PRINCE OF WOLVES

by Susan Krinard

  He smiled. "I tried, even though I'm very fond of Luke. I've known him a very long time, as I'm sure by now you've guessed. But Luke—" His laugh was short "Luke is, as you now know, very different. He never let any of his previous 'interests' touch his heart. Oh, he never hurt them, not in ways that would have done lasting damage to any of them. But, and I hope you won't mind my being very frank, my dear—when I met you, I knew he might be capable of injuring you in ways he could not understand."

  Biting her lip, Joey tried to take it all in, all the things at which Collier had hinted. Some of them she had suspected before, that Luke's involvements with other women had been casual, and that she had been intended as just another diversion. But later, somewhere in the midst of their sparring, and then at last when they had made love, that had changed. Irrevocably changed—and not only for her. Her life had been turned upside down by Luke Gévaudan, but he had not emerged unscathed.

  "When he called us to come for you, I knew it wasn't that simple. Not like the others." Collier's voice had become grave. "Joey, you have changed him. You have touched him in a way that no other woman has done. And I don't know whether to be grateful or frightened by it."

  The ominous tone of the last sentence caught Joey's attention. "What do you mean, frightened? Allan, I'm very thankful for your concern. I still don't know what I did to earn it." Smiling, she reached for his hand and rested her fingers on it in a light caress. "It means more to me than I—sometimes I'm not good at saying these things." Collier turned his hand to grip hers reassuringly. "I've been obsessed with one thing for a very long time. That was all that mattered to me. Now—other things have come to matter too. And it's because of you and Maggie"—she swallowed—"and Luke." Shaking her head, she sighed out the words. "I wish I were better at explaining, but when it comes to matters of the heart, I..."

  "I understand, Joey You needn't try to explain." She looked up into his smile. "I'm more glad than I can say that you've found some—something that brings you happiness." He broke off, and his face changed as if he were about to say more,;Joey felt the echo of unspoken words between them. But then he merely sighed and leaned back, stretching out his lean legs.

  Retracing his earlier words, Joey examined the significance of everything he had told her.

  "Allan—you said you've known Luke a long time. And this village—Luke said few 'Outsiders' knew of it. But you said when I first woke up that this was part of your regular monthly rounds." She cocked her head at Collier expectantly, and he pursed his lips with a nod.

  "I am," he said slowly, "one of the fortunate few who are permitted knowledge of Val Cache. My relationship with the village goes back many years—as does my acquaintance with Luke."

  "And you've known all along about Luke—what he is?" Joey leaned forward eagerly.

  "I've known since before he did," the doctor admitted. "I knew his mother."

  Everything stopped in the moment that Joey put the facts together "Marie-Rose? You knew her?"

  Collier lifted his head. "Luke has told you about his mother." There was wonder in his voice "He never speaks of her. For him to tell you... " The mild blue eyes were bright with something that might have been hope.

  "I know,"Joey murmured, "that what happened with her hurt him deeply." The image of Luke speaking, soft and distant, in the flickering firelight softened her voice to a whisper. "But he never mentioned you."

  "I'm not surprised. It's far more characteristic of him not to speak of it at all. As you said," he said sadly, "it hurt him deeply. But he never shows it. Except to you."

  Joey savored the sudden warmth that rose to bathe her heart in gentle flame. It was still too new and too strange to take on the solidity of words. "If you knew Luke's mother—then you knew Luke as a boy."

  "Yes" His eyes turned to stare blankly out the window. "I saw little of him for the first years of his life, when his father was with them Later—" His voice caught. "Later, when he was alone, I was able to give him my friendship, and receive his in return."

  "So he wasn't entirely alone," Joey murmured. All the things Luke had told her settled into new patterns. "He had you."

  "At times that wasn't enough " Collier turned back to her, his face drawn. "Of course, by then the village had accepted him, and he spent some of his time here. But as he grew older and saw more of the outside, his experiences changed him, and he no longer seemed to fit in either world."

  Joey understood the sudden image that sprang to her mind. "A lone wolf."

  "Yes." Half-smiling, Collier gazed at her without quite focusing. "And for him, that word has more significance than you can imagine."

  Sifting through the things she needed to ask, Joey frowned thoughtfully. "Luke is a 'loup-garou,' " she said at last, molding the words with care, "but he said there were others. His mother—"

  "Was what he is," Collier affirmed gently. "A lovely girl and a graceful she-wolf with fur as black as midnight." Concealing her start of surprise, Joey watched the doctor's face transform into that of a much younger man. A man speaking of a woman he loved. She could not find the words to reply, but he continued, "None of us knew what would happen when she chose Luke's father. We could not protect her after it was done."

  All the questions dammed up in Joey's throat. The silence was filled with poignant memory, and it was some time before the doctor's eyes came back to hers, still brushed with the sheen of old grief. "I tried to be a kind of father to Luke, but he was a very high-spirited boy. He would only accept so much from me, or from anyone else. Until you."

  Joey understood the deliberate change of topic, but she could not shake the impact of what Collier had revealed. She leaned back in her chair, ignoring the ache where her ribs pressed into the carved wooden rungs.

  "Marie-Rose was a werewolf," she breathed wonderingly, "and this village—" She sat up again quickly "Are all of them werewolves, too?" Claire, with her lightning-quick delicacy, Philippe, tall and brooding, bashful and studious Jean-Paul—and Luke's good-natured and rough-spoken grandmother? The image of Bertrande changing into a feisty old she-wolf was enough to dispel the sober tone of her thoughts.

  Collier shook his head before the laugh could escape. "Not all of them—some bloodlines are stronger than others, and some have been lost forever. Sometimes the change skips generations entirely. Luke's mother carried the true blood, as did her father. There are enough adults now to make a sizable pack." There was a sadness in his tone, and Joey recalled the same sadness when Luke had spoken of his people.

  "And the children?"

  Dropping his head, Collier closed his eyes. "Until they reach puberty, we never know. The change is hard on them. Some simply don't change at all." At last he looked up, and his eyes were earnest with melancholy. "Each generation there are fewer children. Val Cache is growing smaller. Someday... " He broke off. "I fear the time of Luke's people is passing."

  Swallowing the unexpected lump in her throat, Joey blinked. "I'm sorry." She thought of the people she had met, and of the children and Luke's obvious devotion to them, even when he would never have admitted it. It seemed strange that it should matter to her, that she could even accept the incredible story she had heard. But it did matter, and she did accept it. There was a thing deep in her soul that responded with such undeniable certainty that she had no choice. None at all.

  "I'm afraid I haven't done a very good job of explaining things, Joey," Collier said into the quiet. "I'd hoped—this would be possible for you to understand. I am immensely grateful..."

  "That I can accept it?" Joey shook her head with a wry smile. "Allan, I'm the one who should be grateful, to have a friend like you. " She reached out again to grasp his hand, he returned the pressure gently. "Things have changed so quickly, sometimes I think nothing could surprise me anymore."

  Gripping her hand more firmly, Collier searched her eyes. "If something does—if something surprises you, or frightens you—if you ever need any help at all, Joey, I want you to know I'm here."


  Joey blinked away sudden tears. "I know. Thank you, Allan."

  The chair creaked under him as the doctor shifted, loosing her hand as he rolled a kink out of his neck. "And now, I think it's time you do a little more moving around before going to bed. Don't be too overconfident—your body still needs plenty of time to heal. You're in good shape now, and since the freezing rain has ended I'll be able to call my transportation in to pick me up. I'm behind schedule as it is."

  He rose, and Joey pushed herself up with a groan to grasp his arm. She walked with him about the room several times, and at last he said, "Have you given any thought to where you'd like to do the rest of your recovering?" His voice was cautious, and Joey looked up from the ground ahead of her feet to his face.

  "You shouldn't push yourself too hard, since you do need time to heal completely—but in a week or so you can be moved out of the village. I would recommend waiting a few more weeks before making any lengthy journeys, however." The last words were almost a question, one that Joey did not quite understand.

  Moving slowly to the side of the bed, Joey sank into the downy softness of the mattress while Collier examined her stitches. "I haven't thought about it at all," she admitted with a frown "I—" The emotions that rode hard on the tail of the doctor's question made her falter. Luke—that was the first thought. Luke. She could not seem to clarify the sudden turmoil of her thoughts. She hadn't thought of "after"—not in all the time she'd been here in Val Cache.

  She tried to think of going back to the lodge, going home—but even the word "home" made no sense. Not anymore. It sat like a leaden weight in her stomach and rose to constrict her throat so that no sound could pass.

  "Hold still, Joey," Collier said gently. She realized then she had been shaking her head in denial of something she could not begin to grasp, let alone accept. She could accept the existence of werewolves, but this mystery within her own heart was beyond comprehension.

  "Good evening, Doctor." In spite of Collier's warning she jerked at the sound of Luke's voice, when she looked up her eyes found his instantly, as if some invisible thread of emotion connected them beyond reason. The amber-green of his gaze was bright on hers. "Joelle."

  She relaxed under the warm caress of her name. For an instant she was oblivious to Collier as he moved aside, his legs pressed against the bed. Then she looked away from Luke's compelling eyes and saw the tension that held the doctor rigid, facing Luke with focused wariness as the younger man approached the bed.

  After the revelations of their talk, Joey could no more ignore her friend's demeanor than she could the mesmerizing heat of Luke's presence. She knew instinctively that there was much she still had no understanding of; the way Collier's eyes had grown grave as they followed Luke across the room was a testament to how very little she did understand. But she did not know what to say or do or how to ease the situation, and Luke's touch, the lightest brushing of her shoulder with his fingers, drove everything else from her mind. It was her body that was responding.

  "Don't forget, Joey" Collier's voice was gruff with strain. "If you need me—for anything—or if you have questions, I'll be here, or in Lovell." Joey felt Luke's hand pause in his caresses, she watched as he turned slowly to confront the doctor. For a taut, almost painful moment they regarded each other, and Joey knew there was threat in Luke's very posture—saw the older man try to conceal an unwilling flinch. It was Collier who looked away, to Joey, the sadness back in his eyes.

  "Remember, Joey." He moved slowly away from the bed, pausing at last in the doorway "Let her sleep, Luke." There was no surrender in his voice. This time it was Luke who dropped his eyes.

  Collier was gone before Joey could answer. The bed groaned as Luke sat on the edge, the heat of his body radiating in almost palpable waves. She made room for him, sliding sideways so that the narrow bed could accommodate them both, he hesitated only a moment, and as he stretched out beside her she pressed against him, settling her head on his shoulder. His arm came up around her, careful of her ribs, and Joey forgot every concern that her conversation with Collier had raised in the blissful contentment that followed.

  She knew she had dozed, lulled by Luke's fingers stroking her hair and by the steady beat of his heart under her cheek, when his hand stilled to cup the back of her neck. The oddly intimate touch made her shiver to sudden wakefulness.

  "What did he tell you, Joey?" Luke's voice was very soft, but there was no mistaking the intensity in his question. Joey opened her eyes and splayed her fingers across his chest, feeling the undeniable quickening of his heartbeat.

  "That's exactly what he asked me," Joey murmured.

  Luke stiffened under her and relaxed almost in the same moment. His fingers slid into the hair along the nape of her neck. He held her in place with that slight pressure when she would have pulled away to look at his face.

  "He explained more to me—about what you are. About Val Cache." She hesitated, biting her lip. "And about your mother. That she was like you." She felt his heart lurch and settle again into a rapid, even rhythm. "And about the children—" Reaching across his chest, Joey felt for his hand, remembering all that Collier had told her "I'm sorry, Luke" She closed her fingers around his, as far as she could stretch them, as if somehow she could protect him from the pain he had suffered as a boy.

  His hand turned to capture hers "Then you understand, Joey." It was a statement of belief. "You understand how it is with us." For the first time he withdrew his hand at her neck so that she could shift to look at his face. "How it is with me." His eyes were bright and alien as they met hers. Not inhuman, Joey thought dazedly. Something more than human.

  Her ribs were aching as she sat up and braced herself against him, but she ignored that minor discomfort when she saw the tension in his expression, the—fear, she thought with a start—of something beyond his control.

  "I think I do understand—as much as any 'Outsider' could," she said, resting her palm along the side of his face, fitting it in the hollow under his cheekbone. He shuddered and leaned into her caress, his eyes flickered shut and opened again. "A lot of things that never made sense to me before have become clear. But there are still so many things I don't know, Luke—things I want to know. About what you are, and why you exist." She grinned wryly "I never was able to just accept things. I guess you know that by now."

  "I know." The two words were heavy with meaning, but there was a faint smile relaxing the grim line of his mouth. He slid his arm around her and pulled her against him gently, and she settled her face into the hard curve of his neck where it met the arch of shoulder muscle. There was silence for a span of time, Luke's heartbeat had slowed again, but she sensed—she knew in the way she had learned to know Luke's body—that he was far from relaxed. There was something that remained undone between them.

  She was ready when he spoke again. "Did Allan tell you—did he explain—" With uncharacteristic hesitation Luke drew in a deep breath and let it out very slowly. Again he held her in place so that she could not see his face. "Did he tell you how we—"

  He got no further in his stammered question; without warning Bertrande appeared in the doorway, a wooden tray of food in her hands. She set it down without ceremony on a nearby stool, put her hands on her hips and regarded them both with gleeful satisfaction.

  "He bien, Luc, je vois qu'ça s'est arrange ent'vous deux!" The old woman's voice held the same tone of gloating satisfaction, she leered at Joey unabashedly. "About time. No excuse not to do your duty, boy—as soon as she is up to it, bien sûr!" Bertrande chuckled and rolled her eyes "I have a feeling it will not take long with you two." She spoke to Luke in French, too rapidly for Joey to follow.

  Luke growled something incomprehensible, he had gone rigid under her, and she was able to push free of his restraining arm to watch the exchange. Bertrande's words were a puzzle, and there was something under their surface, something that brought that strange tension into Luke's body.

  "Bon, bien, I will leave you now." Bertrand
e's eyes had not lost their twinkle in spite of Luke's obvious discomfort. For a moment she focused on Luke intently, spoke to him in soft French that Joey only half understood. Don't worry, the old woman told him. And something else, about leaving.

  Bertrande turned suddenly to Joey, and there was an incongruous touch of gravity in her voice "Take care of him, Joelle. Let him take care of you. You cannot refuse what you are." Then, with a final flashing grin, she left the room with a cheerful "Bonjour."

  Luke was up and headed for the tray before Joey could demand an explanation. He busied himself with it far longer than necessary, and at last Joey sat up against the stacked pillows and cleared her throat. "I'm rather hungry, Luke—do you suppose you could bring that over here?"

  His back stiffened, and he turned at once with the tray in hand, the lines of his face were tense and angry, smoothing before her eyes into the familiar, distant neutrality that meant he was hard at work pushing emotion far below the surface. Joey understood that process all too well. She contented herself with the fresh bread and cheese, sipping the broth and cold water until her hunger had been appeased. The hunger that remained could not be satisfied so easily. Luke hardly touched the food, he gulped down the water in one long pull and ignored the rest.

  "I guess you prefer meat?" Joey offered cautiously after she finished her last bite of cheese.

  She'd meant it as a joke, but Luke turned to her and answered gravely, "Sometimes we do—but we're as much human as wolf." There was a strange sharp tenor to the words, as if Luke were trying to remind her—or himself—of his double nature. That he was still very much a man.

  Joey set the tray down carefully. "What was she saying to you, Luke—what did she say that made you so angry? And what did she mean about not refusing what I am?" She watched his face as it flexed in a series of emotions too rapid to follow. His eyes were hard as chips of amber-green stone as they met her gaze.

  "Do you want to know, Joey?" The words flew like splinters of that same cold stone. "Do you really want to understand what I am—what we both are?" Before she could answer, he shifted and grasped her upper arms in his hands, tight enough to hold without hurting. The tray clattered to the floor. "I'll tell you. My grandmother was congratulating me. Congratulating us." Joey opened her mouth, and his grip tightened fractionally. "Not for any simple or obvious reason. Not for any human circumstance."