PRINCE OF WOLVES

by Susan Krinard

  But that he understood it meant nothing. She had left him.

  He moved about the cabin as his strength returned, touching every place she had touched. Her scent lingered, but it was many hours old, and the fires had been carefully extinguished.

  An urgency came over him then, some half-forgotten instinct of self-preservation that sparked dormant anger. His muscles contracted, adrenaline charging his body like an electric current.

  No. The denial came from the deepest part of himself, refusing acceptance, unable to endure defeat. A growl rumbled in his chest, nothing human in the sound.

  It was not rationality that drove him as he flung himself into the kitchen and beyond into the bedroom, the drawers hung open, empty of her things. He found the chemise and held it to his face, drawing in the smell of her, letting the silk slide from his hands to the floor.

  There was no note, no message. But the sculpture he had given her, its wooden head flung back in a mournful howl, lay on the bare dresser where she had left it for him to find.

  The desperate anger returned, filling the void she had made in his heart, surging outward in a rush of primitive power. He felt his body shift, muscles knotted and screamed protest, through a savage haze he could see her eyes, steady, piercing, aching with echoed pain.

  Her eyes guided him as he changed, hurling himself from the cabin at a dead run. He saw nothing, heard nothing, his mind shut off from all sensation, he knew where she was, where she had to be. There was still a chance to stop her. There was still some hope of living.

  "It's all arranged."

  Maggie sat down at the edge of the couch, studying Joey with anxious eyes. "There's a friend of mine who's heading out for East Fork first thing tomorrow morning. He'll be glad to take you along."

  Staring at the shifting, meaningless images on the TV screen, Joey forced her eyes to turn, her head to nod in response. "I don't know how to thank you, Maggie. I only wish I could explain..."

  "Don't try. Not now." Maggie squeezed her shoulder "You know we care about you, Joey, Allan and I. When he told me where you were, what had happened—I hoped, we both hoped, that it would work out for you."

  For a long moment Joey was silent, searching for words that had become no more than empty symbols. She remembered little of her flight from the cabin that morning, she had not changed, had been unable to surrender what remained of her humanity after she had left him. But she remembered her feet cracking the snow, icy winds unable to touch her, feeling a new strength in her body she had never known before, her dual nature granting the immunity to cold and weariness that Luke had always possessed.

  She remembered the look on Maggie's face when she had turned up at the redhead's cottage: no shock, no real surprise. Only the same solicitous friendship, trying to make things right when the world had come crashing down.

  And Luke—she could never forget Luke's face. She thought the pain of it would tear her apart.

  Slowly Joey pushed the pain from her heart. It was done. There could be no going back.

  "Allan," she said at last, clumsy with fatigue and grief. "Please tell Allan how much I—how grateful I am for all he's done. I'll write him when I can."

  "Are you sure you don't want me to call him now? I know he'd come right over..."

  "No!" Joey clamped down on a surge of panic. "No, Maggie, please—I have reasons that I need to leave quietly, without any fuss. I hope you understand."

  Maggie nodded sympathetically, but Joey ached at the deception. Impossible to tell Maggie that she didn't want Allan connected with her going. She could not risk driving a wedge between Luke and the man who had been his surrogate father. And his friend. Luke would need his friends, however much he denied the need for anyone.

  Gentle fingers tightened on Joey's arm. "We wanted you to be happy."

  Sudden moisture blurred the edges of Joey's vision.

  "I was happy," she whispered, feeling the icy numbness settle into place. "For a while I was happy."

  It was dark when he reached Lovell, and he loped into town oblivious of the risk. At the edge of an outlying street a woman saw him and froze, wide-eyed and smelling of fear, Luke dodged aside and melted into the shadows, clinging to them until he slid to a halt at the door to Collier's office.

  The door was unlocked, and Luke's blow sent it crashing open, rebounding against the wall with a ringing crack. He bounded through the darkened waiting room and beyond into the short corridor. Collier was there as Luke had known he would be, quietly reading, no guilt in his face when he looked up to find Luke in the doorway to the study, shaking with exhaustion and rage.

  "Where is she?" The words came thick and alien. Luke leaned into the wall and struggled to control the spasms that racked his overtaxed muscles. Collier closed the book that lay open in his lap, he leaned forward in the upholstered chair and met Luke's eyes. There was no fear in his gaze, nothing but a calm sadness that twisted in Luke's gut.

  "Luke," he said softly, bending his long fingers over the ends of the armrests.

  "Where is she, Allan?" Luke managed past the fist that seemed lodged in his throat. "Where is Joey?"

  Collier's hands tightened, clenching into the soft leather of the chair until it dimpled under his fingers. "She hasn't been here, Luke," he murmured. "I haven't seen her."

  Luke took a single menacing step away from the wall, his muscles bunching and shifting with the suppressed need to change. The beast was very close to the surface, far too close. "You're lying, Allan," he said. "You know where she is."

  "I've never lied to you, Luke," Collier said. He stood up slowly, his gaze never dropping, and took a slow and careful step forward. His voice and movements were those of a man confronted by a dangerous and unpredictable animal, and Luke stood very still and trembled with the conflicts that seemed bent on tearing him apart.

  "She left me," Luke admitted harshly, the words searing like acid. "You must know where she is. Tell me, Allan. Don't make me..." He shut his eyes, unable to voice the threat. The whisper of another careful footfall brushed the carpet under his feet.

  "I know you won't hurt me, Luke," Collier said. Luke opened his eyes to find his old friend closer, too close, too old and fragile and earnest with his eyes full of trust and sympathy. "You won't do something that could destroy both of us, and her." Another step and his gentle doctor's hand was inches away from Luke's rigid arm, from his fingers curved into claws that could down Collier with a single casual blow.

  "Where is she?" Luke rasped, pleading for release. "Please. Don't do this." His nerves and muscles spasmed again as Collier's cool palm closed over his fingers, bending the claw into a fist. There was no choice but to endure it in utter stillness or risk the destruction of all that he was. All that he loved.

  "Luke." There was a terrible sadness in the word. "I was afraid—I was afraid this might happen. I prayed that it wouldn't."

  From some fragile place of sanity deep within him Luke felt a bitter humor rising. "Don't lecture me now, Allan." He drew in a deep, shuddering breath and let it out again. "Don't push me."

  The pressure of Collier's hand on his was steady. "No lectures, Luke. You're stronger than you believe, strong enough to know what is right. You always have been."

  "No." The denial came without shame, numb certainty overwhelming the desperate fury. "You're wrong, Allan. My mother..."

  "I loved your mother," Collier sighed. Luke felt him tremble. "But you are stronger." With a soft groan Luke tried to wrench his fist from Colliers grasp and failed. "Love can't be forced, Luke. Don't hurt her—and yourself—by trying to take what must be given."

  With infinite care Luke took one step back, and then another, drawing Collier with him until they stood in the doorway. Night air drifted down the corridor, promising release. "I can't let her go," he whispered. "I can't."

  "Give her time, Luke." He heard Collier's voice from some distant place, a world he was no longer a part of. "She came here to lay her past to rest, but you never gave her the ch
ance to find her own future. Give her time to be true to herself."

  There were no more words, no answer to give, the ability to speak had been taken from him as he stood shivering with the finality of his loss. It settled into his bones, paralyzing him, pulling him into an eternal darkness. And as he turned to give himself to the void, the dying thread of the bond burst into sudden and vibrant life.

  Joey. He felt her as if she stood beside him, as if her blood coursed through his veins and her heart beat in time to his own. Collier had no chance to protest or question. Within a second Luke had flung himself out into the corridor and beyond, the night clothing his naked body in darkness. There was no time to think, no time to will the change. He followed the pull of the bond to where it led.

  He found her bathed in moonlight, standing on the verge where the forest met the edge of town. Silver beams caught in the hair that cascaded over her shoulders, her head was flung back, an unvoiced cry shivering along the column of her neck.

  She turned, as if sensing him, surely feeling him as he felt her, and he froze in place, Collier's words burned into his mind.

  Let her go.

  Her face was achingly beautiful, limned in the unearthly light, eyes catching the reflection of distant stars. The other half of his soul. His body screamed to move, go to her, take her back—but he stood behind a stand of trees and only watched her, drank in the sight of her, knowing it might be all he would have.

  With a whisper of footfalls she began to move toward him, silent and graceful as a she-wolf. Luke trembled and felt the bond quiver with the wordless sound of his name. An abyss opened up at his feet, and he stepped aside, the beast within demanded victory, and he denied it. He rediscovered within himself something he had thought lost and vanished forever.

  Let her go.

  He melted back into the shadows before her eyes found him. As the moon rose over the forest, he ran, letting the bond unravel and disperse like mountain mist.

  Survival. The wolves who ran beside him understood, and he took their strength and pulled it within himself. He would survive, he would learn to live with the loss and pain and sorrow. He would survive—and she would be free.

  He clung one final, fragile moment to the feel of her and then let her go.

  "Are you going to be all right?"

  Maggie's eyes were very bright, her voice not quite steady, she held Joey's hand as if she would never let go.

  The truck idled at the curb, shattering the dawn stillness. Morning should have been a time for beginnings, Joey thought sadly. This one brought only goodbyes.

  "Yes. I'll be fine." She managed a smile and brushed at her cheeks. "Thanks, Maggie. For everything "

  "You're welcome." The redhead released her hand reluctantly. "Take care of yourself, kid." Maggie stepped back, her lower lip trembling, and as she turned away she collided with the lanky frame of Allan Collier.

  "Maggie," he said softly, setting her back. His kind blue eyes sought Joey's over the mass of red curls.

  "Joey. I'd heard you were leaving. I wanted to be sure to say good-bye."

  There was no reproach in his voice, only a distant sorrow. Joey dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry I—didn't tell you I didn't want." Suddenly she met his gaze. "Is Luke—does he—"

  With a quiet sigh he shook his head. "He isn't here, Joey." For a moment it seemed as if he would say more; Joey braced herself for questions that didn't come. When she searched his eyes, she saw understanding there—understanding that required no words or explanations. He stepped up to take her hand in his firm, warm clasp.

  "Allan," Joey said softly. "What can I say—how can I thank you?"

  "You can thank me by being happy, Joey." His smile was almost sad. "By being true to yourself." He reached up to cup her chin. "You're strong, Joey. Stronger than you know. Never be less than what you are."

  Joey looked away, letting the tears fall unchecked. "I'll never forget you, Allan."

  "Or I you, Joey." He began to move back, and she grabbed at him, pulling him into a fierce hug. His cheek was rough against her mouth as she kissed it. For a moment he held her just as tightly.

  "Please," she whispered into his collar. "Don't leave him alone."

  His hold loosened slowly, and he set her back to catch a single tear on the tip of his finger. "I won't, Joey," he said, so softly the words were little more than a sigh. "I love him, too."

  "Are you ready to go, miss?" The rough, deep voice of the truck driver cut between them, severing the emotion before it could tear her apart. Collier's hands shifted as he helped her up the step, steadying her as she settled into the truck's patched seat.

  "Good-bye, Joey," Collier said, his voice almost lost in the roar of the engine. "Take care." He smiled at her one last time and closed the door, stepping back from the truck. Joey rolled down the window and leaned against it, as if she could somehow memorize their faces, carry the clean mountain air in her lungs all the way home, take it all with her into lonely exile. She thrust her hand out as the truck pulled away, and Collier's fingers brushed hers, then he was receding, and Maggie's bright head was a splash of color just visible through a veil of tears.

  She stared back until they left Main Street, rounding the gentle curve that led to the highway. The trees closed in on either side, and the twin cliffs that guarded Lovell from the rest of the world rose up against the brilliant morning sky. Joey leaned back in her seat and shut her eyes. He had not been there, but she felt him, even now she felt him watching her, and it wrenched at her soul like physical pain.

  Her heart had become a dull, leaden weight in her chest when she heard the cry. She knew what it was before she turned, twisting her shoulders to look at the cliffs vanishing in the distance. It was just possible to see the silhouette balanced at the edge of the sheer drop. The wolf poised there for a moment of aching silence, flung back its head, and howled.

  The lament of his cry twisted in her heart long after they had left Lovell far behind.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Joey stared at the blueprint rolled out on her desk, watching the neat lines and angles blur and shift. Spring sunlight shafted in the huge office window, patterned between the blinds like the bars of a prison.

  She spread her hands to smooth the paper as if that might somehow resolve it into something that made sense, there was no reason, no logical reason that her eyes should refuse to see it for what it was, that her hands should move independently of her will to create fanciful embellishments that had no place in a world of strict function. Logic. Practicality.

  "The client isn't happy with the design, Joey," Mr Robinson said behind her, clearing his throat. She started, looking up without seeing, staring at a bland beige wall marked with a precise geometric pattern. "They want something much simpler, more practical. Frankly, I don't understand why this wasn't clear to you before."

  Joey's eyes fell to her fists where they clenched on the tabletop. Paper crackled under her weight. It was wrong, all wrong. Everything.

  "We hired you based on your excellent reputation for clean, functional designs," Robinson droned on at her back. "That's what the client wanted, and I don't understand why you're having such trouble coming up with it. This is an apartment building, not a cathedral."

  Joey knew she should turn, face Robinson, defend herself. But there was no defense. He was right. The need to define the world with lines and angles, to close it into neat little boxes—slowly, inevitably, that need had drained away. For three months she had struggled to bring it back and be what she had been before. She had tried with all her strength to control the overwhelming desire to break free of those neat, tight little boxes and escape into chaos. The best she had managed was this designs that satisfied no one. They were not hers, not any longer.

  Now Robinson's voice pushed and pushed at the fragile calm she had somehow managed to maintain. Her fists clenched tighter, and her pulse began to beat in her ears. "You're going to have to resubmit, and you're going to have to do it fast. The cli
ent expects this design by the beginning of next week. Are you listening to me, Ms Randall?"

  Three months. It seemed like three years. Three months of trying to pick up the pieces of her life, searching for peace. Peace that should have been hers now that her parents had been laid to rest at last. Peace that wouldn't come. There was a gaping wound in her soul, a raw place that wouldn't heal. Where the bond had been was a sucking emptiness that seemed to take more of her every day, swallowing her, destroying even the bleak accommodation she had made with this life of lines and angles and walls and deceptive certainty.

  There was no certainty. She had learned that at last. The needs could be denied and ignored, but they were there. When she suppressed them, they came out on paper to sabotage her best efforts to conform ridiculous arches like the sweep of tree branches, patterns and color of rough bark and wolf's fur, great open spaces that echoed a brilliant mountain sky. All wrong. All part of another world.

  And she had never said good-bye.

  "Ms Randall" Robinson tapped her shoulder, not gently. "I didn't want it to come to this, frankly, you have a great deal of talent. But you're still on probation, and if you can't bring this up to snuff by Monday, I'm afraid we'll have to reconsider your employment with the company."

  Paper bunched under Joey's fingers. She could feel the hair rising along the nape of her neck, Robinson's hand dropped away the instant before she lost her rigid control. The words were on her lips, the inevitable words that would end it, when there was a firm knock at the office door.

  "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, Ms Randall—but a package just arrived for you"—she nodded at Joey—"by Special Delivery. I need your signature on this." Robinson's secretary sniffed disapprovingly as Joey snatched the clipboard and scrawled her name. A moment later she accepted the small, neat package, hardly noticing when the secretary disappeared.