PRINCE OF WOLVES By Susan Krinard

“It hurts, Luke. I can’t breathe—it hurts so bad.” The childlike confusion in her voice pierced him so deeply that the rage returned and swept away the gratitude and joy, replacing it again with a feral and primitive purpose.

But he managed, somehow, to keep his voice gentle. “I know, Joey. But you must do two things—until we can take away the pain. You must breathe, and you must try very hard to stay awake.” He gazed into her eyes and willed her to obey. “Do you understand, Joey? If you can keep breathing and stay awake, you’ll be all right. I promise.”

Joey shook her head, her eyes blurring and drifting away from his. “I feel so strange, Luke I had dreams—” Her voice faded, and he gripped her chin again so that she could look only at him. She smiled, though her gaze was distant and soft, lost in some inner vision. “You would think it was funny, Luke. I saw a wolf change into you.” Her breathy laugh ended in a crack of pain. “My dreams just keep getting stranger and stranger.

There was no time for this. No time to explain to Joey the nature of her “dream”—or of what he was. “Joelle, you must listen to me. You have been injured, and we’ll have to get help for you as soon as we can.” He shifted her in his arms, and the movement seemed to grab her attention.

“You won’t leave me? Luke, don’t leave me!” Suddenly there was such focused anxiety in her voice that he knew she had grasped at least some of his words. Taking great care not to put pressure on her damaged ribs, he held her as close as he dared, feeling the grip of her fingers sliding on his skin as she sought to hold him. Even in her weakness, determination vibrated through her. Joy swelled in his heart, he put it away in a place of safety like the rare and fragile thing it was.

“I won’t leave you, Joey. Never.” He murmured to her until she quieted and lay once again passive in his arms. The ragged gasps of her breathing slowed again. “I need to do one thing, to bring help for you. I need you to be strong for me, not to give in and to keep fighting. Can you do that?”

Joey searched his eyes, her own dark in the dim filtered light of the cave, almost black with pain and fear. “I’ll try, Luke. I don’t want to—to go.”

Fighting back the vulnerability that had no place in what he must do, Luke kissed her brows “I’ll hold you to that, Joey. Keep fighting. Don’t give in. If you do”—he drew a deep breath and stared into her eyes—”I’ll go with you.”

For a moment her face drew into a frown, as if she were trying to make sense of his final words, then she almost smiled, in spite of the pain he knew tormented her with every breath. “I never was one to go down without a fight.” She closed her eyes and Luke let her rest, knowing he had done all that he could. Only one thing remained.

He lowered her slowly, with infinite care, down to the thick bed of dried leaves and needles he had made for her, wrapping her in his parka and the spare blanket so that no cold could penetrate. She opened her eyes once, but they were no longer fearful, there was utter trust in them, complete faith in his protection. In him.

That thought galvanized him with more determination than he had ever felt in his life—except for one time long ago, and that old resolve blended with the new until they were inseparable. Luke kissed her one last time, urged her softly to be strong, and left the cave.

He padded through the snow, ankle-deep in it, unheeding of the frigid bite on his bare feet. When he stepped into the center of the little clearing, the prints he left behind obscured the marks of battle, brushed over the scrambling footfalls of his other self; he noticed them no more than the wind that assaulted his furless, naked body on every side.

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