PRINCE OF WOLVES By Susan Krinard

Everything stopped in the moment that Joey put the facts together “Marie-Rose? You knew her?”

Collier lifted his head. “Luke has told you about his mother.” There was wonder in his voice “He never speaks of her. For him to tell you… ” The mild blue eyes were bright with something that might have been hope.

“I know,”Joey murmured, “that what happened with her hurt him deeply.” The image of Luke speaking, soft and distant, in the flickering firelight softened her voice to a whisper. “But he never mentioned you.”

“I’m not surprised. It’s far more characteristic of him not to speak of it at all. As you said,” he said sadly, “it hurt him deeply. But he never shows it. Except to you.”

Joey savored the sudden warmth that rose to bathe her heart in gentle flame. It was still too new and too strange to take on the solidity of words. “If you knew Luke’s mother—then you knew Luke as a boy.”

“Yes” His eyes turned to stare blankly out the window. “I saw little of him for the first years of his life, when his father was with them Later—” His voice caught. “Later, when he was alone, I was able to give him my friendship, and receive his in return.”

“So he wasn’t entirely alone,” Joey murmured. All the things Luke had told her settled into new patterns. “He had you.”

“At times that wasn’t enough ” Collier turned back to her, his face drawn. “Of course, by then the village had accepted him, and he spent some of his time here. But as he grew older and saw more of the outside, his experiences changed him, and he no longer seemed to fit in either world.”

Joey understood the sudden image that sprang to her mind. “A lone wolf.”

“Yes.” Half-smiling, Collier gazed at her without quite focusing. “And for him, that word has more significance than you can imagine.”

Sifting through the things she needed to ask, Joey frowned thoughtfully. “Luke is a ‘loup-garou,’ ” she said at last, molding the words with care, “but he said there were others. His mother—”

“Was what he is,” Collier affirmed gently. “A lovely girl and a graceful she-wolf with fur as black as midnight.” Concealing her start of surprise, Joey watched the doctor’s face transform into that of a much younger man. A man speaking of a woman he loved. She could not find the words to reply, but he continued, “None of us knew what would happen when she chose Luke’s father. We could not protect her after it was done.”

All the questions dammed up in Joey’s throat. The silence was filled with poignant memory, and it was some time before the doctor’s eyes came back to hers, still brushed with the sheen of old grief. “I tried to be a kind of father to Luke, but he was a very high-spirited boy. He would only accept so much from me, or from anyone else. Until you.”

Joey understood the deliberate change of topic, but she could not shake the impact of what Collier had revealed. She leaned back in her chair, ignoring the ache where her ribs pressed into the carved wooden rungs.

“Marie-Rose was a werewolf,” she breathed wonderingly, “and this village—” She sat up again quickly “Are all of them werewolves, too?” Claire, with her lightning-quick delicacy, Philippe, tall and brooding, bashful and studious Jean-Paul—and Luke’s good-natured and rough-spoken grandmother? The image of Bertrande changing into a feisty old she-wolf was enough to dispel the sober tone of her thoughts.

Collier shook his head before the laugh could escape. “Not all of them—some bloodlines are stronger than others, and some have been lost forever. Sometimes the change skips generations entirely. Luke’s mother carried the true blood, as did her father. There are enough adults now to make a sizable pack.” There was a sadness in his tone, and Joey recalled the same sadness when Luke had spoken of his people.

“And the children?”

Dropping his head, Collier closed his eyes. “Until they reach puberty, we never know. The change is hard on them. Some simply don’t change at all.” At last he looked up, and his eyes were earnest with melancholy. “Each generation there are fewer children. Val Cache is growing smaller. Someday… ” He broke off. “I fear the time of Luke’s people is passing.”

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