikayla exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

  Will watched Kankaredes slip through the door into the restaurant before stepping from behind the trellis. He exhaled the breath he had been holding, relieved that he had not been seen by the Minister of State. It would have caused serious problems for him and Mikayla if he had been seen by the one man who controlled the royal government now that the King was ill. The one man who controlled the world Will moved quietly within. He unclenched the fist that he had not known he had created and flexed his fingers willing the circulation to return. Kankaredes was a powerful man, not only on Amor but in the world. Will didn’t need that kind of political entanglement, not now, not when they were so close.

  He shook his head and pushed open the gate. Enough internal dialogue about what ifs and possibilities. He stepped across the brick in short steps and pulled out the chair Kankaredes had just vacated. He was pleased to get even more of a glimpse of Mikayla’s leg when she crossed her legs and braced them against the railing. The skirt slid seductively up a little higher on her thigh. A strap slid from under her tank top. It was a bright blue color, the color of the sky on a clear summer day. Will sucked in his breath as that feeling of lust once again stabbed him in the gut.

  Mikayla looked up. The frown on her face caused by Kankaredes and displeasure in her eyes instantly disappeared at the sight of him. The darkness that had been in her eyes cleared until the blue matched that of the strap that was sneaking from beneath her shirt. Her smile welcomed him and she held out a hand.

  Deliberately Will sat down and avoided her hand. He needed to give himself a moment to allow that intense heat to die and disappear. He signaled Stephen to bring another glass.

  Mikayla withdrew her hand and watched Will carefully. He was withdrawn and avoiding her eyes. His gray eyes were turbulent like the sea just after a storm, just before the calm. His normally jovial smile was a straight line of tension and something else, something she couldn’t read.

  Will sloshed wine into his clean glass and all but gulped it to soothe the burning inside of him. The wine did nothing to dampen the heat, but it gave him something to do with his hands, which currently itched to run through the waves of hair that cascaded down the back of her chair. He wondered silently if she knew what an image she portrayed. She no longer was the competent history professor; now she was the island beauty that had men stopping in their tracks to gawk, gaze, and dream. When his thoughts had cooled, he sipped the wine and watched her over the rim of the glass. She was watching him very carefully.

  “Rough day?” Mikayla inquired with a soft musical lilt in her voice. She lifted an eye brow.

  Will smirked. “Yeah.” He clinked his glass against hers. “My boss is such a bitch. She works me like a dog, day in and day out!”

  Mikayla rolled her eyes and gave him one of her champion sultry glances. “Really?”

  Will nodded and continued to smirk at her as he sipped. “Oh yeah. Today, she had me digging through this box of old books looking for the first census of Amor.” He shook his head and frowned, mock agony on his features but there was a twinkle in his eye. “Can you imagine?”

  Mikayla returned his frown and patted one of his hands. “I’m sure it was just horrible for you!” Then, she let out a lusty laug
h. Will returned her laugh with one of his own and relaxed in the chair beside her.

  Mikayla sighed and ran a hand through her hair, sending it shimmering down her back in a cascade of auburn silk. Will’s hand snaked out and twirled a strand around a finger, watching it corkscrew back into place. He toyed with the ends of the strands. He watched it play in his hand, fascinated. Mikayla looked at him out of the corner of her eye, but she said nothing. It was comforting to allow someone to play with her hair just as her mother had done when she was a child. It was soothing to raw nerves. He was soothing to her raw nerves created by Kankaredes.

  “What did Mr. Kankaredes want?” Will’s voice was soft in the twilight, breaking the peace, the comfort. Although his voice was soft, Mikayla noted a sword’s edge hidden deep within his words. She was afraid, if she wasn’t careful, he would cut her with it. That cut would go deep. She wondered at the intensity of his voice and the dislike evident in his demeanor. What type of run-ins had there been Kankaredes?

  Mikayla sighed at the mention of the man she had begun to call “The Evil One” in her mind. Just as she opened her mouth, Stephen appeared bearing a tray filled with delectable food. He set Will’s plate down in front of him, and then a large pasta dish in front of Mikayla. Mikayla smiled brightly up at Stephen. “Stephen, how do you always know what to bring me and when to bring it?”

  The waiter returned her smile, stars shining in his eyes. He took Mikayla’s hand in his and brushed a sweet, tender kiss over the back of her hand. “Why, cara, I know because you and I are joined as one in our hearts. I shall always know what you need, all you have to do is think it.” He smiled at her and picked up his tray to leave.

  Will rolled his eyes and took Mikayla’s hand from Stephen’s. “All right, all right. Enough with the smooth Italian moves.”