PRINCE OF WOLVES

by Susan Krinard

  Joey sat on her knees, held more surely frozen in place by the savage look in his eyes than by his hands. "She said," Luke continued with harsh deliberation, "what all the village knows. What even Collier understands. You and I—we are joined, Joey. From that moment in the cave. By the blood of my people, we have become mates."

  She felt her mouth working, but no sound would come out. "Collier didn't tell you that, did he, Joey—that among my kind, there can be only one true mate. Once we have found that mate, the bond is for life. It is life, to us." His words came in a barrage, cracking like gunshots. "Something we share with the true wolves, but different, because we are human as well. But not entirely." His eyes glowed with an alien heat. "What we are means that we cannot mate and mate again as Outsiders do. Not once we've found the true bond. As I have with you."

  Shivering in sudden, uncontrollable jerks, Joey struggled for comprehension. She heard the words, but it was his eyes, boring into hers with inhuman ferocity, that made her shudder with a primal fear beyond controlling. "Luke, I don't..."

  He cut off her gasped attempt at speech with his mouth, stopping her lips with his own, the burning heat of them moving on hers in a kiss that held nothing of tenderness. Her body responded while her mind was still grasping helplessly at what she could not understand. He withdrew before anything other than primitive lust could penetrate her confusion; there was almost a smile on his face, a ferocious triumph that chilled her more thoroughly than anything that had gone before and doused the heat of her body with frigid lucidity.

  "You see, Joey. You feel it, too. You are mine, and your body knows it. Your heart knows it and your soul, even when your mind resists." His voice had become so rasping that there was little of the man left in it. "She said we cannot fight what we are. I tried to fight it when I met you, once I knew—but it was already too late. For both of us." The restrained power in his hands gripping her arms could have snapped them like twigs. "We can't fight it. You can't fight what you are, Joey."

  She felt the blood drain from her face. The last words penetrated like acid into the roiling confusion of her thoughts and emotions. Full understanding came all at once, and she jerked free of him so suddenly that his hands hovered in midair where her arms had been. She turned on him then, feeling such wildness within herself that there was almost no surprise when he dropped his eyes from hers, fleeing the savagery of her reaction. There was a power rising within her such as she had never known, so thoroughly overwhelming logic and rationality and all those careful human boundaries in which she had prided herself that there was no hope in fighting it. She let it take her. It was that terrible power that propelled her forward to thrust her face into his, no softness that would yield to him or to any weakness within herself.

  "I am not an animal," her voice hissed from the mouth of that alien self. "I am a human being. I control my own destiny. And I don't belong to you." The savagery that welled up to choke her belied her words, but she hardly noticed the contradictions. She knew only one need to refuse submission, refuse surrender, refuse to lose the last vestige of control she had fought so hard all of her adult life to gain, over emotions and vulnerabilities that could lead only to unbearable pain. Refuse his demands and his insane assertions, refuse the identity he tried to give her. An identity that would make her lose what little certainty remained in her life.

  Luke was trembling so hard that his body vibrated in sympathy to her own, an unwilling connection between them even in the extremity of their conflict. His eyes were on hers again, his face so rigid that it might have been carved like one of his wooden beasts. They did not touch, the battle was one of locked gazes and will, unbridled power that Joey used without comprehension.

  Some small, faint aspect of what she had been scratched feebly at Joey's frozen rage. It asked her why she could not simply turn and walk away, why she could not speak rationally and deny what could surely not be true, soothing Luke with words that brushed the surface and held him at bay until the time came to go back, resume the life she had known before.

  But there was no before. Even as that distant rational Joey tried to reason, the new power pushed it back. The tiny voice became a breeze shredded by a blizzard. Why? Why are you so frightened? Why is this so unlike Richard, so unlike everything you've ever known? Why does this man who is not a man make it impossible to use all the safe, sane explanations that protect you from hurt? Why is there so much pain—the pain that only comes with something called love?

  "No," she gasped. The realization shattered both feral rage and distant voice in one terrible blow. Joey jerked back and away, a marionette suddenly cut loose from all familiar support—even the final surety of a carefully warded heart. She fell back, floundering, drowning in loss, and it was Luke's hands that caught at her and kept her from falling. There was no strength left to fight. She panted against him as he drew her into his arms, so drained of all sensation that even her treacherous body did not react to his nearness.

  When her gasping had eased, she felt herself moved, set back from the support of his body, her chin tilted up so that her eyes had no choice but to follow. Even through the utter blankness of her mind she could see the pain in his eyes, as blatant as the raw, bleeding place within her heart where the living walls had been torn away.

  "No," she said hoarsely. "This is too much. I can't. I can't... " She tried to pull away, but he refused to release her. "Let me go, Luke Let me go."

  "Oh, Joelle." The words were dredged up as if each one carried its own burden of despair. "I can't let you go. I wish I could make you understand. I wanted you to stay with me for your own reasons. I hoped... " He cut off with a snap, and a glaze of coldness filmed his eyes when he opened them again. Suddenly there was no more sadness. Nothing but the tearing pain that echoed hers.

  "I don't understand what's happening," Joey whispered, turning inward, escaping his burning intensity. "I need time to think I need to..."

  "You won't leave me, Joey," he insisted in a raw, tormented whisper. And he caught her face in his hands, turned his gaze full on her then, that stare she had first seen in the tavern uncounted ages ago in another life. She knew the stare as she had recognized the stirring of that new and terrible power within herself, she knew it even as she felt the first effects of it, and something within her struggled to resist. But there was no more strength. No more will to fight the compulsion of those eyes and the things they promised and demanded. Joey felt her gaze unfocus, was pulled surely and inevitably out of herself to a place that offered peace and safety and protection from the turmoil her life had become.

  When he released her, she lay against him as weak and helpless as a newborn kitten. There was no desire to do anything but be held in his arms. All the fear was gone, but Joey could no longer remember what it was she'd been afraid of, it all seemed nonsensical and unimportant. She was where she wanted to be. She felt Luke's warm breath stirring her hair, his hands caressing her back until her eyes began to drift closed of their own accord. So tired and she was safe. Luke was there to take care of her.

  "I'm sorry, Joelle." Luke was very far away. "I'm sorry." And she felt him bury his face in her hair as the meaningless words carried her to a place of peace.

  Luke sat on the floor against the wall, willing his heart to slow and the instinctive reactions of his body back under sentient control. The shame he felt for what he had done choked him again and again, but there was no question of going back. No point in asking himself how he could have done it differently, better—so that she would have stayed of her own will.

  He tried to tell himself that she would not suffer for it. Her clear intellect, her range of emotions, those would remain untouched. She would not lose any part of herself that was true, or forget anything that had meaning. Not permanently. He had helped her—to live as the wolf lives, as most of his people did—one day at a time, without dwelling on a past that could not be changed, without the fear of an unforeseeable future that so often poisoned the lives of Outsiders.r />
  It had poisoned his life as well. He feared that unknown future so deeply that he stole part of his mate's very will and locked it away where she could not find it. Hid it from her so that she could not make the choice to leave him. A choice he could not accept and dared not risk. The choice his father had made, that had killed his mother.

  He slapped his fist against the dusty floorboards so hard that his bones ground together with shooting pain. Having lost himself so completely, he had bungled the one thing in his life that should have brought joy and wholeness to both of them. For he knew that Joey felt it too—but not with that cool rationality with which she had always kept the world at bay. With the deeper needs she did not dare to acknowledge within herself, the same needs he had, an empty void of heart and soul that only he could fill.

  As only she could fill his.

  He heard Collier's quiet step and smelled him before the doctor opened the door. Luke didn't feel the cold that flooded the room, overwhelmed as it was by a far more biting inner chill. He looked up bleakly as Collier closed the door behind him and leaned against it to regard his younger friend from the illusory safety of a few meters' distance.

  "Don't worry, Allan," he said with an astringent smile. "I won't bite you." His tone belied his words, but it seemed reassurance enough for Collier; the doctor moved closer and settled on the stool nearest the hearth. Luke took in the tense posture and smell of apprehension. Collier, he reminded himself again, was not the threat.

  "I've called in my transportation, Luke," Collier said with careful neutrality. "He'll be out to pick me up this afternoon." There was an expectant silence, Luke only stared, and at last Collier cleared his throat and continued, "I shouldn't have stayed this long, but the freezing rain and fog kept Walters grounded; Joey's out of any danger now, and I'm urgently needed back in Lovell." He stopped again and shifted on the stool, the slight movements and twitches of his normally placid frame revealing his unease.

  "Then go, Allan. I'll take care of Joey." Luke's voice was harsh, but he could not soften it, the edge of his guilt and need and anger had honed it to such sharpness that it cut the inside of his throat. With deliberate effort he remembered his debts. "I told you before—I'm grateful, and I won't forget. You saved her." Honesty and the memory of a former closeness compelled him to admit what Collier surely understood. "You saved both of us."

  "Does she know?" Collier spoke so quickly that Luke knew that one question had been his sole purpose, why he regarded his almost-son as he might an unpredictable, half-tamed beast. Which, Luke thought grimly, he was. Without intending it, Luke bared his teeth in an entirely humorless expression that was far from human.

  "She knows." The half-lie came with remarkable ease. It was a matter of survival, and it was the wolf-spirit that pushed aside the useless guilt. Even the human part of him knew there was some truth in it. She had known—for a moment she had truly known.

  Collier almost relaxed, but his eyes were still wary and searching. "Does she really understand, Luke? What it will mean to her, how it will change her life?" Biting back a snarl, Luke turned away, but Collier's voice was relentless.

  "She must have a choice in this. You must allow her to choose her own destiny, Luke. She didn't grow up all her life preparing, hoping for the possibility of what has happened." Luke shut his eyes as if that small act could keep out the words.

  "Do you think I can't comprehend your feelings, Luke?" The older man's voice was suddenly warm with compassion. "I do know. I wish I didn't. I wanted so much..." He broke off as his voice caught, drew in a deep breath, and continued.

  "Even your mother had to make her own choice—"

  "And it killed her," Luke snarled. Suddenly the bombardment of self-loathing became so great that the only defense was to turn it outward against the only available target. "You think you understand?" He fixed the full power of his stare on Collier, showing his teeth in contempt. "You know nothing about it. You wanted a woman you couldn't have—because you don't carry the blood. She had no choice at all. As I have none."

  The doctor flinched, jerking away in an instinctive need for flight. Luke watched him settle deliberately back, the pale blue eyes narrowed with slow-wakening anger. "You're afraid, Luke—and so you hide behind this compulsion as if you're not human enough to control it. But I know better." The last four words were blows. "You're not an animal, Luke. You're not merely a creature of instinct. And she is worth far more than what your instincts would make of her—a female to carry on your bloodline and bear your cubs." He used the term intentionally, and it had the desired effect.

  Luke sprang to his feet before he could will himself to stop and halted a bare instant before he could hurl his old friend across the room in his rage. His fingers were curled into claws, but he kept them at his sides until he could trust himself to answer.

  "Damn you, Collier. That isn't what she is to me." He swallowed the bile that had dammed in his throat and cut off the stream of imprecations that rose to take its place "She is..."

  The words wouldn't come He jerked his eyes away from the expression on his old friend's face, unable to bear the pity he thought he saw there.

  "You can't force love, Luke. It comes in its own time and in its own way. If you try to force it—if you hide behind lesser things and hope they will be enough—it will die before it has a chance to grow."

  Luke felt Collier's hand on his arm and had no will to shake it off.

  "You don't have to tell me what she means to you. But don't make the terrible mistake of destroying what you may have found. Don't let your fear and your need replace the only thing that matters."

  With deliberate calm Luke stepped back. Collier's hand slid away. He stood there, absolutely still, until the hairs along his neck lay flat and the desire to attack and rend was reduced to no more than a twitch in his fingers. When he looked into Colliers eyes, he was almost composed.

  "She wants to stay, Allan." He heard the evenness of his tone with bitter satisfaction. "Of her own will, she wants to stay with me."

  This time the lie was complete, and it sealed the terrible guilt behind unassailable walls. The needs of the wolf-spirit, he told himself, demanded it. But it was the fully human part of him that could so twist reality to suit his own desires. As he had bent her will to his.

  Sighing heavily, Collier dropped his eyes. Luke braced himself for accusations, but none came. "I have no right," he said softly, "to interfere with your life. But I will speak to her before I go, Luke—to make sure everything is all right." When he looked up again, his eyes were bright. "I care about her, too. As I care about you."

  He was up and turned away before his words could penetrate Luke's icy calm. Luke could see only his long physician's hands, clasping and unclasping behind his back, with deliberate care. Luke moved to place himself by the outer door, leaving the way to Joey's room unimpeded. "Go Talk to her," he offered tonelessly. "Ask her yourself. And then leave us in peace."

  Collier turned slowly to regard him, and then his gaze slid away as he walked to the connecting door. There was only the slightest hesitation—his hand tightened on the doorframe, as if he would turn and speak—and then at last the older man stepped through.

  Unmoving where he stood, Luke listened. He could have perceived every word spoken had he chosen to do so, but it was enough to hear the tone of them. Joey's light alto, Collier's baritone stripped of its usual ease. It was a short conversation; when Collier reappeared, his face was drawn and strange, and he looked at Luke long and searchingly.

  "It seems you were right, Luke," he said, his eyes never wavering. "Or so she says."

  Luke felt his skin shiver where absent hair tried to stand on end. "Then you've done your duty, Allan," he said very softly. "You can leave her in my hands."

  "Can I?" Collier whispered. He stood in the doorway as if to guard the woman within. "How well have you taken care of her, Luke? Have you really left her with any choice at all?"

  The words struck at Luke so sa
vagely that he almost changed then and there, the stress attempting to shift his muscles into a form made for instinctive response. Instead, he molded the power into one single unerring focus, turned it on Collier, and loosed it as he had done before.

  "Listen carefully, Allan. Joey wants to stay with me. She is happy and has no desire to leave." He laid down the compulsion carefully, refusing to think, rejecting the human shame that would have stopped him. "When you return to Lovell, you will know that she is safe and well. Nothing is wrong, if you are needed, you will come, and you will see everything as it should be."

  The blue eyes trapped by his were glazed; Luke tried not to see Joey there, and what he had done to her. "You will tell no one that she is with me, Allan. If anyone asks, you'll say she was taken to the hospital in East Fork and flew home from there. Do you understand?"

  Nodding slowly, Collier leaned heavily against the wall as he began to shake. Luke recognized the signs, Collier was fighting the compulsion, unable to break it but aware in some distant part of himself what was happening. It would make no difference. Luke lifted his lip in self-contempt. How easy it was to control them when he wished to, and how ironic that the two people he loved most in the world were the first to be so privileged.

  He turned away before he could strike out in blind rage, and as the contact broke, he saw Collier stagger and drop into the nearest chair.

  It took some time before he could smooth his expression and pretend as if nothing at all had happened. He forced himself to sit on the stool Collier had vacated earlier and regarded the doctor across the room. "Didn't you say you had a ride to catch this afternoon?" he said with a lightness that tasted like acid bile on his tongue. "You'd better be going, I think I hear the plane."