The Eye of the Wolf

by Sadie Vanderveen

  Mikayla murmured softly in her sleep, asking to be left alone to sleep. She didn’t want to go to school today. The teachers would understand that she was sick. She didn’t need to go to school. The voice was soft and promised she would be better soon. It also stressed that it was important for Mikayla to open her eyes.

  Mikayla murmured again but obliged her mother’s voice. Her eye lids fluttered open, and she moaned as light blinded her and her head throbbed. The pain was excruciating, bringing tears to her eyes. She closed her eyes again and whimpered.

  “Doctor Knight, you must open your eyes.” Kankaredes words were clipped. Impatience was strewn throughout his being as he stood next to the hospital bed gripping the bars that prevented patients from climbing from the bed without assistance. He shook her shoulder roughly earning a moan from Mikayla and a complaint from the nurse who hovered nearby.

  Mikayla’s eyes flew open, a scowl written across her face. Her eyes first focused on Kankaredes’s angry face before shifting to the light above her bed. The ceiling above the metal shade was antiseptic white and the air smelled strongly of Formula 409. The smell that said hospital. She shifted her head to the side as a gentle hand laid the cool cloth on her forehead again. Blue eyes under a white nurse’s hat smiled.

  “Now, Doctor Knight, you just rest. Don’t let that brute of a man scare you so. You’ve have an awful knock upon the head. Rest yourself.” The nurse smoothed Mikayla’s hair away from her eyes. Her hands were cool, comforting.

  “Doctor Knight?” Kankaredes demanded her attention. His words clipped, authoritarian.

  Mikayla flicked her eyes in the direction of Kankaredes and ignored the pain that burst in front of her eyes as she moved her head. She moved her eyes back to the nurse. “How did I get here?” she asked with uncertainty. She knew she was in a hospital, but she didn’t understand how she had gotten there. She remembered the stickiness of the blood, the sudden pain, and then nothing until she had opened her eyes to stare into the bottomless black of Kankaredes eyes. Her head spun, like it will do after too many trips on the Tilt-a-Whirl.

  The nurse patted Mikayla’s hand and took her pulse, noting the scrambling of her heartbeat and the panic in her eyes. “The paramedics brought you in, Dear, after you were found by some people who came through the museum and found you lying there. I’m sure you gave them quite a fright. I know you gave me quite a fright what with all that blood soaked into your clothes.” She patted Mikayla’s hand again and rose from her stool. “Now, Mr. Kankaredes, I suggest you go easily on this young woman. She has quite a bump on her head.”

  The nurse moved out of the room. The crepe soles were soundless against the linoleum floor. The smell of antiseptic trailed in her wake. Mikayla watched her moved from the room and then warily turned her attention to Kankaredes who tapped a foot impatiently on the floor.

  “What happened, Doctor Knight?”

  Mikayla stared at him through her lashes. His eyes were empty of emotion, void of the soul reflected in all other eyes. Panic bubbled inside of her, and she fought the wave of sickness that washed over her as she remembered the smell of the blood, the slickness under her hands and feet. She gagged slightly and closed her eyes. She whispered. “I found him, lying there next to the glass case.”

  Kankaredes pursed his lips. “Was he already dead when you found him, Doctor Knight or did you kill him?”

  Mikayla shot up in the bed. Her eyes leveled on Kankaredes, flame shooting through the blue. “What did you say?” Hysteria tinged her voice. Her head spun sickenly; bile rose in her throat. As the world moved in a slow circle around her and wavered, Mikayla sank weakly to the bed. Weakly she whispered again, trying to keep her head attached. “What did you say?”

  Kankaredes leaned on the railing until his face was directly above Mikayla’s. His eyes pierced through the pain, threatening. His breath smelled of rotted cabbage, causing Mikayla to cringe and turn her head away. “Was he already dead when you found him, Doctor Knight, or did you kill him?”

  Mikayla stared into his eyes, frozen. Her mouth moved dumbly as her mind screamed in denial but no sound would come out. Her mind was blank, only terror and confusion burst through the wall. She tried to speak, to deny, to explain, but there was nothing.

  “Well, Doctor Knight, have you nothing to say in your defense?” Kankaredes continued, precision snapping out the words. “Once you were found with the body of Monsieur Dejeune, Her Royal Highness, Princess Victoria came to me and the chief inspector with a concern that you might have been involved in the murder of Monsieur Dejeune and the death of the king. She explained how she had found you just days ago in the King’s chamber where you emerged through a secret passageway.” He waited a beat, his mind calculating. The plan had taken a new turn with the failure of Dejeune to carry out his task, but this new twist might be more successful than even the death of the pretty professor. She would certainly be out of the way if she were the main suspect in a bloody murder.

  Emptiness filled Mikayla’s mind. She was incapable of coherent thoughts and words. Nothing but shock and horror filled her system, her nerves snapping. Her heart raced, the beeps of the monitor racing to keep up. Her breathing shallowed, a pant similar to a dog who has played too much. She knew her eyes were larger than saucers, the fear that laced throughout her system reflected in the dark blue. No words escaped her mouth. She clutched at the blanket and shrunk into the covers, cowering beneath, trying to disappear.

  Kankaredes smiled, thin, sharp teeth gleaming in the bright hospital light. He didn’t try to hide his pleasure. He didn’t try to soothe her; he wanted her petrified of him, of everything. “When you ran him through with the scissors, did he beg for his life or did he go quietly? Did you relish the feeling of his blood on your hands, Doctor Knight, knowing it would give you something to write about in your book?” Mania creased his features, twisting them into evil.

  Mikayla clutched at her covers, shrinking from the twisted man who leaned over her. Moans slipped through her lips and tears coursed down her cheeks. Her entire body was paralyzed with sudden fear. Sudden comprehension of the situation. She gasped for air, trying to breathe, trying to reach the surface. She felt as if she were drowning, the pressure of the water squeezing her chest.

  “Well, Doctor Knight, have you nothing to say? Have you no defense?” Kankaredes practically cackled. The Wolf’s plans were going smoothly, better than even the Wolf could have imagined.

  Mikayla whimpered softly. The pain in her head blinding. She shook her head slowly and moaned. This couldn’t be. This was some sort of nightmare. If she could just force herself to wake up, she would find herself safe in her bed, the gentle ocean breezes blowing through her window. Monsieur Dejeune at the museum tending to his precious artifact restoration. If she could just wake up, there would be no blood, then Dejeune would smile coolly at her and offer his best guess as to the meaning of some obscure document. If she could just wake up.

  Tears crept down her cheeks. For herself, caught in an impossible night terror that she couldn’t wake from. For Dejeune, who had been slain with the very scissors he had been cutting articles from the newspaper with. A silent sob filled her, willing her simple world to return.

  Will pushed open the door to the hospital room. His hair was mussed from the wind during the drive across the island. His face was set in a grim frown, but his eyes belied the sorrow and worry that had filled him since the phone call had come from the island’s inspector. His heart raced in his chest; the thought of injury to Mikayla filling him. He had known that she was fine, but he had had to see for himself.

  Now, he stood in the doorway, the inspector at his back, watching the Royal Minister interrogating her. Any calmness that had come over him upon arriving at the hospital disappeared into rage. He pushed the door hard enough to have it bounce off of the wall with a bang. He strode quickly over to the bed and shoved Kankaredes away from the bed. The red color of rage danced in front of his eyes and flashed at Kankaredes as he s
truggled for composure. Kankaredes shook off the hand of the inspector whom had rushed to help him. He straightened the sleeves of his suit coat and adjusted his silver tie before facing Will.

  “Out!” Will’s command was low, a growl in the silent room. His hand rested protectively on Mikayla’s, a thumb moving slowly against her skin, comforting.

  Kankaredes straightened and looked down at the prince who would dare order him. He bowed his head slightly, but offered none of the genuflection that was expected when a Royal Minister was faced with a member of the royal family. He had no respect for the Dauphin. The Dauphin was nothing. “Your Highness, I was simply gathering information. After all, Doctor Knight is a guest of the royal family. She is also a suspect in a murder investigation.” His relished in that fact and a smirk quirked the corners of his mouth.

  Will stared at the Royal Minister with cold eyes. “I told you to leave, Antonio, I suggest you follow my order.” He kept his eyes leveled on the Royal Minister’s face. He made no move, simply stood his ground, between Kankaredes and Mikayla, whose weeping had subsided. Her eyes stared up at Will’s back, astonishment written on her face.

  Kankaredes merely nodded and withdrew from the room. At the door, he took one leveled look at the woman on the bed, protected by the prince of the royal family. “This, my dear, is not finished. I will get to the bottom of this, and when I do, I will see you receive the fullest punishment under our laws.” He swept from the room, taking the coldness with him that seemed to follow him everywhere.

  Will looked to the inspector and nodded. The inspector stepped to the bed and looked down at Mikayla. He cleared his throat and stumbled over his words. Mikayla’s eyes grew wide in shock and pain as she heard him charge her with both the death of the King and the death of Rene Dejeune. She was their number one suspect. She had believed it was just a nightmare, yet, here she was fully aware of the pressure of Will’s hand on her own, her heart racing, her breathing shallow with a man telling her she was the number one suspect in two murders. It was impossible. Things like this didn’t happen to people like her! She lived her life in total obscurity; she was invisible to people. She wasn’t a murderer!

  Suddenly, Mikayla found herself sitting up in her bed, clinging to the hands of the inspector, pleading for him to believe her that she wasn’t guilty. Hysteria tinged her voice. She didn’t know what had happened. She didn’t know anything. How could it be? The inspector bowed and withdrew as tears flooded down her face and her own wailing echoed off of the walls. She felt gentle hands drawing her back down on the bed, smoothing her hair, speaking softly, telling her not to worry. Will’s voice filled her head, telling her he was there, to protect her and to find the truth. Then, the soft voice of the Irish nurse was there, her hands cool on her brow, and the pinch of the needle sliding into her arm before the world became muted, a blur of sound and color, and then, there was nothing, just blackness.

  Throughout the night, Will watched her toss and turn in sleep. Whimpers and quiet pleas. Tears wet the pillow and hands clenched and unclenched at the blanket. Occasionally, she would start to waken; the nurse would come and slip her back into the darkness with a simple injection. Mikayla would still for a few hours and then, the nightmares would begin again.

  He watched her sleep, carefully running a hand over her hair, holding her hand when it clutched into the darkness, seeking something or someone. He sang softly to her to soothe and comfort. And he worried. He remembered the terror that had filled his heart when the inspector had called the palace with the information that Dejeune was dead and Mikayla had been found at the scene, soaked in blood, the blood of the resident historian and preservationist. He remembered rushing from his father’s office, his eyes wild, heart pounding, knowing he had to protect her, knowing he had to keep her safe because it wasn’t possible. She wasn’t the murderer. He knew she wasn’t the murderer, and he swore to himself, as he watched her restless sleep, that she wouldn’t be convicted of crimes she hadn’t committed. He would find the perpetrator; the criminal would pay. Pay for his grandfather’s death. Pay for the pain caused to this woman that had stolen his heart. Pay for the terror brought to his peaceful island. Pay for the memories it brought back.

  Will rested his head on their joined hands as she lay peaceful, the early morning sun just streaming through the windows, tinged in pinks and reds. He took a deep breath and calmed his rapid breathing. He blinked back tears he hadn’t known existed and willed calmness to wash over him. There was much to be done that day; he would need to be in control of his own emotions to handle them. In his mind, he kept picturing the murder scene, the blood on everything and the knowledge that Mikayla had lain in the center of it, unconscious until some unsuspecting tourist had wandered into the museum to discover the two bodies.

  Scissors.

  Scissors sticking from the body like twin knives stabbed into a piece of meat.

  A gilded scepter lying nearby; its sharp edge used on the auburn head of the unsuspecting victim.

  The terrified woman, screaming.

  Will shuddered. He lifted his head and looked into deep blue eyes that reflected pain, fear, and wonder. He smiled weakly and brushed a kiss over her brow before speaking, afraid his voice would be absent or tears would choke his words. He needed to be calm for her; he needed to be there for her, even if she didn’t want him, even if she didn’t trust him. He would protect her; he would care for her.

  “Hey.” Was all he said.

  Mikayla smiled meekly up at him as he sat on the edge of the bed and brushed his lips over her knuckles. His lips were soft, warm, a lover’s caress full of tenderness. His eyes belied the tenderness his lips portrayed. Inside of them warred emotions that Mikayla couldn’t comprehend: anger, grief, fear, and love. This last made her blink with surprise and weep internally knowing that it wasn’t real. There had been so much anger and hurt; it was impossible that her own love for him could be returned, now when there was so much to divide them. “I thought I imagined it.”

  Will brushed hair from her forehead. “Imagined what?” His voice was soft, melodic British, soothing away the last of the pain in her head but creating a new one in her heart.

  “I thought I imagined the prince who had come rushing in with his sword drawn to rescue me from the evil dragon.” She tried for a grin, but it appeared more like a grimace.

  Will did grin; his eyes sparkled brightly, the anger and grief disappearing, leaving only the fear and love, with love shining the brightest from the stormy gray depths. “Hmm, something like Prince Charming in a fairytale, rushing to the aid of his damsel in distress.”

  Mikayla smiled, a little of her natural brightness shining through. “Something like that, except I don’t believe in fairytales.” A small laugh escaped her lips before the groan followed it as she tried to sit up and her head swam. Nausea swamped her, making her head spin and her gag.

  Will supported her and arranged the pillows behind her while she closed her eyes, waiting for the sickness to pass. She felt cool liquid on her lips and opened her eyes to see Will, brow furrowed in concentration, slipping a glass of water between her lips, cool and refreshing. When she had had her fill, he set the glass aside and held her hand in his. His eyes watched her carefully until she smiled at him again.

  “What are you doing here, Will? After the way I treated you, I would expect you to have stayed as far away as this island would allow.” Mikayla grasped his hand tighter in her own and pleaded with him to stay with her eyes, even as she questioned why he was there. She hadn’t realized until that moment, when she had opened her eyes to find him sitting beside her bed how desperately she had missed him and how desperately she needed him.

  Will glanced down at their joined hands and held tight. He knew she probably didn’t want him there, but he also knew he had to be there. He had to stay beside her, protect her at all costs. She wouldn’t be an innocent victim in the horror that now gripped the island. They were bound as one; he had known that since she had first
arrived. They were connected to solve the mystery of the Eye of the Wolf, and they would do so, together.

  He looked back up and saw the pleading in her eyes. Her own need reflecting his. He sighed deeply and kissed their joined hands. “The inspector called the palace to tell us that one of our employees had been found dead and a guest of the royal family had been found with the body. I knew it was you before he even said your name.” He looked deeply into Mikayla’s eyes, telling her with a look the words he couldn’t say. “I knew I had to be here with you, especially when he said that Kankaredes was already here. I had to protect you, Mikayla.”

  Mikayla leaned forward. “What about what he said, Will? What about the fact that I am their suspect?”

  Will smoothed the hair from her forehead. “I know you, Mikayla, and I know you didn’t do anything.” He tipped her chin so their eyes were level. “I trust you, Mikayla.”

  With his eyes on hers, he leaned in and laid his warm lips against hers. There was no demand in the kiss; it was meant to comfort more than heat, but Mikayla found that it did both. His fingers traced her jawline, feeling the silk of her skin beneath his fingertips. A tremor went through her, reminding her of that first kiss under the stars with soft music playing in the background. That heat that fisted itself inside of her, a welcome tension that demanded release.

  A soft sigh slipped through her lips into his mouth as her fingers gripped his shirt holding him in the kiss when he would have pulled away. He found that he couldn’t pull away from her. He was lost in the sensations that had been denied him, sensations that he needed more than food and air and water to live. He kept his kiss tender but wished for more as the heat in her swept over him, warming him and twisting him into knots. Killing him slowly.