PRINCE OF WOLVES By Susan Krinard

“You are one of us now. Never forget. J’vous souhaite beaucoup d’bonheur et beaucoup d’enfants.” The old woman’s eyes were suspiciously bright, though she turned away before Joey could see tears. Bertrande muttered one final string of words at Luke, and turned away without another glance at either of them.

Joey looked up at Luke’s face in time to see the muscles of his jaw bunch and relax again as he watched his grandmother’s retreating back, it was a long moment before he was aware of her scrutiny. He smiled, and this time there was real warmth in it, though there was an echo of something else she could not quite understand. “Are you ready to go, Joelle?”

Joey looked around one last time, at the people who raised hands in farewell as they turned back to their daily tasks. The fragrance of woodsmoke and breakfast mingled with the sharp scent of conifers and a brisk autumn morning, it was the smells she thought she’d carry with her until they returned. She smiled up at Luke. “I’m ready if you are.”

With his arm around her to steady her, Luke nodded at the three young men, and the five of them set out among the trees. They were going home.

Home. Joey tasted the word as half-melted snow slid and whispered under her boots. It would be good to be home, and to have Luke entirely to herself.

The journey to Luke’s cabin, fourteen miles over rugged terrain and up and down a mountainside, was made in a day. Luke and the other young men were virtually tireless. They moved so rapidly and smoothly that she felt no jarring but observed the land moving by in a blur, it was almost a shock when they were suddenly there, the setting sun bathing Luke’s cabin in orange light.

They set her down before the cabin door. Luke helped her up, and she cautiously stretched cramped muscles, wary of stitches and healing ribs, while Luke made his farewells. She was rubbing her eyes and yawning when the three young men, calling out cheerful and undoubtedly suggestive good wishes, stripped without inhibition and began to change. The process was still too new and wonderful to be taken for granted; Joey froze and watched in fascination as blurred human forms took on the shape of wolves, one black and two gray, who milled about them for a moment with yips and barks before turning as one to dash across the clearing for the trees.

Luke’s arm slid around her shoulder. “Does it frighten you?” he asked softly. Joey heard the unspoken plea in his voice, she reached up to grab his chin, rubbing her fingers over the rough texture of it.

“No, Luke,” she whispered. “It’s part of what you are.” Before he could reply, she had pulled his head down to hers.

It was the first real kiss since the cave. Luke’s response was immediate and definite. If she had initiated it, he was more than ready to take over. His arms pulled her against him, so tightly that every available inch of their bodies touched, his lips came down hard and softened when she responded with an enthusiasm that matched his own. He caressed her with his tongue, and she returned the favor by catching his lower lip between her teeth, tugging gently until he pulled free and took her mouth again so thoroughly that her breath stopped. It was only when his arms tightened in an effort to bring her impossibly closer that she was aware of anything else.

“Luke!” she gasped as painful reality intruded. “My ribs!”

He released her immediately with an oath, burying his face in her shoulder. “Joelle—I’m sorry,” he mumbled into her skin.

There was such stricken remorse in his voice that Joey felt an overwhelming surge of protectiveness. She held his face against her and stroked his hair, ignoring the awkwardness of the position. His hands smoothed and caressed her sides as if to ease the discomfort, but the stroking touch had quite a different effect.

After a moment, when the ache of her ribs had eased and the other had built to an almost unbearable pitch, Joey laced her fingers in his hair and pulled his head up. She kissed his chin.

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