Prince of Shadows by Susan Krinard

Men grumbled. Joseph had known there would be resistance. These men thought themselves great heroes. But he looked at the protesters and held their stares until they looked away.

“You all know my father was killed by a black wolf,” he said. “You know I’ve hunted them, here and in Canada, much of my life. I know they are vermin, as you do. But I have a score to settle. I want this wolf.”

The men looked at each other. Howie tilted his cap and scratched his head. “Dead is dead—”

“I want this wolf alive.” He smiled grimly. “Are you afraid I’ll be too merciful with the killer?” He held Howie’s stare until the younger man dropped his, like the others. “I don’t have a lot of money. But whoever brings the animal to me, alive, will have my gratitude.”

They might have laughed. Old man Arnoux’s gratitude might not seem worth much to most, who considered him a reclusive lunatic, living on the fringe of the wilderness. But these men, at least, understood something of his professed hatred.

Norm stood. “I’m willing. Arnoux kept after the wolf five years ago, longer than any of us. If it’s the same wolf, he’s earned it.”

Joseph nodded his thanks. “You will still have your hunt. I only want the wolf alive, and not too close to death.”

Mutters circled the room, but at last there were nods and shrugs. Howie had a rebellious light in his eye, but when he looked at Joseph there was a touch of unease.

Crazy old Arnoux. Yes, believe I’m crazy, boy, if it will make you obey me. Imagine what I will do to that wolf when I have it.

“All right,” Howie said, too loudly, trying to regain control of the meeting. “You know what to do. It’s too dark to start now, but you all have to start first thing tomorrow, from the places we planned. And if any of you find the wolf—” He glanced at Joseph, “bring it to my place. Alive.”

The meeting broke up, a few of the men lingering over a beer while the others headed home. Joseph declined the one or two hesitant suggestions that he join the drinkers; they seemed glad enough to see him gone.

He drove the twenty miles to his property in the darkness of a near-moonless night. No one else ever ventured down the pitted gravel road that led to the fenced compound marking the barrier of his land. He threw open the high gate he’d constructed so long ago and locked it carefully behind him, exactly as if Kieran were still within these walls.

I failed, boy, he thought, standing in the silent vastness of the place he had built. His own mistake that he’d ever let Kieran run loose, even behind fences made to hold a creature not human; his own weakness that sympathy for the boy had led him to drop his guard.

Kieran had been twenty-one. The boy had just become a man when he tricked Joseph and ran. Joseph had known he’d return in time, and he had—five years ago, when he killed the girl from the reservation.

But I didn’t catch you then. And still you returned, to kill again. This time I must not fail. My duty must be completed.

He walked into the cabin and sat heavily at the carved table in the corner of the room. He looked at the shelves that still held moldy books no hand but Kieran’s had touched for eleven years.

But Joseph’s Bible lay on the table, and he turned to the passage about Abraham and Isaac.

It gave him little comfort now.

I would have saved you if I could. But it would have been best if I’d killed you when I killed the other creatures. My heart was too soft. I thought you were young enough to redeem. I believed I could teach you, change you, make you human. I was wrong. Even when you were a child it was already too late.

Joseph closed the Bible and laid his hand on the ancient leather cover. He could have let the others kill Kieran if they found him as a wolf, but that would have been cowardice. It’s mine to do. Mine alone.

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