PRINCE OF WOLVES

by Susan Krinard

  Luke's muscles bunched so tightly as she worked at the buttons of his jeans that they shuddered with the strain. His hands moved almost helplessly over her arms, the fingers settling at last on the buttons of her shirt, undoing one and then another. By the time she had the final obstruction cleared, he had pushed the shirt halfway off her shoulders, and for a moment his hot, callused hands closed over her breasts. Joey stiffened, closing her eyes at his touch, faltering with her hands inches from their goal, warm air licked over her skin like his fingers, and then she drew back out of his reach with firm discipline.

  Her objective was firmer still. It was heavy and impressive against her palms as she stroked it, lightly at first, savoring the contrast of textures and the incontrovertible proof of her effect on him. She tried to remember if she had ever enjoyed the feel of a mans arousal so much, but memory remained a blur that refused to sharpen into focus, much easier to accept that the mere touching of him roused the need within her to an unbearable ache. She wanted more than to hold him in her hands. She wanted to feel him far more thoroughly than that.

  Somehow she found the strength to tug his trousers down and away, so that none of him was hidden, she cupped the part of him that seemed made to fit the curve of her palm and slid down, down, until her breasts brushed his thighs and her mouth slid over his yearning length.

  He surged against her so powerfully that she got more of him much more rapidly than she had intended, but she adjusted quickly and grinned around the hardness as her tongue tested the subtle ridges and varied patterns. She closed her eyes to savor the familiar strangeness of it, and his harsh breathing that was an accompaniment to each movement of her seeking mouth.

  "Did I ever tell you," she began, pausing for breath, "how magnificent you are?" His answer was a groan as she plunged down again. "I mean, when you change, of course."

  Luke muttered a curse in French. "There is one change," he managed at last, catching her hair in his fists, "that I have no control over. With you Joelle. He arched up as she gave him her full and undivided attention, until he was vibrating and pulsing with every stroke.

  Joey would have been content to go on for some time, reveling in her power, but Luke had other ideas. As if he'd read her triumphant satisfaction, his hands closed like vises on her shoulders, pulling her up and away, all the pale light of his eyes shadowed with dark passion "Don't forget," she gasped, hardly noticing the savagery of his grip, "my ribs!" It was a token protest, she was too lost in the wild need in his eyes to care.

  "One way or another," he rumbled ominously, "your clothes are going to come off. I don't care if they stay in one piece." His hands were already gripping the fabric of her shirt, she hastened to help him, twisting out of the sleeves just carefully enough to avoid unnecessary violence to her healing torso. He moved with feverish impatience to the waistband of her pants, but she beat him to it, her fingers were clumsy with excitement as she struggled with them, undoing the front and rolling sideways to kick them off as Luke supported her.

  There was little time to think and even less to anticipate before she straddled him again and plunged down onto slick hardness. The gasp torn from her echoed his, he filled her so completely that for a moment she could do nothing but feel him, as she had not truly been able to do that first time in the cave, unmoving, only the innermost part of her flexed to caress him as he swelled to fit the molten cradle of her body.

  He shuddered under her, long waves that pushed him impossibly deeper. "If you intend," he whispered, "to stay in control, I suggest you don't wait too long."

  His ragged sigh shook both of them, and his heart drummed under her hands as she braced herself on his chest. His eyes opened suddenly, fixing on her with total awareness. "No one but you could do this to me, Joey. Enjoy your dominion while you can." His slow smile promised a sweet retaliation that made Joey shiver, the inner fire convulsing about him again and again. He shut his eyes and arched upward.

  There was no more talk of control Joey was helpless to stop either one of them as they began to move together, passing beyond the first awkwardness to find a rhythm uniquely theirs, unlike any other in all the world. Luke's hands caught her hips, pulling her down again and again, with greater and greater urgency, she could feel him penetrating into her very soul, deeper and deeper to a place beyond the physical realm. When his fingers moved to touch the aching part of her that guarded their joining, the cry that came was wrenched from that same ethereal place. But the sensations he aroused with his caresses, moving unerringly over her slick softness, were very much of the flesh.

  She quivered and burned and pulsed until she felt the coming peak, knew she could not keep it at bay any more than she could stop Luke's fierce and demanding possession of her body and soul. As she arched back, he caught her and kept her from falling at the same moment that his body convulsed within her, driving him hard and fast as the throes of her climax, and his, overwhelmed her.

  It took a very long time to come down. She bent forward, leaning over him, her loosened hair brushing his chest and chin as she caught her breath. Luke's hand spread to sift it back from her face, his other cupping her breast as the aching pleasure subsided. After a moment he pulled her down to his chest, and Joey made a small sound of protest as the motion separated them.

  "Don't be concerned, Joelle," he breathed, heat caressing her temple as he stroked her hair. "It's only a temporary retreat."

  Joey forced heavy-lidded eyes open to gaze at him. His profile was relaxed with satiation, and something more, his touch was infinitely gentle on her hair and shoulder and bare arm. She propped herself up, half on the bed, cupping her cheek in her palm and pulling gently at the varicolored hairs of his chest with her fingers. "You mean you still don't know when you've been beaten?" She watched his eyes, pale again but more gold than green, the color warm with amusement.

  His fingers tangled back in her hair and pulled her down for a kiss, lazy but firm. "Joelle," he said as he released her, his voice thick with unspoken feeling, "I warned you once not to play games of dominance with me.

  "But you didn't take into account how stubborn I can be," she finished. "You also told me once that with wolves it's often the female who takes charge—sometimes even over the alpha male. I wanted to see how much that applies to werewolves."

  He grew suddenly very still beneath her. "It applies," he whispered, almost too softly for her to hear, "more than I would have believed possible."

  Joey's smile faded as she tucked her head under his chin There was no bantering humor in his voice now. "Are you admitting I have power over you, Luke?" The attempt to recapture the lightness was forced. "It's about time somebody did. After all..."

  The utter silence, the way his breath caught and did not release for an alarming span of time, stopped her short. When she sat up again to study his face, it was flat and free of emotion, as harsh and cold as in the days when they had fought so hard to be free of each other.

  "Too much power. Too much for either of us."

  The way he said the words, his eyes staring into space at some deeply troubling vision, told her that it was not her statement he was answering. Her fingers tightened involuntarily into claws, scoring his chest. It seemed to get through, abruptly his eyes flickered to hers. "Joelle," he said hoarsely, and in an instant he was pulling her face to his again, and his tongue was tasting her even as she could feel the stirring of his body between her thighs.

  She knew she wanted him again even before the rush of wetness where his arousal touched her confirmed the thought. She moved her legs against him, he slid his hands down her back to press her more deeply into his demanding length. This time he would take and give, she read it in the tautness of his muscles along her body, in the way his lips and tongue possessed her own mouth so fully, tasting her everywhere. Almost before the kiss ended he was pulling her up higher, creating an exquisite friction as their bodies slid skin on skin, his tongue forging a fiery path down her chin and throat. He settled her and held her in
place straddling his belly, drew her down to envelop her breasts with the heat of his breath and then his lips.

  She was above him, but it was he who now commanded her responses. Her breasts were heavy against his mouth as he teased the nipples one by one, thoroughly, leaving no inch of yielding surface untouched. Joey arched her back and thrust against him with ragged cries. He released her once, looking up between her breasts, compelling her to meet his eyes "Dominance is deceptive, Joelle," he purred. "Who controls now?" Before she could answer or beg him to continue, he found her aching nipples again and caressed them until she was wild with wanting.

  Her body was limp and hot and moist in his arms when he shifted under her, holding her easily above him as he sat up against the headboard, laying her back onto the damp sheets and stroking the slickness of her inner thighs until they parted for him of their own accord. Her eyes snapped open when he bent over to burn her with the tip of his tongue, sipping from the cup of her body as she gasped his name. His touch brought her again and again to the brink, she had forgotten anything so insignificant as half-healed ribs as she caught at his hair, his shoulders, tried to pull him up and into her before she caught fire.

  But Luke held back. When she could bear no more and told him so in broken words and gasped phrases, he turned her again—gently, ever so gently, sliding her around to lie alongside him, easing himself down on his side, drawing her back into his chest so that his body cupped hers. It was only then that he ended her torment, gliding in from behind in one long stroke.

  It was a more complete possession than anything that had come before, and Joey lost all thought of control—control over Luke or of her own body's response. She gave herself up to his cadence as one hard-muscled arm cradled her head and the other arched over her side, his hand kneading her breast in time to the motion. She was being rocked against him, carried away on a ride unlike any she had ever known as his touch slid down to where they joined, easing in a slow caress forward and back where the hot core of her body begged most urgently for release.

  The release came even more powerfully than before, jolting them both as Luke buried his face into the sodden tendrils of hair at the nape of her neck, licking the salty wetness away, his hand stroking her hip and buttocks while she tightened and released in concentric waves of pleasure. She was still gasping when his hand settled on her cheek, thumb brushing the tears that had escaped without her knowing.

  "Joelle," he said, caressing her name as he did her skin. "The power is yours." She could feel him shudder, the vibrations breaking in tiny shock waves against her back. "Use it wisely." The words were a plea phrased as warning, and though Joey did not grasp the message, she understood the underlying vulnerability. She tried to turn, but he held her gently in place, still part of her. His breath came slow and heavy and deep as it stirred her hair "Joelle, there is something I must tell you."

  Hearing the soothing richness of his voice more than the words, Joey pushed herself back as if she could melt into the solid muscled heat of his chest and belly and thighs "Hmm?" Her movements seemed to affect Luke in unexpected ways, he closed his teeth very lightly on the back of her neck where it blended into her shoulder.

  Abruptly he released her "Joey, this is important I… " There was a note of half-concealed desperation that almost brought her out of the dreamlike lassitude that had stolen the will from her sated body She half-opened her eyes and smiled at the feel of his renewed stirring within her.

  "And I thought I talked too much," she murmured. "Just hold me, Luke. I have something to tell you, too, but I think"—she yawned luxuriously—"that it's going to have to wait."

  His hand flexed on her hip, but whatever answer he made was too soft for her to hear.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Luke tested the weight of the fully laden pack as he sealed the last parcel in the upper compartment. The storekeeper, shifting audibly and nervously behind him, cleared his throat.

  "Will that be all, Mr Gévaudan?" Luke almost smiled, however grimly, at the unmistakable desire to see him gone revealed in the man's voice. He half-turned his head without meeting Jackson's eyes, he had made it a point with the storekeeper, as with the others, to avoid confrontations. Joey had had that effect on him. For the first time in memory Luke found the half-fearful, half-resentful attitude of most of the townsfolk more a source of disquiet than grim satisfaction.

  "That's all, thanks." He hoisted the pack onto his shoulders. "I'll be back for the things I ordered next week." He was almost to the door before Jackson spoke again.

  "What—uh, what if they haven't arrived yet?" The ordinarily voluble and cheerful Jackson was gazing after him anxiously, wringing his hands.

  Luke managed a smile—a real smile, if restrained, his teeth carefully hidden. "Then I'll have to come back later." Jackson's face went slack, and Luke used the opportunity to slip out the door. It was entirely too unsettling to think that he might actually go out of his way to charm the townsfolk instead of, at best, tolerating them; he wasn't sure he was up to it yet.

  The late-autumn morning was cold, but Luke shed the cold as easily as he did his clothing when the change came. Patches of half-melted snow lay clumped under shadows and in inconvenient icy patches on the sidewalks of the main street, he avoided them neatly and glanced up at the sky. There would be more snow soon, next time he came to town, he'd likely need snowshoes. Far more convenient to run as wolf, but a wolf didn't have hands to carry supplies.

  The one disadvantage of being loup-garou was that you forgot your limitations.

  Luke crossed the street to avoid the clump of young men wasting the day in drinking and idle conversation in front of the town bar. He shook his head, amazed at his own desire to steer clear of obvious conflict. Even though Joey was not truly one of them, she had friends here in town, people she cared about, that was enough to make him drift in and out of town as lightly as the first gentle snows of the season.

  He was too preoccupied at first to hear the light footfalls until they were very close. The smell and soft patter told him who it as before she caught up to him.

  "Mr Gévaudan." Joey's friend Maggie stopped short as she reached out a small hand to catch his attention, falling silent in confusion as he pivoted to face her. Her hazel eyes searched his, whatever she saw there must have reassured her. The perpetual animated cheerfulness Luke had noticed on several occasions sparked in those eyes, but her expression remained almost grave "Mr Gévaudan—"

  "Luke," he interrupted with his most reassuring smile.

  "Luke." She almost frowned, then caught herself. "I won't waste your time in small talk, Luke, since you seem to be in a bit of a hurry." Her sharp, observant gaze fastened for a moment on the bulging backpack. "I just wanted to know," she continued, "if you'd heard from Joey"

  Luke held himself very still, studying her face. Did she know, or suspect? Had Collier broken the influence, or shown his confusion sufficiently to arouse Maggie's suspicions? Maggie was the type of woman whose loyalty was fierce, as stubborn as a wolf bitch guarding her den. Luke thought it through quickly and shook his head almost as soon as she'd finished speaking.

  "Collier didn't tell you? She was injured and had to be flown directly to the hospital." He had no real trouble keeping his voice smooth and even with false sincerity. He'd had a lot of practice.

  There was a subtle shift in Maggie's features. Her short jaw set and a hand came up to brush red curls from her forehead.

  "Yes, he told me," she admitted with narrowed eyes. "But—and you'll forgive me for being frank, Luke—I can't help but feel there is a lot more to it than that."

  "Maybe there was," Luke said softly. "But it's over now. I haven't heard from her." There was a sudden and unexpected twinge over the lie that made Luke's muscles tighten in defensive anger. "If you'll excuse me..."

  "Then why hasn't she been in touch? It's been over four weeks. She promised to give me a full report."

  Her hand darted out to catch his arm, and the audaci
ty of the gesture brought Luke to a halt. He pushed back the desire to shake her off.

  "I can't answer your questions. She hasn't written me, either," he said with utter truthfulness.

  Maggie dropped her hand away, and her full mouth twisted. "Doesn't injure your pride at all that she didn't tumble into bed with you like the others, eh? Or maybe you've had enough time to recover."

  She had stepped back neatly, and Luke caught himself to consider with cold rationality why she'd wish to provoke him. She wanted him to break down in anger, admit something that would confirm what she seemed to have guessed. Suddenly Luke found himself smiling at her nerve and the kind of loyalty she must feel to risk goading him.

  Apparently she hadn't expected quite that reaction. Her hands settled on her hips. "If you know anything—anything at all—about Joey, I want to hear it. I'm her friend. She wouldn't just disappear and never even let me know she was alive and well."

  Resisting the impulse to disarm her, Luke maintained his smile. "She's alive and well. That's all I can tell you." He turned away once more, starting for the edge of town.

  "Is it really, Gévaudan?" she called after him. "Why is it that I don't quite believe you?"

  The last words were so faint that Luke knew he had not been meant to hear them. Maggie didn't know about his hearing. And she didn't know how far he was prepared to go to keep Joey by his side. Luke's lip curled. He found himself liking Maggie; best for her if she never found out.

  Joey was reading by the fire when he returned to the cabin at twilight. She was up and in his arms before he had quite gotten through the door, a greeting that startled and warmed him with its intensity, something he had hardly begun to get used to and doubted he ever would. It was a proper kind of greeting among his people, who like true wolves were as effusive in their affections as they were swift in conflict and resolution. Luke had known for many years that he was one of the few who seemed capable of holding a lifelong grudge, perhaps that was why every welcoming embrace, each kiss, came as a shock of joyful belonging, the kind he had never felt within his own pack. Each time they made love, it strengthened their bond and his need for her.