PRINCE OF WOLVES

by Susan Krinard

  The absolute control with which Luke restrained himself sent a shiver through his clenched muscles, and the hair rose along the nape of his neck. He trapped the visceral ferocity of immediate response in his throat for those few instants of silence, hearing Collier's breathing accelerate, aware that the doctor recognized what he was seeing.

  When he was certain of his ability to make the words form in sequence, Luke turned back to his friend. Reminded himself that Collier was his friend, and not an enemy.

  "It was my fault," he whispered. In spite of his efforts he could not keep the subtle threat out of his voice. "I should never have taken her. But it's done now. Too late for your lectures now, Allan. Much too late."

  He met Collier's eyes and stared him down, the doctor looked away, but it gave Luke little satisfaction. The energy that had gathered in his body like an impending storm demanded release, and so he began to pace, letting the force of it drain away. Fighting to keep it from turning on Collier in its irrational violence.

  "Well." The doctor's voice was very soft "It doesn't matter now. The point is that you did what had to be done, got word to us soon enough that there was no lasting damage. Had her injuries been worse, or if they hadn't been treated promptly, I would have had to try to get her to a hospital."

  In a few strides Luke reached Collier, and his hands shot out of their own volition, dragging the doctor up from his seat. He held the older man suspended in midair, the sound of his own pounding heart loud in his ears.

  "No hospital." He snarled the words inches from Collier's face. "Hear me, Collier. She's not going anywhere." The color had drained from the doctor's ruddy complexion, and his blue eyes were wide with shock, that rare sight alone almost disarmed Luke, but he felt himself shaking the doctor as he would a defiant rival. "She's not leaving me."

  All at once Collier became a dead weight clutched in his fists. Turning his face aside, the doctor looked down, his breath very shallow, docile and yielding, Luke responded to the silent language instinctively. With trembling arms he lowered the older man until his feet touched ground again.

  The primitive fury that had come over Luke was gone, turned aside by Collier's wordless appeal to the wolf nature within him. His fingers twisted free of the doctor's shirt as he backed away, forcing himself to settle into a crouch at a safe distance where he could steady his breathing and his racing heart. Collier sat absolutely still on the stool, his eyes were turned carefully away, but the tightness of his jaw and the palpable tension in the tall, wiry body revealed his anger.

  Luke ran a hand through his hair and dropped his head between his shoulders. "I'm sorry." It was all he could do to say the words. "I'm sorry, Allan."

  Collier looked up slowly. The color had come back to his face, heightened by indignation, but with Luke's muttered apology the sharp edges of taut bone and muscle began to relax.

  "I don't suppose," he said mildly, "you'd care to explain what that was all about."

  Feeling a perverse desire to run away with his tail tucked, Luke compelled himself to meet his friend's eyes. It was a rare experience for him to find difficulty in matching stare for stare. "I can't—it wouldn't make sense to you, Allan."

  "Oh no?" Collier leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and winced. "Next time you decide to go wild on me, son, do me a favor and give me a little warning." Luke flinched, but Collier was not finished. "So, you don't think I'd understand—after all these years, and given what I know?" He shook his head, tutting under his breath "You're a lot smarter than that, Luke. And I know there's something very unusual going on here. With her." He nodded toward the door behind which Joey slept in blissful ignorance.

  Resisting the impulse to fling himself to his feet, Luke sighed reluctant acknowledgment. "It's not something I can talk about, Allan. Even to you."

  His carefully restrained answer should have been enough to discourage Collier from prying, but this time too much was at stake. He knew it when Collier would not look away.

  "Try me." There was a sudden sadness in the older man's voice. "You used to come to me when you wouldn't trust anyone else. Have we both changed so much?"

  Luke closed his eyes "You haven't changed, Allan." He opened them again, and this time he fixed his friend with a deliberately challenging stare. "But now everything is different. You know more about us—about me—than any other Outsider. But there are some things you cannot understand."

  "Because I'm only human?" Collier's lips curved up in a bleak smile. "There was a time I would have given anything to be what you are."

  The memories that came with his soft words almost made Luke look away. "There were times when I wished she'd chosen you," he said evenly, concealing emotion. "But it's not always a matter of choice with us. Sometimes it becomes"—he drew in a deep breath and let it out again—"a compulsion. And once the compulsion has been fulfilled, there is no turning back from it."

  He watched Collier's expression change with the first dawning of comprehension. There was a part of him that wanted Collier to know, all of it—to know and accept as he'd done long ago, surrogate father to a proud and angry boy. But there was no rationality where Joey was concerned. Even Collier was a threat, with his mild, reasonable words and desire to help. There was no reason in this and nothing of mild humanity. Even Collier could not be trusted.

  There was no hope of keeping it from the doctor completely, he was far from a fool and knew the ways of the loup-garou as no Outsider ever had. But Luke had no intention of making it easy for him. Before the doctor could probe further, Luke was on his feet and headed for the outside door; by the time Collier had opened his mouth, he had turned in the doorway. "Let it alone, Allan. For your sake, and ours. Do your job and heal her—then let it alone." Even as Collier stood to protest, Luke forestalled him. "I owe you, Allan. For her life. I'll never forget that debt. But don't forget what I am. Don't make me forget what I owe you."

  Collier's reply was caught behind the door as Luke closed it. He stood for a moment, letting the solid wood take his weight, until he could think clearly again. Then he looked out across the expanse of snow that glittered in the morning sun. He needed to run, to free himself of human emotion. There would be time before he could see Joey again.

  He paused only long enough to discard the hindrance of clothing and was already running as the change began.

  The sight of Luke made Joey's heart lurch awkwardly as he paused in the doorway. He was looking at her as if he had never seen her before—or as if he had never expected to see her again. The flood of memories, dreams, and visions that overwhelmed her in that moment demanded more attention than she could give them, with Luke there filling her sight—but the emotions focused into sudden clarity. Gazing into the shifting strangeness of his eyes, Joey lost the lines of division between them. There was receding fear, relief—was it hers, at her own lucidity after being so near death, or his? Was it her powerfully physical awareness of him that made her pulse race, or the echo of desire she saw in his eyes? And the other feelings, the ones she was half-afraid to name.

  There was no more time for analysis, for in a move too swift for her to follow Luke was at her side, and she was in his arms. He said nothing, holding her so gently that she hardly felt her body being shifted so that he had neatly taken the place of her pillow. She sighed and closed her eyes. He was considerably harder than a pillow, but much nicer.

  Luke's warm breath bathed her face an instant before he kissed her, the pressure of his lips on her forehead and cheek as light as the touch of a butterfly's wing. She felt the tension in his body, as if he were holding some immense power in check in an effort not to crush her, she almost laughed. With the anesthetic Dr Collier had given her, it would be a while before she would know if someone punched her in the ribs. And for that she was profoundly grateful.

  The serene comfort of feeling well and safe came on in a rush, she felt tears gathering in her eyes. A soft caress brushed a single escaping drop from her cheek.

  "Jo
ey."

  His voice was achingly familiar but strange, catching oddly on her name. "You're safe now, Joey. You won't ever be hurt again."

  She looked up slowly, into his eyes. "Luke." She tried to find words, but the choking fullness of her heart made it impossible. The green-gold of those intense eyes was suspiciously bright, though they never looked away from hers. "I'm all right." She said it for him, but also for herself, he dropped his head to press his cheek against her hair above the bandages. He hadn't shaved, and the stubble of his gray-shot beard caught in the loose strands. It felt wonderful.

  "Joelle." He breathed her name, and then again, as if to acknowledge a miracle. The big hands tightened where they clasped hers.

  "I'm here," she murmured, sensing some profound need within him. "And I'm glad you're here, too."

  There was a long silence, Joey basked in a feeling of such complete contentment that it was hard to believe it wasn't one of her fever-dreams or bizarre, fantastic visions. There were things she knew had not been dreams or visions, the one she remembered now made her powerfully aware of the feel of Luke's heat burning against her, and no amount of exhaustion or abuse could short-circuit that instinctive response.

  It soon became apparent that the reaction was not one-way. She shifted and lay back, tilting her head to gaze up at the bunched muscles of his jaw. Freeing one hand from his, she raised it to trace over the hard edge of his chin with her fingers. The tension seemed to flow out as she touched him, though the definitive indication of his desire for her showed no signs of departing. Joey grinned in spite of the pull of stitches.

  "It's all so strange," she began at last, settling back more comfortably in his arms. "The last thing I remember—before I started having the strange dreams—was throwing a snowball at you. Remember? I scored a direct hit." She couldn't quite keep the smug satisfaction out of her voice, but the memory of what followed was sobering. "And then—something hit me, very hard, and knocked me into the snow. I remember that it was a bear, but the rest gets pretty fuzzy. Except that it hurt."

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Joey concentrated on the fact that most of the pain was blessedly gone. "After that, I guess I went in and out of consciousness, I remember seeing you a few times, but nothing really got through." Her frown made the stitches pull, and she smoothed it out quickly. "I had the strangest dreams, so real."

  She broke off, as puzzled now as when she had first awakened to find an anxious Dr Collier bending over her. "All I know is that you saved my life, Luke. Again.Thank you."

  She could feel the growing tension in Luke's body as she spoke, warning her even when she could not see his face. "I risked your life. I almost lost it." His voice grated in self-condemnation, all tenderness gone.

  Joey would have twisted in his arms, but he held her too tightly. "Do you think I blame you, Luke? Because we were attacked by a grizzly?"

  His posture was still rigid with distress. "I should have seen it coming, just as I should have recognized the hypothermia. There was no excuse for my mistakes."

  "Luke..." Joey bit her lip, wondering how to ease his strange sense of guilt. "Those things were beyond your control. You tried to warn me of the dangers, and I wouldn't listen. In any case"—she turned her hand in his to grip his fingers—"you're only human."

  His reaction caught her entirely off-guard. There was an instant when she thought he would have leaped right out of the bed like an erupting geyser if it hadn't been for her inhibiting presence. As it was, the strangled sound he made might have passed for a bitter laugh.

  "Only human. I wish I had that excuse."

  As Joey puzzled over his meaning and began to formulate the obvious response, Luke brought his hand up to brush her lips, the touch of his fingers halting her desire to speak. For a moment she relaxed into the caress, forgetting everything less important. She had almost dozed off when he spoke again.

  "Tell me about your dreams, Joey."

  The question was so unexpected that the first image that came to Joey's mind brought swift heat to her face. Even though the reality had far outstripped her early, unwilling fantasies of making love with Luke, she was not quite prepared to share them. Not yet. It was a great relief when she realized it was the other, more recent, and far more bizarre illusions to which he referred.

  "You're probably going to find this rather funny, Luke. But I guess it's not so strange when you admitted you have wolves for friends."

  Luke was silent. Joey knew that the silence had meaning, as all his moments of stillness did. "It started," she continued slowly, "after the bear attacked. It was a wolf that saved me." She narrowed her eyes as if that would make the internal vision clearer. "That part was real, I think. Something drove the bear away. But for some reason I couldn't find you." The thought arrested her, and she twisted again to look up at Luke. "You were there I know you were—I felt you." She shook her head in confusion. "What happened, Luke?"

  His body shifted under hers. "Tell me what you saw, what you dreamed, Joey. Then I'll tell you." There was more behind his words than Joey could grasp, but she had grown used to his obscure comments. Even when they drove her to distraction.

  "Well—this is the part that will make you laugh." Ducking her head in embarrassment, Joey watched his face from under her lashes "I thought I saw the wolf change. Turn into you, in fact."

  The words came out in jest, but Luke did not seem to find the humor in them. His eyes had that lost, far-off expression, and his jaw was still tight with tension. Joey faltered "Luke?"

  "Go on," he said in a husky whisper.

  Joey let out her breath in a long, shuddering release. "After that, it becomes very strange. You—after you had changed from the wolf—picked me up. Mostly I remember the pain, that I couldn't breathe, but I know you were there. I heard you talking to me—that's one thing that came through when nothing else did. Your voice." Warmth radiated through her, and she closed her eyes."Your voice kept me going. I don't remember the words, but I knew you wouldn't let me go."

  His arms tightened gently. "Never."

  "Mainly I remember the pain, but there was one point where I heard howling—wolves howling—and after that when I looked for you." Frowning in concentration, Joey wriggled her fingers so that they interlaced with Luke's, as if his hand held special significance. "I knew it was you, but you'd become a wolf again. I wasn't afraid—for some reason the fact that you were a wolf didn't matter. I think I slept after that, and eventually I heard other voices and knew help had come."

  There was a pause in which the only sound was Luke's deep breathing and her own, almost in tandem. She tightened her grip on Luke's hand and rubbed it against her cheek. "You were there the whole time, Luke. I think if it weren't for you..." The words that wanted to come then frightened her. Before she might have taken refuge in anger, or behind walls that she had constructed out of fear and pain and loss. Those walls had crumbled in the cave with Luke, reduced to rubble so fine there could be no hope of rebuilding.

  "So what do you think?" she said at last. "Do you suppose I've tapped into some primal symbolism here?" She disentangled her hand from his and separated his fingers to examine them one by one. "I don't suppose it's very flattering to be thought of as a wolf, considering the double meaning, even in a dream, but...

  "It was no dream."

  It was not the words but the absolute conviction in them that struck her dumb. Then she laughed, even though she knew it was the wrong response—wrong because Luke was in deadly earnest. She felt it in every line of his body that contracted all at once into hard knots beneath her.

  Somehow, without her awareness or cooperation, she found herself lying on sheets warmed to fever heat and Luke half a room away. She blinked and shook her head, disoriented and vaguely angry. Her hands plucked at the blankets as if to find in them the comfort that Luke had so suddenly withdrawn.

  He was pacing the room in short bursts, all the smooth grace gone, a clumsy marionette with broken strings. When he stopped to fix her wit
h his hard, familiar stare, she stammered out the first inadequate thought that came into her mind "What did you say?"

  His gaze never wavered "It was no dream." He drew the statement out so there could be no misunderstanding, word by deliberate word. "What you saw, Joey, was real."

  The breath caught in her throat, between laughter and protest. If there had ever been a time wrong for laughing, it was now, and she was not prepared to chance it again. But what he said made no sense. Surely it made no sense at all.

  "Are you saying," she said at last, with a deliberation equal to his, "that you turned into a wolf?"

  For the first time he looked away, jerking to a halt. If it were possible for a man to look more dangerous, Joey did not want to know about it.

  "That's exactly what I'm saying," he growled.

  Joey closed her eyes, trying to reconcile his utter sincerity and what she knew of him with the insanity of his words. There had been wolves—several times, with him, there had been the strange proximity of the animals, and she had come to accept that with remarkable ease. That he had somehow been accepted by them, as part of the wild land he loved. A mutual respect she had not found the need to question. And he had freely admitted the relationship.

  But this...

  "I know about the wolves, Luke," she said carefully, opening her eyes but not quite meeting his. "It never seemed as strange to me as it should have, your relationship with them—the times we saw and heard them."

  Luke was suddenly there before her. "Yes," he murmured, his pale eyes glittering. "Some of those were real wolves."

  She heard the words without comprehension. "And the rest are werewolves?" She flung it at him without thought, finally giving a name to the thing he implied. And he answered with the same grim sobriety.

  "We call ourselves loups-garous. It means essentially the same thing."

  Joey realized then that her muscles were as clenched as Luke's, but she could not make them relax. "You are saying," she said very calmly, "that you are a werewolf."