PRINCE OF WOLVES Read online

  "Yes, as a matter of fact—I am," she said at last to his broad back. As if to underscore the words, her stomach rumbled loudly at just that moment, Luke cocked his head, and Joey had the absurd notion that if he'd had the right kind of ears, he would have swiveled them back at her.

  "So I hear." There was the slightest trace of humor in his voice, though she could not see his expression. "I have venison stew, it's not fancy, but it's filling." Joey had the sudden impression from his body language—a language she was beginning to learn and which was far more subtle than she'd guessed—that he was almost on the defensive, as if he expected her derision at such simple fare. His shoulders were taut and almost hunched, his fingers had tightened ever so slightly on the blanket draped over the sofa back. The fact that he should care what she thought of his cooking disarmed her in an unexpected way.

  "That sounds very good," she said softly. "Thank you." She saw his muscles loosen almost imperceptibly as she spoke, and his head lifted, so that the last rays of daylight from the near window silvered the strands of dark hair that brushed his collar. Before she could give in to the sudden, overwhelming impulse to run her fingers through that hair, he was striding away across the room and through the connecting door.

  Wishing she had a space heater or even a fire to change in front of, Joey began to pull off her soiled clothing. She found herself unable to share Lukes obvi-usly casual attitude about nudity, and half-crouched behind the dubious protection of the sofa to change She struggled hastily out of her boots, socks, and jeans, debated briefly over her underwear, and decided after a moment to wad it up with the rest of her discarded clothing.

  The new clothing was dry and clean if not much warmer than the rest of the cabin. The jeans she pulled on were quite obviously a woman's, though perhaps a size too large, Joey considered the probable nature of their previous owner as she zipped them up. One of Luke's many "conquests"?

  The thought made her lips tighten with annoyance. She had to keep reminding herself she was here for a reason—for her own reasons. She wasn't any man's conquest unless she wanted to be. Least of all Luke Gévaudan's.

  The shirt Luke had provided was deliciously soft against her bare skin as Joey shrugged into it. Like the jeans, it seemed more suited to a fuller figure, though Joey was not about to quibble on that score. It felt more than wonderful to be in clean clothes again, with dry woolen socks on her feet. She allowed herself to savor that feeling and temporarily abandoned all other concerns. The sofa was surprisingly comfortable as she settled into it, pulling the blanket up to her chin and staring into the empty fireplace. With a little imagination she could see it brought to life with leaping flame, turning the cabin into something romantic and mysterious. Suitable, she thought, for its occupant.

  She'd hardly realized that she was sitting in near darkness when Luke's voice broke the silence "I've started a fire in the stove, but it'll be a while before the stew is ready." He appeared beside the sofa, a dark form surrounded by deepening shadows. Joey could just make out a pair of lamps in his hands, and as she squinted to watch him, he cleared space on two of the small tables to either side of the room, lighting the lamps one by one.

  At once a soft glow spread from the lamps to illumine the room, it wasn't enough light to read by comfortably but was more than enough to prevent accidents. Luke's face was strange and gaunt with hollows carved of shadow, his eyes hooded when they turned to her. In the darkness they seemed almost black.

  "I'm going out for firewood," he said at last. The lamplight cast long, ominous shadow-shapes that preceded him as he moved to the entryway. "It would be best if you just stay here and rest. I won't be gone long." He fixed her with a final look, a long stare she could not quite interpret in the uncertain light, and vanished into the entryway.

  For a while Joey sat and absorbed the peaceful stillness of the cabin, closing her eyes and allowing her aching muscles and battered sensibilities to bask in soothing quiet. But even bone-weary exhaustion was not enough to permit complete comfort in an unfamiliar place—particularly this place. When she felt quite warm, and the first edge of fatigue had worn off, she was ready to explore further.

  Pulling the blanket up into a makeshift cloak, Joey resumed her study of the bookshelves. It was just possible to make out titles in the dim light.

  She had been right in one of her first guesses about Luke, he was an educated man. The range of books he kept on his shelves was considerable: history, psychology, nature, and literature seemed among the most common topics but were far from the only ones .She found titles not only in English but a great many in French as well, her shaky grasp of the language enabled her to translate some of them. Like the others, the French books covered a wide variety of subjects, though there were many that seemed to focus on French-Canadian folklore and culture. They told her he was not only bilingual but fluently so. She wondered if he spoke French as flawlessly as he spoke English.

  She took down one book, a fat volume about animals in mythology. Strange somehow to think of Luke sitting in this cabin, reading by lamplight. It was an aspect of him she hadn't given much consideration, something that made her feel oddly off balance. It suddenly seemed very likely that he had thoughts and feelings and interests other than alienating the townsfolk and pursuing women—that he might be someone she could genuinely like.

  Joey replaced the book and rested her hand against the shelf as if her feet might give out from under her. She had never thought in terms of liking him. It had always been a matter of the physical, fending off his advances, then acknowledging the effect he had on her, if only in dreams—later coming to the realization that she could make use of their mutual attraction to gain her own ends. She had never really thought of him as a human being who could sit in a silent cabin and read by lamplight.

  Even now she wasn't sure it was a matter of liking. She didn't think it would be easy to like Luke Gévaudan. Liking him, in fact, might be the worst mistake she could make. But perhaps she had more to learn about him than she had realized. And knowing that, she could armor herself against letting unexpected feelings get in the way.

  She realized she was shivering again when she nearly tripped over the blanket that had fallen at her feet. She bent to retrieve it just as she heard the outer door open and slam shut, a moment later Luke edged through the inner doorway with a stack of firewood and kindling, only his eyes visible above the load. He kicked the door shut behind him and set the stack down before Joey could offer help. As he set to work placing the kindling in the fireplace, she dropped onto the edge of the sofa and watched.

  The thoughts and feelings that coursed through her now were just as confusing and unsettling as everything else that had happened to her since she'd met Luke. The rampant physicality of him seemed a blatant contradiction to the intellect suggested by his collection of books, his cool purpose and pursuit of her had occasionally allowed glimpses of something gentler and more meaningful, even when she hadn't wanted to see it.

  And then there had been his inexplicable flight after their first kiss and the fact that he was, at this very moment, making her forget everything she'd set out to do was in itself a frightening discovery.

  The sudden shimmer of newborn flame distracted her from brooding thoughts, and she realized all at once that Luke was studying her with the same quiet intensity that she had focused on him. She smoothed the frown from her face.

  "Thanks for the clothes," she said, plucking at the sleeve of her shirt. "I didn't know what you wanted me to do with the old ones." She nodded in apology at the wad of discarded fabric in the corner. "If you have some sort of tub, I can wash them out. But I don't suppose you have a dryer."

  Flashing him a hesitant smile, Joey let her eyes slide away from his and center on the growing flames as they licked at the wood. The fire sputtered and sparked as the first wave of warmth reached her. Like the clean clothes, it offered a purely sensual comfort that lulled Joey into a moment of pure happiness.

  In that moment L
uke vanished again, leaving her to contemplate the changing face of the fire. Closing her eyes to savor the warmth on her face, Joey allowed her senses to take control. She could smell the rich odor of Luke's stew as it drifted from the adjoining room, her stomach growled again, loud enough to make her grimace. The woolen blanket was slightly rough against her cheek, the flannel of her shirt soft where it touched her breasts. Shadows leaped and danced, fleeing before the light of lamps and fire. The sense of comfort and safety was so powerful that Joey gave up fighting it at last.

  Chapter Six

  Warm breath brushed the top of her head. "Are you ready to eat?" Luke murmured from behind. Joey could feel him as strongly as she felt the heat of the flames, almost as if he had touched her. She anticipated his touch—almost welcomed it. But he kept his distance.

  "There's a table in the other room," he added.

  She turned to look up at him, for a dizzying instant their gazes locked, and then she found herself following him across the room and into the adjoining portion of the cabin she had not yet explored.

  There were already two steaming bowls of stew on the rough-hewn table when Luke pulled out a chair and offered it to her with an almost gentlemanly gesture She couldn't quite resist dipping a finger into the thick stew and pulled it out hastily; like the room itself, it was certainly not lacking in warmth. The old-fashioned wood-burning stove that was the room's primary feature seemed more than adequate to heat this portion of the cabin, at least; Joey wondered idly why the cabin had been so cold before.

  As she waited for the stew to cool, she allowed her gaze to drift around the room. Another impressive rack of antlers hung above the small table, and she resolved to ask Luke about them later, she'd seen no guns or anything else to indicate that he was a frequent hunter, though it made sense that a man living as he did would have to track down his meals from time to time.

  There was a basin set into a wooden counter on the other side of the room, and a small pump seemed to serve as the equivalent of a faucet. Before she could ask Luke about it, he was demonstrating it for her, pumping water into two earthenware mugs and setting them down beside the bowls. The water was icy cold and sweet when she sipped it.

  Cupboards lined most of the remaining walls, and a very few cooking implements hung in the vicinity of the stove, but it was fairly obvious Luke didn't indulge in a great deal of culinary experimentation. Reminded abruptly of her considerable hunger, Joey picked up the plain wooden spoon Luke had provided and dipped it into the stew. The first bite assured her that while Luke might not be a fancy cook, he could produce something adequate to the purpose.

  She smiled up at him as he sat down opposite her. "It's good," she mumbled through a mouthful of venison and vegetables. Her reward was the first real smile he'd displayed since he'd appeared out of the lake that afternoon; it had a remarkable effect on the harsh lines of his face and a surprisingly devastating one on her own unbalanced emotions. The smile was the most genuine and warm she'd ever seen from him, and it was directed entirely at her.

  Then he rose, his own stew untouched, and began to move restlessly about the room. Joey concentrated on filling her most immediate needs, finishing her portion quickly. As she looked up to thank him, Luke ladled more stew into her bowl from a large cast-iron pot; she briefly considered not making a glutton of herself and then decided it was too good to pass up.

  When the last spoonful had disappeared, Joey leaned back in her chair and was grateful for the extra room in her borrowed jeans. Luke was hovering in the vicinity as he had done throughout her meal—never quite looking at her, never quite speaking, but always very much there. Only Joeys hunger had prevented him from completely unnerving her, now she didn't have that distraction. She noticed that he hadn't touched his own stew.

  "That was delicious, Luke," she said with real sincerity. He stopped his pacing to meet her eyes. She dropped hers to study her empty bowl ruefully. "I can't quite believe how much I ate. Thank you."

  "Do you need more?" he said, sweeping her bowl away before she could take it to the sink. "I don't have much here right now. I need to go into town for more supplies." His tone was gruff with what she guessed to be embarrassment, like his earlier smile, it touched her unexpectedly.

  "It was fine—I couldn't eat one more bite," she assured him. Feeling at loose ends and very much aware of her own uncertainty, Joey got up to join Luke at the sink.

  He rinsed her bowl and set it aside, responding to her inquiring look, "No hot running water here. It has to be heated." He gestured at the stove, a large open tank was attached at the side of it, warming water as the stove itself warmed the room He retrieved his own untouched bowl, dumping the contents back into the pot This he took with him through a door at the side of the kitchen, one that Joey presumed led outside, he was gone for several minutes, and he returned with an empty pot, which he rinsed and set with the bowls. Joey realized with a start that no electricity and no hot running water meant no refrigerator, either, the implications of Luke's lifestyle were beginning to make an impression.

  It occurred to Joey that it said much for Luke's appeal to the opposite sex that he'd managed to lure a number of women up here for lengthy stays. The place wasn't exactly the lap of luxury, somehow or other Luke had provided those women with adequate compensation. As he turned to scoop hot water out of the tank alongside the stove, his arm brushed against her shoulder, Joey was reminded suddenly and powerfully of just how potently attractive he could be.

  Luke finished his cleaning up in silence while Joey leaned against the table, letting herself admire him without the complications of questions and analysis. In the woods it had seemed natural that he should move so gracefully, but his spare gestures as he performed the simple domestic tasks hinted at the same smooth strength. When he put the last clean dish away and turned to look at her, he caught her eyes on him and froze in place, she knew he was aware of the tram of her thoughts though the calm, remote expression of his face did not alter. Not at first—not until she began to drown in his amber-green eyes and felt rather than saw him move toward her with the slow deliberation of a natural predator.

  When he touched her arm and steered her in a circle back into the main room, she found herself shaking her head in confusion. If he had made a single encouraging move, she would have fallen into his arms then and there—and she didn't want that. There was still the small matter of finding out why he had run away from her. Why he looked at her now with the old intensity but kept his distance when he had her where he had wanted her all along.

  Even if she learned nothing else about him, she had to understand what he wanted from her, so that she could get what she needed from him—and not sacrifice more than she was prepared to give in the process.

  Luke guided her back to the sofa and left her there while he checked the fire. It was blazing merrily now, but he stayed at the hearth, leaning against the uneven stone and gazing into the flames as Joey had done earlier. She perched on the edge of the sofa, unable to settle. Except for the crackling of the fire, it was incredibly silent, even the lodge had never been this quiet.

  When the utter stillness became oppressive, Joey broke it.

  "I want to thank you again, Luke, for helping me out today. I do appreciate it." Her voice sounded very small and strange even to herself, and as Luke turned his attention to her, she found herself babbling.

  "In San Francisco you always know where not to go at night and what neighborhoods aren't safe to be in alone, but somehow it never occurred to me that I'd be running into punks up here. I've been learning about dangerous animals and how to avoid them, but I never thought I'd have to worry about the human variety." A nervous laugh escaped her. "It's a good thing I had basic self-defense classes. Next time those guys aren't going to get away with that kind of nasty behavior. I..."

  "There won't be a next time. " Luke's voice was soft and harsh. "They won't bother you again." The grim finality in his words stopped Joey's desire to chatter, and she met his
eyes. They were glittering in the firelight, his face was set in an expression made ominous by flickering shadows.

  "I hope you're right," she murmured, though she knew there was no reason to doubt it. Questions flooded her mind again, and she deliberately set them aside.

  Under Luke's unwavering gaze she stood and began to move aimlessly about the room. It was warm enough now that she had no need of the blanket; she went to stand under the display of antlers and pelts that she'd noticed earlier. Rich fur in gray and black was both soft and rough under her stroking fingers. "This is beautiful," she said, burying her hand in the pelt. "I guess you must do quite a bit of hunting up here. This is all your land, isn't it?"

  "It's my land," he said at her shoulder. Startled, she froze for an instant and then resumed her tactile exploration She knew it shouldn't surprise her that he could move so silently. Not any longer.

  "What kind of animal is this?" she asked at last, her tone deliberately light in spite of his disconcerting nearness. "I've never been that comfortable with the idea of hunting, but I imagine up here that it's one of the necessities of life."

  "It is necessary, at some times and for some reasons," he said, answering so quickly that his words caught the end of hers. "That belonged to a good friend of mine. I took it from him when he no longer needed it."

  Joey dropped her hand and turned to face him. "A friend?" The meaning of his words penetrated, and she might have laughed had his expression not been so serious. "Like our friend the wolf?"

  "Yes. Very much like him." The utter sobriety in his eyes and voice made her falter. He reached up to run long fingers through the dark fur where hers had passed. "I keep it as a reminder." For a long moment he seemed lost in his own thoughts. Joey's eyes shifted up to the antlers above their heads.