PRINCE OF WOLVES

by Susan Krinard

  Still half-dazed, the doctor blinked. He tilted his head and nodded slowly. "Yes. It's strange I don't know what came over me just now." His eyes cleared, a hesitant smile replaced the slack expression on his handsome, weathered face.

  "You worked hard to help Joey, Allan," Luke said, sincere in spite of his bitter self-contempt. "I hope you'll find time to get some rest. You've earned it. There's nothing more to worry about here—I'll take good care of Joey."

  "Yes" Collier blinked, and for an instant his brows drew together in a frown. Luke tensed expectantly, but his friend relaxed again almost at once. "Well, I definitely hear my transportation, and I have a kilometer to walk yet." He stood up, leaned sideways, and caught his balance with a chuckle. "I must be getting old."

  "Not you, Allan. " Luke rose and moved to steady Collier, the doctor gripped his arm with obvious affection, and it was all Luke could do not to curse himself aloud. "I'll go with you, at least to the edge of the clearing."

  With a grin the older man let himself be led to the door. "If this were an ordinary French-Canadian village, I'd swear my cider had been spiked with some particularly potent strain of moonshine." He leaned against Luke heavily. "But I've never known any of you to drink anything stronger than water."

  As he turned the conversation to Joey's care and recovery, Luke closed his eyes briefly in silent thanks. For the moment he was safe. Collier was well and truly persuaded that all was as it should be. By the time he broke the influence—as he inevitably must, being the man he was—it would be too late to make any difference at all.

  Chapter Sixteen

  They said their good-byes where the villagers had first greeted them, at the outskirts of the village where children ran in energetic circles about them in the slushy snow. Joey leaned on Luke's arm, returning the smiles of Luke's people and feeling almost sorry to be going. She'd almost gotten used to having most of the conversations go over her head, used to the lyrical sound of a foreign tongue filling the air like the chattering of exotic birds. She resolved to ask Luke to speak French more often, just because she liked the sound of it.

  The young men flanked them, on either side of the makeshift litter they'd assembled for her. Allan had made clear that, while she was fit enough to be moved, a hike up and over the ridge and back to Luke's cabin would tax her healing body too greatly, Luke had found plenty of volunteers willing to help him carry her when the going got rough. Joey felt faintly embarrassed at her own helplessness, but the grins and winks of the young men, and their cheerfully incomprehensible comments, made it impossible to feel ill at ease.

  The farewells were effusive and noisy, accompanied by hugs and slaps and punches, though the ones directed at Joey were restrained in respect for her injured ribs. But there could be no doubt, now, how thoroughly she had been accepted by them, and the knowledge warmed her beyond all reason. Gone were the cold, staring, suspicious eyes, the pack had taken her in.

  It made it doubly hard to leave, except for Luke. There was one thing she wanted more than to stay, and that was to get Luke alone.

  Claire darted out from a tumbling mass of children and hurled herself at them both, scooting aside at the last moment to avoid jarring Joey and colliding full force with Luke's legs "Es-tu oblige de t'en aller, Luc? Pourquoi Joelle et toi vous restez pas?" Joey heard her name, said with such familiarity that she felt a stab of unexpected emotion. Even Claire accepted her. As Luke murmured a reply and ruffled the girl's midnight hair, wide eyes turned to regard Joey. The little girl chattered its rapid-fire French.

  Joey felt heat in her face as she picked out a few pertinent words Bebe—she'd definitely heard the word "baby." Involuntarily she glanced at Luke, whose expression seemed to smile, but there was no real warmth in it, and it never reached his eyes. Did that grim coldness mean he didn't want children'? Did she? They were questions she didn't want to consider, not now. Too difficult to dwell on the future, on events that had no meaning in the present. Now was all that mattered.

  The certainty and rightness of that conclusion made her long to pick the little girl up and swing her about, but Claire had already vanished again, her breathy goodbye lost in the general clamor. Joey contented herself by slipping her arm around Luke's waist and breathing in the smell of him. She could not remember any time in her life when she'd been quite this happy—but it took too much effort to think of the past. The past was gone, and memories were of little use to her now.

  One by one the others made their farewells: Philippe, whose grave face cracked into a smile for her, Jean-Paul, who flushed deep red as he stood on his toes to offer her a kiss on each cheek, others she had met and had only begun to know, until the last of them came forward—Bertrande of the ever-present smirk and knowing eyes.

  She spoke to Luke, who nodded gravely and replied in monosyllables to her raspy monologue. Joey could feel the tightness of his muscles, she consigned it to that same tension he always seemed to display around his grandmother—something, undoubtedly, to do with the village pack pecking order. That was something else she had only begun to understand, but there would be a time for that another day. She ran her hand up and down Luke's back to soothe him, but the tautness remained as Bertrande turned her sharp blue gaze on Joey.

  "You are one of us now. Never forget. J'vous souhaite beaucoup d'bonheur et beaucoup d'enfants." The old woman's eyes were suspiciously bright, though she turned away before Joey could see tears. Bertrande muttered one final string of words at Luke, and turned away without another glance at either of them.

  Joey looked up at Luke's face in time to see the muscles of his jaw bunch and relax again as he watched his grandmother's retreating back, it was a long moment before he was aware of her scrutiny. He smiled, and this time there was real warmth in it, though there was an echo of something else she could not quite understand. "Are you ready to go, Joelle?"

  Joey looked around one last time, at the people who raised hands in farewell as they turned back to their daily tasks. The fragrance of woodsmoke and breakfast mingled with the sharp scent of conifers and a brisk autumn morning, it was the smells she thought she'd carry with her until they returned. She smiled up at Luke. "I'm ready if you are."

  With his arm around her to steady her, Luke nodded at the three young men, and the five of them set out among the trees. They were going home.

  Home. Joey tasted the word as half-melted snow slid and whispered under her boots. It would be good to be home, and to have Luke entirely to herself.

  The journey to Luke's cabin, fourteen miles over rugged terrain and up and down a mountainside, was made in a day. Luke and the other young men were virtually tireless. They moved so rapidly and smoothly that she felt no jarring but observed the land moving by in a blur, it was almost a shock when they were suddenly there, the setting sun bathing Luke's cabin in orange light.

  They set her down before the cabin door. Luke helped her up, and she cautiously stretched cramped muscles, wary of stitches and healing ribs, while Luke made his farewells. She was rubbing her eyes and yawning when the three young men, calling out cheerful and undoubtedly suggestive good wishes, stripped without inhibition and began to change. The process was still too new and wonderful to be taken for granted; Joey froze and watched in fascination as blurred human forms took on the shape of wolves, one black and two gray, who milled about them for a moment with yips and barks before turning as one to dash across the clearing for the trees.

  Luke's arm slid around her shoulder. "Does it frighten you?" he asked softly. Joey heard the unspoken plea in his voice, she reached up to grab his chin, rubbing her fingers over the rough texture of it.

  "No, Luke," she whispered. "It's part of what you are." Before he could reply, she had pulled his head down to hers.

  It was the first real kiss since the cave. Luke's response was immediate and definite. If she had initiated it, he was more than ready to take over. His arms pulled her against him, so tightly that every available inch of their bodies touched, his lips came dow
n hard and softened when she responded with an enthusiasm that matched his own. He caressed her with his tongue, and she returned the favor by catching his lower lip between her teeth, tugging gently until he pulled free and took her mouth again so thoroughly that her breath stopped. It was only when his arms tightened in an effort to bring her impossibly closer that she was aware of anything else.

  "Luke!" she gasped as painful reality intruded. "My ribs!"

  He released her immediately with an oath, burying his face in her shoulder. "Joelle—I'm sorry," he mumbled into her skin.

  There was such stricken remorse in his voice that Joey felt an overwhelming surge of protectiveness. She held his face against her and stroked his hair, ignoring the awkwardness of the position. His hands smoothed and caressed her sides as if to ease the discomfort, but the stroking touch had quite a different effect.

  After a moment, when the ache of her ribs had eased and the other had built to an almost unbearable pitch, Joey laced her fingers in his hair and pulled his head up. She kissed his chin.

  "I have an idea," she said with an imp's grin, "that should make us both feel a whole lot better."

  Lukes slow smile revealed his understanding, his pale eyes were hot with desire that she could read as surely as the more obvious indications. "I will do anything in my power to make you feel better, Joey." His hands slid up to her shoulders, thumbs drawing lazy circles on her collarbones where the edges of her shirt parted.

  "Oh, this is most certainly within your power," she assured him, shivering. "But don't think it's going to be a one-way experience, mister—the idea I have in mind will definitely take two participants." Suiting action to words, she reached down to touch the most blatant expression of his arousal; he let his breath out in a long sigh as her fingers traced the outline of it through the heavy fabric.

  "I want you, Joey," he breathed. His hands tightened on her arms, his breath coming hard as he looked into her eyes.

  She ended her teasing to slide her palms over his hips and up the broad expanse of his back, feeling the vibration of his rapid heartbeat. "And I want you, Luke—as soon as possible."

  He almost crushed her against him then, but his face abruptly lost its intensity as he set her back down.

  "But, Joey, your ribs..."

  "I'm a fast healer—remember?" She stared challengingly into the glow of his eyes. "That's what the doctor said. And it so happens that I'm quite sure I won't feel entirely well again until I've had a great deal more exercise. The kind I have in mind requires a certain amount of cooperation from you. I'd rather not waste the time—but if necessary, I'm perfectly willing to convince you that I'm as up to it as you are."

  She dropped her eyes significantly, and whatever resistance Luke had felt obliged to put up fell rapidly by the wayside. With a wordless growl that might almost have been her name, he swept her up in his arms and made for the cabin door, leaving the packs and litter on the ground behind them.

  The door was unlocked as he kicked it open, but the cabin was bitterly cold. The temperature had a slightly dampening effect on Joey's ardor, but it soon became apparent that Luke had matters well in hand. He deposited her on the bed, threw several blankets over her, and disappeared into the adjoining kitchen, where the sounds indicated a very rapid session of fire-building in the cooking stove. Anticipation kept Joey patient as she huddled under the blankets, weariness claimed her in spite of it before Luke came back to waken her with his warm breath and the touch of his mouth on hers.

  "Is it warm enough, Joey?" he breathed against her lips. The heat of his body made it impossible to judge, she flung off the blankets and pushed into the solid wall of his chest, savoring the masculine scent of him as her lips found the hollow of his throat.

  "Oh yes It's definitely warm enough." She felt him shudder as her tongue stroked along the concavity between the tendons of his neck. "In fact, it's getting so hot that I don't think we need all these clothes."

  Her fingers suited actions to words, carefully undoing the top button of his shirt. The rough hair of his chest tickled her nose as she kissed the skin revealed. She unbuttoned her way down, trailing kisses until she could tug the tails of his shirt free of his trousers, her palm lightly brushing lower where his body's reaction was shamelessly evident.

  "Joelle," he gasped, but when he would have returned the attention, she slipped out of his grasp and maneuvered him awkwardly but firmly back down onto the bed. His resistance was token at best, Joey grinned triumphantly and straddled him.

  "You see?" She straightened her arms and spread her palms on his chest, sliding them over his burning skin to push the shirt to either side. "The idea is that I can get my exercise without having my ribs crushed. Don't you think it's a good one?"

  Luke's expression was answer enough, but he managed a somewhat dazed smile. "An excellent idea. But..."

  She silenced him with her fingers, stroking over his lips until they relaxed and his tongue darted out to touch them "Right now," she said in a husky whisper, "I'm afraid you'll just have to restrain yourself from anything that might aggravate my condition."

  As she spoke, she began to move her hands over the hard, ridged planes of his belly and chest, light sweeping caresses interspersed with deeper pressure to work the tension out of his body.

  At last he sighed and closed his eyes, giving himself up to her ministrations. "I can tell," she continued gravely, "that you're not used to being at someone's mercy." Her fingers found the whorls of hair that surrounded his small male nipples, already rigid when her thumbs slid over them. The soft catch of his breath made her focus attention there for a long, lazy stretch of time.

  "No," he said raggedly, "I'm not." He opened his mouth to continue, and the words were lost in a soft hiss of breath as she bent down to close her lips over the sensitive nipple, so unlike and yet so like hers.

  Her tongue flicked and teased it, and suddenly the muscles in his belly clenched and rolled as he tried to surge up against her. "Jodie," he rasped, an ineffectual threat, she was sure in her own power now and pushed him down easily.

  "Well," she drawled, "you're just going to have to learn to take it. It just so happens I'm not like those other women." She grinned, almost sharply, showing her teeth. "I can't be so easily dominated. And I'm going to prove it to you, so you don't make the mistake of forgetting."

  Luke's eyes snapped open to meet hers, for an instant they locked wills, and then Luke gave up with a groan.

  "You see?" Joey whispered. She stretched out along his length and began to explore the powerful swell of his chest, the arch and hollows of shoulder and throat.

  The tension in him now, as her lips and tongue and teeth did their insidious work, was not of resistance. She gloried in the subtle reactions, the shifts in his expression, the unevenness of his breathing. It was her power, and his body acknowledged it, acknowledged that she was his match. Joey did not stop to consider why that seemed so important. For now, it didn't matter.

  She sucked at the skin where neck met shoulder, not too gently, hard enough to leave marks, while he arched against her. When her tongue slid up the corded column of his neck, his hands rose up to grip her upper arms, she could feel his attempts not to drag her more tightly to him, crush the bones in his response. "Easy," she murmured "Relax."

  He made a sound of considerable skepticism, choked off when she caught his earlobe between her teeth. For the second time she noticed the fine hairs that grew neatly along the rim of his ear, she stroked it with her tongue. "Your ears," she breathed into his skin, "are a dead giveaway—didn't any of those other women ever notice?"

  When Luke pushed against her this time, it was with sufficient force to set her back where he could see her face. "None of them knew, Joey," he growled, "None of them meant anything."

  Joey gazed into his eyes, dark with passion, and felt her heart turn over. "That's good. That's very good."

  She used her will to carry him back down to the bed. There were no more coherent words fr
om him for some time after, as she turned her attention to the carved, mobile planes of his face, moistening his lips with her own, tracing the edge of his jaw, his trembling eyelids with her tongue. The heat spreading through her, emanating from the place where his arousal pushed against her through the inadequate barriers of clothing, made it more difficult to keep up the light patter of conversation she needed to hold him down and at bay. The words began to catch on breaths that had become shallow and rapid with an almost unbearable awareness of him.

  "I'm still not sure why I didn't recognize you the very first time," she managed at last, pressing a series of feather-light kisses along the straight dark line of his brow. "Your eyes should have told me And then your behavior..."

  She stopped an indignant response with her mouth, pushing hard, as hard as he had done those times when he had been so set on claiming her. He answered fiercely, lacing his fingers through her hair to trap her against his lips. For a blazing instant he almost took control away, and their kiss became a battle, his tongue thrust deeply into her mouth with such harsh possessiveness that she wrapped her own around it to still it, pushing it back and following its retreat. She traced the sharp white keenness of his teeth.

  "Even your teeth," she breathed into his mouth, "should have given you away after that first kiss. You remember that, don't you? Only this time, you aren't going to find it quite so easy to run away."

  The physical attributes in question closed over her lower lip, ever so gently. "It's too late to run, Joelle," he murmured roughly when he released it. "For either one of us."

  If the demands building within her had been less overwhelming, Joey might have pursued the conversation. But there was a far more urgent communication making itself known rather forcefully in a very receptive location, and Joey answered without words, trailing kisses and bites back down the path she had followed, pausing to stroke each nipple and tease the sensitive skin at the base of his belly.