PRINCE OF WOLVES By Susan Krinard

She fought down the tears and forced them back and back until she had control again. Luke’s hands dropped away from her shoulders; his eyes were strange with emotion that came to her in a knotted tangle of pain and longing.

“You’re afraid,” he said very slowly, as if at a revelation. “You’re afraid because I made you feel too much.”

His words sliced deep into her soul. He twisted the knife. “How long have you been afraid to feel anything, Joey?” he murmured, the heat of his body burning as he leaned closer. “Are you afraid to take the risk?”

Joey felt the shuddering start at the dark empty core of her being and radiate outward until her extremities vibrated with it. “You have no right,” she whispered, “to talk to me of risk and fear. You have no right.”

The cord stretched between them trembled, one fragile link in the void. “Joey,” he groaned, and before she could prepare herself or think to resist him, he engulfed her in his arms, dragging her against him, pulling her from the sofa in one smooth and undeniable motion.

It was impossible to fight. Joey drew hard breaths into his shoulder as his hand cupped the back of her head and held it there. Her hands were trapped between them; she felt such utter helplessness that she knew herself on the edge of defeat. She knew she was on the verge of losing herself again, losing herself in him, and that one terrible fear prevented the final surrender he demanded.

She stiffened in his arms. “I have to go, Luke,” she whispered.

His body went as rigid as hers, and she pulled free of him in the instant when the shock he felt slapped back at her through the constricted bond.

“No.”

Drawing herself to her feet, she met his stare. He rose slowly to face her, his eyes bleakly fierce with threat.

“I won’t let you go.”

In that instant, when she knew words were no longer enough, she felt the uncertainty recede and something else gather to take its place, rising to the challenge in his eyes. Something dark and primitive, beyond the reach of human logic. Suddenly she understood what it was, grasped it, drew all the latent power together, shaped it into a weapon.

She struck before he was ready. He staggered under the force of it, white with shock, he almost swayed, almost grabbed her for support. Tasting the bitterness of her victory, Joey stepped back from his touch.

“You can’t stop me,” she said hoarsely. “I’m your match, Luke. You made me your match in every way.”

Luke heard the challenge, she saw the acknowledgment in his eyes, felt his response through the roiling turmoil of emotions that persisted in the bond. Anger flared up to deflect her attack. Anger and pride beat against her will and drove it back until it was she who recoiled. Luke’s hands shot out to catch her arms in a painful grip.

“Not quite, Joey,” he growled. His eyes held hers mercilessly, no humanity in them at all. She fought him, hard, twisting to dislodge his mental and physical hold. Felt him slip, scrabble for control.

“Don’t test me,” he begged between clenched teeth. His body was poised on the edge of violence. He shook her with each word. “I will not let you go.”

There was a sudden silence broken only by the twin rasps of their breathing. Deadlock. Neither one looked aside, neither one retreated. Pain and anger swirled and blazed between them.

“You can’t watch me forever, Luke,” Joey said softly, coldly. “You can’t keep me prisoner.” Somehow she freed herself from his grasp, Luke gripped empty air with fingers curled into claws. The very air vibrated with his tension and her own bitter resolve.

Joey gazed at him from behind a mask of remote and terrible calm. She felt as though her muscles were forever locked in ice, like the frozen world beyond the cabin walls. Cold. In frigid silence she held him back, perceiving the heat of his assault slide away where it could find no purchase. When she raged he could breach her defenses, but against this he was defenseless. Helpless.

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