by Jan Delima
* * *
THE STENCH OF SKUNK SURROUNDED HER, MAKING HER EYES water and her lungs burn. Sophie pressed her cheek against the rotting walls of her narrow shelter. How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? It was quiet, too quiet, as if someone, or something, had silenced the forest.
She dared not move, dared not breathe.
The soft padded steps of a four-legged beast soon closed in, circled around her—and then paused.
Sophie was trapped, unable to move; her hiding place became her prison. She tried to scramble out but her position was awkward, and the wolf had anticipated her move; the log crumpled just before a sharp pain ran down her side.
Her breath lodged in her throat, stunned as nerve endings screamed. Her vision blurred as she plunged forward onto the wet forest floor. Pine needles and leaves stuck to her face, the cold earth keeping her lucid, reminding her to fight and not give up. She rolled onto her uninjured side, using her good leg to scoot backward against a tree, holding her belly and sucking in deep breaths of air as she lifted her eyes to her attacker.
And a red wolf stared back, eye level to Sophie’s sitting position, smaller than Dylan, with softer lines and golden eyes filled with hatred, too much hatred for mercy.
Sophie recognized her death in those golden eyes, and in a moment of calm clarity, her brain adjusted to her predicament. These were wolves. They did not show compassion. They did not respect fear; prey showed fear.
They understood dominance.
Sophie lowered her chin and leveled a glare at the female wolf. “If you harm me . . . you harm Dylan’s child.”
In response, the wolf lifted her head to the sky. Sophie sensed the air thickening, as if the earth stilled to give its breath, its very life force, to another. And again, in a surreal show of melted fur and broken bone, a being changed its form, this time from a wolf into a woman.
Sophie, unfortunately, recognized that woman.
Siân unfolded into a standing position, naked and unashamed, tall and lithe like an athlete. Wet strands of dark red hair trailed over pale skin as she glared down at Sophie.
“Look at you,” Siân sneered. “So weak. So . . . human.” Full lips peeled back over small white teeth, wolf’s behavior despite the human form. “I don’t believe that child you carry was fathered by Dylan.”
Sophie was about to dispute the vile accusation, but something in Siân’s voice stopped her, something desperate and a little . . . unstable.
Sophie stood, slowly; her wounded leg threatened to crumple but eventually held her weight. She stole a quick glance at her shredded jeans covered in blood. Just a flesh wound, she prayed, because she needed the ability to run.
She wanted freedom, not death; she wanted her baby to live, and a lie was such an easy price to pay for what Sophie wanted.
“You’re right.” Somehow she sensed those words were her key to freedom. “My baby isn’t Dylan’s.”
A triumphant smile touched Siân’s lips. “Then you don’t belong here.”
“No, I don’t.” Sophie almost laughed at how much she agreed with those words.
“You’re not worthy of Dylan. You’re not strong enough to lead by his side. You’re not strong enough to protect us.”
Sensing victory, she kept her voice calm. “Let me leave and someone more deserving can have him.”
A predatory light entered Siân’s golden eyes. A different plan danced within those eerie depths that the wolf within found more appealing.
“Dylan believes my child is his,” Sophie reminded her. “Even now, he may smell my blood on your hands. What would your punishment be, I wonder, if he thought you had harmed his child?”
Doubt filled Siân’s expression, and then fear as she dumbly stared down at her hands, where blood remained even after changing forms, damning streaks of burgundy against pale skin. “So fragile . . .” Her voice was breathless, almost in awe. “Like a newborn lamb.”
“If you let me leave,” Sophie continued, weaving threats and planting ideas, knowing her only defense was ingenuity and not physical strength, “you’ll have time to clean up, to go home. He’ll never know . . .”
Siân frowned then, as if weighing her options. “Yes,” she whispered finally, “that would be for the best. Your only chance is to keep to the water. You don’t have much time. The guards have separated but they’ll circle back soon. Go south along the stream. Stay in the water. It will hide your stench.”
“I know the way.” Adrenaline rushed over her, fueling her resolve. She headed straight for the stream, refusing to look back, the pain of her wounded leg dulled by the promise of freedom.
Laughter whispered through the trees.
“Run, human. Run far away and never return . . . because if you do, I’ll kill you and that bastard child you carry in your womb.”
Sophie didn’t run, couldn’t run—her injured leg barely supported weight—but she managed to hobble over fallen limbs and narrow trails until the sound of rushing water reached her ears. She waded in shallow water for hours, staying close to the shore and off the more slippery rocks with deeper currents, hoping she’d gone far enough to obscure her trail. The burning in her leg had disappeared long ago, numbed by the frigid water.
Fearing hypothermia, she crawled onto the bank of the stream and listened for footsteps, or voices, or the warning of a too silent forest, but instead heard chickadees in the trees and moving cars in the distance.
The interstate was just up ahead.
It was then, with the sound of freedom within her reach, that Sophie paused and her heart cried out. Because her heart, despite everything, belonged to Dylan. No matter what he was, no matter what he’d done, she loved him.
She would always love him.
And for a moment, just a moment, she wondered if she could conform to his will, to this magical world that hated her humanity. To live in a mansion of stone. To sleep in Dylan’s bed.
Was such a prison so bad?
She wrapped her arms around her belly and cried, hating the emotional weakness that Dylan, or perhaps pregnancy, brought on. Hot trails streamed down her frozen cheeks and her heart felt the loss to her very core. But in the end, no man was worth her soul.
No man was worth living in fear for her child.
Her decision made, she wiped away her wretched tears and crawled toward the sound of freedom . . .
* * *
A CAR DOOR SLAMMED SHUT, SNAPPING SOPHIE BACK TO the present, and the sound of rushing water faded in the distance.
The lake house loomed above her, rectangular like a colonial, constructed with fieldstone and mortar and large pine beams. It still had its original movable shutters, painted black to match the front paneled door. Ivy branches snaked their way up the front porch, dormant still, even though the calendar had already proclaimed spring.
It had been built on an angle, facing the mountain. The afternoon sun cast a deceivingly warm glow across Fiddlehead Lake just a few yards away. Smoke rose from the chimney, letting her know he was in there, waiting.
Sophie had the distinct urge to vomit. Intense anxiety had that effect on her.
“This is so cool,” Joshua exclaimed beside her, eyes wide, taking it all in. “That’s Fiddlehead Lake, then?” He leaned his head toward the large body of water, judging the angle of the afternoon sun. He’d been forced to study maps of the area, to learn every escape route, just in case.
Sophie nodded. “We’re at the southern part of the lake.”
He pointed toward a grove of white birch trees in the distance. “That’s where the lake feeds into Wajo Stream, which leads to the Penobscot River.”
“Yes,” she said with approval. “Rhuddin Village is just the entrance of your father’s territory. There’s a clinic five miles north if you continue along the road we entered on, then your father’s house, and another building for guards. They all circle along the outskirts of the wilderness reserve. And everything connects to the mountain—”
“—and the best wa
y out is through the waterways,” he finished. “Don’t worry, Mom. I remember everything you’ve told me.”
Sophie ran her hand down his arm, needing to touch him, fighting every urge to throw him back in that car and drive away before she lost him to this other world forever. But another fear, a greater fear, kept her grounded. “I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
She had professed those words so many times over the years that his response was automatic. She didn’t care. She had needed to hear it.
The front door opened and Dylan walked out. She straightened, letting her hand drop away from Joshua’s arm.
Dylan remained silent, an announcement unnecessary. His mere presence demanded attention. He wore jeans and a black flannel shirt that hugged his massive frame. His once shoulder-length golden waves had been cut business short, only to make him look harder, more severe.
Dark eyes landed on her, black as sin, absent of light and utterly compelling, as if all the mysteries of the universe waited in their depths for someone strong enough to handle the darkness.
Or so she had thought, once, when she was young and stupid and still believed in romance and happy endings. She wasn’t so young anymore, and far less stupid, and she knew way too much about the darkness to hope for a happy ending.
And yet, those eyes continued to hold her captive with unspoken emotion. It was Dylan who broke the contact first—not her. His expression, however, changed upon seeing his son for the first time; it softened into something almost . . . vulnerable?
Joshua remained frozen to her side, not touching but not parting either. Sophie took a step forward to lead her son, knowing this awkward silence was her fault and her challenge to fix.
“Joshua,” she said, “this is your father.” She climbed the steps until she stood on the cedar planks of the porch. “Dylan, your son.”
Dylan closed the distance, offering a hand. “There has not been a day I haven’t thought of you.”
Joshua extended his hand, only to be pulled into a fierce hug. At six foot three, he was only a few inches shorter than his father, and not quite as massive, but the resemblance was undeniable.
Dylan held on to his son with his eyes closed and his nostrils flared as if learning a precious new scent. Joshua didn’t move, and his discomfort became obvious as the embrace prolonged into another awkward silence.
Dylan stepped back and gave a sad, knowing smile. “You’re tall for your age.” He gave Joshua a playful squeeze on his shoulder as if he couldn’t stop touching him, not yet. “And strong.”
Joshua grinned under the compliments. “I work out every day. And Mom makes me drink protein shakes.”
Sophie felt a gentle hand on her arm as her own mother came up beside her. Some of her tension eased with the unspoken support. You are loved, that gesture said, no matter what.
Sophie squeezed her mother’s hand, so very thankful to have her there at that moment. It made her wonder whether things might have been different back then if only one person had been on her side.
The seclusion might have been tolerable.
Francine cleared her throat, her sharp brown eyes assessing Dylan with haughty disdain. She was just as protective of her child as Sophie was of Joshua. “The amount of food my grandson puts away could feed a small army.”
Sophie cleared her throat. “Mom, this is Dylan. Dylan, my mother.”
“You may call me Francine.” Her chin rose in challenge, although her voice remained polite.
“Francine.” He gave her a brief nod. If he was displeased with her presence it didn’t show. “Please call me Dylan.”
“Can I look around?” Joshua interrupted, too overwhelmed to stay put for long.
“Help me unload first,” Sophie reminded him. “Then maybe your father will give you a tour.”
Dylan pinned her with those black eyes, his expression unreadable. “I would like nothing more, Joshua, but your aunt Elen is anxious to meet you. She’s waiting for us at the clinic. I don’t know how long her patience will last.”
“Okay.” Joshua’s expression turned thoughtful. “Can we eat first?”
A slight smile tugged at Dylan’s lips. “I believe a small feast is being prepared for you at this very moment.”
“Cool. Can Mom come too?”
“Of course. Enid, my cook,” Dylan explained, “is making your mother’s favorite. Your grandmother is welcome as well.”
“I’ll pass,” Francine interjected. “But I appreciate the offer. I’ll stay behind and unpack.”
“Are you sure, Mum?” Sophie asked. “We can just put the food in the fridge and I’ll unpack our clothes later.”
“It’s been a long day and I’m tired.” Francine pinned her daughter with a meaningful gaze. “But you need to do this.”
“Did you hear that, Mom?” Joshua’s dark eyes twinkled with mischief. “Enid, the cook, is making your favorite.”
“I heard.” Her stomach gave a small heave of protest.
Six
DYLAN DROVE IN SILENCE, A FEELING OF COMPLETE fulfillment spreading out form his limbs. Sophie had cared well for their son. Joshua was strong and healthy. And here—where he belonged.
Unable to stop himself, Dylan took another sidelong glance. It was odd and more than a little overwhelming to see one’s own features on another being. Joshua sat with his legs spread wide, taking up the whole passenger seat, his hands drumming softly against the dashboard.
Dylan had not felt such peace in a very long time.
A turn in the road came into view. On impulse, he veered his truck to the left, choosing the long way to the clinic. He heard Sophie shift in the backseat as she became aware of the detour.
Dylan watched her in the rearview mirror. Her profile was clean of paint, her complexion drawn by winter, or strain. Or both. Her jaw clenched as she stared out of the window, trying hard to ignore his presence. Her light brown hair cascaded down her back in thick waves. He’d always known her to keep it short.
She wore jeans and a navy sweatshirt and looked very much like the college intern he’d met sixteen years ago. She had not aged. He wondered if she realized that.
“What has your mother told you of me?”
Joshua straightened, his hands dropping to his lap, looking over his shoulder to the backseat. It angered Dylan that he looked to her first for approval.
“Just tell your father the truth,” Sophie said.
“Um, well, I know you have a huge house that looks like a stone fort and a lot of people live there. You watch out for everyone in your town like they’re your responsibility. I have an uncle named Luc. And an aunt named Elen who’s a doctor. They were nice to Mom when she lived here.”
The last was said as if everyone else was unkind to Sophie. How many other lies had she told?
“Do you know how your mother and I met?”
Joshua nodded. “You rented her the lake house. She worked as a wildlife biologist on a research team from the University of Maine and was trying to reintroduce caribou back into the Katahdin region. You guys ended up spending the summer together until Mom found out she was pregnant with me. She quit her job and moved in with you.”
The accounting was too guarded for Dylan’s satisfaction. “Did she tell you about her time in Rhuddin Hall? And please don’t moderate.”
“I’m not.” Joshua’s defense of his mother was immediate. “You were always worried about her and kept people around her. She was very sad because you wouldn’t let her call Grandma. She found out my grandfather died from an obituary in a newspaper. You wouldn’t let her go to the funeral. You guys had a really big fight over it.” He paused, his eyes shifting to the backseat.
“Go on,” Sophie urged.
“Mom didn’t understand why you were so weird about her leaving. Then one night you showed her why.” He didn’t give specifics but his voice indicated he knew them. “Just before you”—he cleared his throat—“changed, you told her she could leave after I was born,
but without me. So she left before I was born.”
Although biased, the accounting was fairly accurate. Dylan had expected worse. However, there was an odd tone to his son’s voice. “What are you not telling me?”
“Nothing,” Joshua hedged. “I don’t know. I just don’t think you knew Mom that well or you’d never have made that offer. That’s all.”
That’s all.
Dylan gripped the steering wheel, trying hard to keep the anger from his voice. It seemed Sophie had omitted an important piece of information that their son deserved to know. “My words and actions may seem unfair to you, but I had my reasons. Your mother and I were wedded that summer she spent at the lake house. When she moved into my house we were husband and wife.”
Sophie hissed from the backseat, no longer ignoring his presence. “I don’t believe that wedding was entirely legal.”
He met her glare in the rearview mirror, deciding with some satisfaction that he preferred her anger to indifference. “Do your oaths mean nothing, wife? Because I assure you I don’t make vows unless I mean to keep them.”
“We were never in a church,” she ground out, a forced calm in front of their son. “As far as I’m concerned, that ceremony was just a romantic gesture in the woods. There was no minister present, or a priest, or a justice of the peace, for that matter. And I know we never signed any papers—”
“We were in my church. And I don’t need a clergyman or a clerk to validate my vows. And documents are useless items easily destroyed and irrelevant.”
And you are my mate, his wolf growled silently, flexing its teeth along Dylan’s spine. An unbreakable bond. Your human vows are insignificant in comparison.
Her jaw hung open, rendering her momentarily speechless. Joshua remained quiet in the passenger seat, although a slight grin tugged at his lips.
