PRINCE OF WOLVES
By
Susan Krinard
PRINCE
OF
WOLVES
Susan Krinard
BANTAM BOOKS
New York • Toronto • London • Sydney • Auckland
Prince of Wolves A Bantam Fanfare Book / September 1994
FANFARE and the portrayal of a boxed 'ff' are trademarks of Bantam Books a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc
Copyright © 1994 by Susan Krinard Cover art copyright © 1994 by Steve Assel No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retneval system, without permission in writing from the publisher For information address Bantam Books
ISBN 0-553-56775 6
Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada
Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc Its trademark, consisting of the words "Bantam Books" and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U S Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries Marca Registrada Bantam Books, 1540 Broadway, New York. New York 10036
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
To Jennara Wend and Rosemary Edghill who got me started
and
to Serge, my real-life
French-Canadian hero
Chapter One
There was a stranger in town.
His keen sight picked her out from his vantage atop one of the rocky cliffs that formed sentinels on either side of the narrow two-lane highway that led into town. From here he could see the main street with its clumps of buildings, a warren of human habitation surrounded by wilderness. There were people moving about as there always were, even in this isolated place—but she stood out. She was different. An outsider. The townsfolk of Lovell, British Columbia, might not care for strangers, but he occasionally had use for them. At least the women…
His long suntanned fingers stroked slowly through the dense fur of the wolf beside him. It had been a long time since he'd enjoyed the company of a woman, and the desires that had awakened with the coming of spring had not been satisfied. There were women in town who would share his bed, who would be more than willing to overlook his reputation. But he had long ago lost any appetite for the entanglements that came with local relationships The few times he'd tried it hadn't been worth the trouble.
And he'd been alone so long.
The wolf under his stroking hand shifted and whined softly With a murmured apology, he released his grip on the heavy mane behind the animal's neck He didn't care that the townsfolk regarded him with suspicion, they were not his kind. But their distrust limited his choices. When winter drifted into spring and the need came on him, there was only one way to meet it. Hikers and adventurers and tourists out to see their last chunk of real wilderness came year by year to Lovell's single lodge, and nearly always there were women among them willing to share his cabin and bed. But this year had been a lean one. Until yesterday.
And she was lovely. It hadn't been difficult to find her desirable.
It had been easy to observe her, to mark her out from the rest. She shone among the townsfolk, a flame among ashes, luring his senses with an undeniable attraction. She wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd seen, but there was a vitality about her that burned as brightly as the sun on her hair.
He smiled slowly, a slight upcurve of lips that seldom resorted to the expression. Yes, she would do very well.
The wolf interrupted his reverie with an impatient thrust of its muzzle under his hand. Intelligent eyes, pale and rimmed in black, met his questioningly. He drew his hand over the broad forehead and scratched between the triangular ears. The wolf closed its eyes and stretched with a yawn that revealed rows of sharp teeth. Then it straightened, yipped once, and turned in a tight circle.
The impatient gesture drew a rough chuckle from the man. "Yes, my friend Don't let me keep you from important business." The wolf waved its tail once in answer and sat on its haunches, regarding him. "I won't be joining you now. I've got other game today." He turned again to gaze at the town, though the woman had long since disappeared. "I haven't done this kind of hunting in some time—and I think this one might prove to be a challenge. I'll have to be careful to stay downwind until I've caught her."
Anticipation tightened his muscles, and the wolf yipped again. "Go. I'll find you later. We'll have to plan this carefully—and keep an eye on her in the meantime." He pushed gently at the wolf, and the beast whirled and vanished like a gray phantom.
The sun rose higher, limning the serrated hillsides to the east with radiant yellow light against deep blue-green. The mountains beyond caught the illumination with the brilliance of a diamond. He breathed in the crisp air, savoring the myriad scents of a new day. Before it ended, he planned to know more about the stranger—and begin his hunt.
Joelle Randall didn't think she'd ever seen anything so beautiful.
The long slope, carpeted in wildflowers, released a heady perfume on the cool air of late summer. Conifers bordered the meadow like the watchful sentries of a vast army, marching up the slopes of surrounding mountains—sharp peaks streaked with the white of perpetual ice. Just out of sight were lakes of perfect crystal blue, fed by streams that cut their way over jumbled rocks and through forests almost as pristine as the day they were created.
Joey drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. It was hard to believe so much beauty could conceal, somewhere among its secret corners, the tragedy that had left her alone in the world. Somewhere in these mountains and valleys lay the key to freeing her heart of its long-held burden.
Freedom. Joey took another deep breath of scented air. That was all she had left, the hope of resolving the old sorrow at last. It could never be finished—not until she found the place where her parents had died.
Even now, that word was hard to acknowledge. They'd left her, without a good-bye, without giving her a chance to tell them how much she loved them. She'd only been a kid then: sixteen, still at that vulnerable age, so close to her parents when they'd left on their final journey.
If it hadn't been for a freak storm, the kind of accident even the most experienced pilot couldn't always avoid—Joey clenched her fists, feeling the sudden sharp twist of painful memory. Her father had been careful, she knew that, he'd been flying for years, and the small plane had been meticulously kept up. Not his fault that they'd gone down in these mountains they'd loved, never to be found.
Opening her eyes, Joey pushed back the sadness and focused on the resolve that had kept her going during the past months.
This was the turning point, the time that she would take back her life at last. She would find the place where they had been lost, confront that crippling sorrow, let the clear mountain winds carry her good-byes over the wilderness. There was nothing, now, to hold her back.
She looked down at the half-finished sketch in her lap. She knew she'd made the right decision to leave her architect's job in San Francisco, no matter how comfortable and lucrative. There'd been too much waiting, too much wasting of her life in a vain effort to find the security her parents' death had taken from her.
Even Richard—what she'd had with Richard had been a desperate grasp at replacing something of what had been lost, restoring some meaning to her life. She'd still been young, vulnerable, so full of need, he'd seemed strong, controlled, everything she thought she'd wanted then. But she'd grown up, found that security could be an illusion, control a trap. And all the empty places in her heart had not been filled.
She tossed her head angrily. That was behind her, and well left behind. There could be no more dull secu
rity to cover the hurt. No, she wouldn't think of Richard. No regrets. From now on she'd be in control of her own life.
Absently she set down her sketchpad and caressed one of the vivid blossoms at her feet. It was a deep pink shooting star, one of many wildflowers that turned the mountain hillsides into brilliant canvases from late spring through early autumn. She'd had ample time to study just about every kind of wildflower from the very first blooms after the snowmelt, but now the summer was fading, and all the beauty of Nature couldn't change that unalterable fact.
When she'd come to these mountains in the spring, she'd been confident of finding what she sought before midsummer. But after searching several of the most likely areas in this stretch of the Rockies, she faced the very real possibility of failure. This was her last hope—this town, this valley, and the wild stretches of surrounding mountains. If they weren't here... She bit her lip, hard.
She had to find them. They had to be here. Time was running out. Here in the north, the time of blue skies and green growing things—and passable trails—was all too brief. City-bred she might be, but she understood that once the first snows fell, her quest would be over for the year. That was simply a thought she could not bear.
In an effort to clear her head, Joey focused on her breathing and steadied it until her pulse had slowed again. No smog here—no fumes, no constant racket of cars and human clamor. Here, away from the town, it was easy to pretend you were the last person on earth. Joey grimaced to herself. She might be savoring that feeling if it hadn't been for the constant worries that hung over her. She'd been waiting for her local guide now—one she'd hired in the last town—for over a week. If he didn't show up soon...
Her brooding thoughts were interrupted by a pale flash of movement among the trees at the foot of the slope below. It wasn't a deer—that much she was sure of—but it wasn't something immediately recognizable to her unpracticed eye. She reached down to the binoculars at her belt. Fixing the location of the elusive shape in her mind, Joey unhooked them and focused on the blue-green blur of trees that marked the lower boundary of the meadow.
Close up, the details leaped to life in her vision: individual Douglas fir, spruce, and pine with a scattered understory of shrubs and brush. She almost passed over the pale shape the first time she caught it in her sights, hurriedly readjusting until she had it in focus again. Her breath tangled in her throat.
A wolf—a great gray timber wolf—stood absolutely still in the half-concealment of a larchberry bush. Joey's hands tightened on the binoculars to steady them. Her first wolf. All this time in the mountains and she'd never seen one, though she'd heard them in the summer nights, shivering in spite of herself at their eerie chorus. She knew they were elusive, uncommon even in protected areas. But to see one here, alone, in broad daylight...
Joey studied the wolf intently. It was huge—even from this distance, she could tell that—and its coat was lush and heavy, pale on the belly and legs, shot with silver and gray and black across the back and masking the face. The triangular ears were alert, the bushy tail slightly raised. It seemed to be watching, or waiting. For prey, perhaps? Joey moved the binoculars to get a clearer look at the pale, tilted eyes. She nearly dropped them in astonishment. The wolf seemed to be staring straight at her.
Fascinated, Joey stared back. She knew it was impossible that the wolf could be looking directly at her through the binocular lenses, but the sensation persisted, all logic to the contrary. Perhaps it simply sensed her presence with the uncanny ability wild animals have. That seemed reasonable, but Joey wasn't feeling very reasonable at the moment. Those eyes—pale and slanted and oddly intelligent—had a very strange effect. She almost got the feeling that the wolf not only saw her but was studying her in turn. The longer she looked, the stronger the peculiar feeling grew. Those eyes...
It took a long moment for Joey to realize she had been lost in that wild stare for a frightening length of time. Unnerved, she dropped the binoculars. She blinked as her eyes adjusted, and without intending to, she found herself searching the forest edge again for the pale shape of the wolf. For an instant she caught sight of it, its head still raised as if to watch her. And then it moved, disappearing silently between one blink and the next.
Joey bit her lip and hooked the binoculars back to her belt. She realized her back and arms were taut with tension. True, it was the first time she'd ever seen a wild wolf, but that was no reason to get quite so worked up. She knew healthy wolves weren't dangerous to people, and that wolf had certainly kept its distance.
But she couldn't quite shake the weird intensity of the wolf's gaze, or the bizarre way she'd almost gotten lost in it. There was something in this mountain air and ancient wilderness that made a person feel not quite earthbound. But such flights of fancy were useless to her and could only distract her from her purpose.
Joey flipped her braid over one shoulder with an irritated toss of her head. She'd just have to make doubly sure from now on that she didn't let this countryside hypnotize her into complacency—or turn on her with the treachery it had shown her parents.
Sighing deeply, Joey lay back and stretched out into the bed of grass and flowers, allowing the soft scent of crushed blossoms to soothe her. She concentrated on the distant chatter of birds from the trees at the meadow's edge, the soft soughing of a breeze through the fir and spruce, drifts of air idly teasing the pale hair that had escaped her braid. She smiled experimentally into the sun, eyes squeezed shut, and decided to live for the moment—at least for a few minutes.
Joey came to full, sudden wakefulness with an odd, distinctly unflowerlike odor assaulting her nose. In the moment it took her to realize she'd relaxed enough to fall asleep in the grass, she knew that something was different. As she rolled over, her body tingled with a primitive urge to run and hide. She froze instead. It was then that she saw the wolf.
Her fingers dug deeply into soft earth as she stared at the animal. It was the same wolf—the very same wolf, but this time considerably closer and much, much larger. It sat on its haunches no more than a few yards away, and its gaze was locked on hers. She could see every detail in the cool depth of its pale eyes, the dark round pupils, the black rims, and the masklike markings of its facial fur.
For a moment she distanced herself from fear by studying the wolf dispassionately, as if it were simply one of her architectural designs, a living construct to be classified and assigned its proper place. The coat was thick and heavy and woven of many subtle shades, ranging from nearly white to nearly black in the fur across the broad shoulders and back. The bushy tail rested half-curled behind the haunches, and the paws—each toe tipped with a thick black claw—were huge. The neat ears were cocked forward, and there was no doubt that the animal's attention was most definitely focused on her. She could hear the soft puff of its breath as it regarded her, glimpsed menacing white teeth and curled pink tongue as it panted. But it was the eyes—those strangely intense eyes—that caught and held her just as they had before. This time she didn't have the protection of binoculars and distance.
It seemed to be an impasse. Joey bit her lip and held herself very still. She was not quite prepared to test the theory that normal wild wolves would not attack human beings. Even if this one did seem rather friendly and not particularly threatening. She had the sudden, absurd desire to hold out her hand and say "Nice doggy," an image that immediately provoked a gasp of stifled laughter. She choked on it as the wolf stood up on all fours and moved a step closer. Its gaze never wavered.
Joey knew the wisest course would be to stay in place until the wolf got bored and went about its business; if it hadn't been for the cooling air and darkening sky, she would have been resigned to an indefinite wait. But the sun was setting—and if this wolf had friends likely to join it after dark, she wasn't particularly keen on being here to meet them.
There didn't seem to be much point in prolonging the confrontation. Joey drew in a deep breath, gathered her courage, and decided to risk it. "Look,
wolf," she murmured as it regarded her in grave silence, "I don't know why you're here or why you're so interested in me—but it's getting late, and I really have to be going."
The sheer absurdity of the situation made her tremble and choke back another inappropriate giggle as the wolf tilted its head to one side. She moved experimentally, gathering herself to rise. The wolf went very still.
And then, almost as if it understood, the wolf looked off in the direction of the town. It was the first time it had broken eye contact, and Joey felt a profound sense of relief to be free of that unwavering stare. She rose cautiously to her knees. The relief was short-lived, for within a moment the wolf looked back and moved several steps closer, putting it within easy leaping distance. Joey braced herself.
But the wolf didn't leap or make any threatening move. Instead, it crept forward and pushed its nose toward her hand—almost trembling—and touched the backs of her fingers ever so gently. The contact was surprisingly warm, not cold and wet as she'd expected. She didn't have time to flinch or react in any way, for almost immediately the wolf retreated, barked once, trotted a few yards in the direction of the town, and looked back at her. Stunned by the oddly intelligent behavior, Joey watched as the wolf repeated its action with something unmistakably like impatience.
Joey shook her head, forcing her muscles to relax one by one. This had to be one of the strangest experiences of her life—but she was as sure as she was ever likely to be that the wolf would not attack. Eyes fixed on the animal, she got slowly to her feet.
With a soft yip that sounded strangely like approval, the wolf waved its plumed tail and opened its mouth in a toothy grin. As she began to move forward, the wolf kept its distance, always ahead, always turning to look back at her in encouragement. At last Joey gave up trying to figure it out and set off with a determination aided by her awareness of the fading sky. If she were lucky, she'd make it back to town by dark. Of course, she might be able to rely on the wolf for protection. Her half-hysterical giggle turned into a gasp as she caught her foot on a rock hidden in the thick grass .Absurd amusement fled, and her mouth set in a grim line.
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