Prince of Shadows by Susan Krinard

Silence hung between them, heavy with emotion. “You’re staying in Merritt?” she asked. All at once the uncertainty was gone from her voice. She threw up walls against this man from her past, keeping him out. Just as she had done with Kieran.

Peter glanced at Kieran, a brief flicker of his eyes that hinted of calculation. “Yes. I’ve come because it’s important. I wouldn’t… disturb you otherwise.”

“It must be important to bring you to this part of the world. This”—she gestured at the woods around them—”isn’t exactly your milieu, is it?” She touched Kieran’s arm. “But I’m remiss. Peter, this is my friend, Kieran Holt. Kieran, this is Peter Schaeffer. We knew each other as children.”

“A little longer than that, Alex,” Peter said. He smiled with a charm even Kieran felt, his gaze resting on Alexandra’s hand. “I wish my visit were only to renew old friendships.”

“I doubt that would be possible.”

Old friendships. Kieran shifted, and Alex tightened her grip on his hand.

“Alex, please,” Peter said. “We need to talk.”

“It’s getting late. Maybe tomorrow—”

“It can’t wait.”

Kieran felt her weighing Peter’s words, warring within herself. He understood that battle; his body tensed in sympathy. Instinct and rationality struggled for dominance of his own emotions.

Alexandra had wanted him to be a wolf. Wolves defended their territory from unwanted intruders. This was her place. And his.

“Alexandra,” he said. “I can send him away.”

She looked at him, resolve in her eyes. “No,” she muttered, low enough so that only he could hear. “I can’t. This is something I have to face.” Her mouth crooked in a smile. “I think for once in his life Peter is going to be a little out of his depth.”

Kieran felt her words on a level more profound than any mere string of sounds. He heard old anger and new courage, something in which he had no right to interfere. He let the wolf retreat, prepared to watch and wait.

Alexandra turned back to Peter. “All right,” she said. “You can come in and tell me this urgent news.”

Her body took on an almost insolent sway as she strode toward the door. Kieran hung back, waiting for Peter as he turned off his truck’s headlights.

“Kieran, is it?” Peter said. “A pleasure to meet you.” He glanced around at the darkened clearing. “I don’t blame you for being cautious with strangers out here. But you can relax. I am an old friend.”

An old friend. This Peter Schaeffer was no true friend to Alexandra, whatever he claimed. But Kieran only nodded and let Peter precede him, keeping his thoughts to himself. Peter hesitated, as if uneasy with Kieran’s silence, and broke into a rapid walk toward the cabin’s open door. Kieran was only a step behind.

Alexandra waited for them, arms folded. She circled the room as if she needed to remind herself of its familiarity and reclaim it as her own. Peter paused just inside the door.

“May I sit down, Alex?”

She gestured to the sofa. Deliberately Kieran put his back to the wall where he could watch every move Peter made—watch and listen and learn.

Alexandra went to stand before Peter. “You said you had something urgent to tell me. I’m listening.”

Perched on the edge of the sofa with his hands clasped between his knees, Peter sighed again. “I think perhaps you’d better sit down, Alex.”

“I prefer to stand.”

“Alex… it’s about your father.”

Her reaction was immediate. The defenses she’d raised surged higher still; her hands knotted into fists and her jaw tensed as silent emotion beat in the air like frantic wings. Kieran kept himself from going to her by a sheer act of will.

“What about my father?”

Peter looked over his shoulder at Kieran. “I think we should have privacy, Alex.”

She stared into space. “Kieran, would you mind waiting here while I speak to Peter in my room? It will only be a few minutes.”

The dullness in her voice disturbed Kieran almost as much as Peter’s presence. “Alexandra—”

“Please, Kieran.”

He let her go, watched her lead Peter into her bedroom. The moment the door was closed he stationed himself in front of it. His hearing was acute; no mere slab of wood could keep him from knowing all that passed behind it. He crouched and listened to Peter’s smooth, self-assured voice.

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