PRINCE OF WOLVES By Susan Krinard

Joey’s heart was pounding with fatigue and reaction, she watched him go and stared beyond to the disturbance among the trees. Over the lapping of water she could hear the yelling, could see the movement of men running to and fro—and, suddenly, a pale, low shape among the darker forms. Joey blinked water from her eyes. She had seen that shape often enough to recognize it for what it was.

Catching her breath and gathering composure, Joey waited while, incredibly, the men on shore fled back into the woods the way they had come, pursued by a swift gray shadow. Their cries receded, and as silence settled back over the lake, Joey prepared to head back. Men or no men—wolf or no wolf—she couldn’t expect to swim in place much longer.

By the time she had dragged herself up on the shore, only discarded bottles and scattered footprints marked the erstwhile presence of her unwelcome suitors. For a moment she sat, shivering, on one of the rocks and stared off into the woods. No human clamor came to her ears, the men were long gone. Joey closed her eyes and gave silent thanks to her unexpected savior.

She forced herself to her feet after a brief rest and began to search for her knapsack. It was not where she had left it; she found an apple core near the rocks and one of the bags in which her lunch and snacks had been wrapped, a little farther on, in a clump of bushes, she discovered her jacket and her empty pack.

With a frustrated sigh, Joey returned to the rock. At least it was early afternoon, not night, even so, it was going to be an uncomfortable walk back to town. Her boots were leaden weights, so she took them off and set them out, with her socks, to dry a little. The sun was still warm enough to keep the chill away from her wet body, the jacket, at least, was dry if a bit the worse for wear.

Her map was gone along with the few pieces of equipment she’d carried. Though she might have continued on by memory, she had no intention of showing up at Luke’s cabin looking—and feeling—like a drowned rat. With an angry growl Joey pounded her fist against the rock so hard that it stung.

When the wolf appeared a few feet away, she almost didn’t see it. It was a shadow among shadows, a little paler but unobtrusive, part of the landscape. Her wolf. The wolf that she had seen that day on the hillside. Perhaps the same one who had shown up at her window the night of her first dream of Luke. Her unexpected savior.

Joey wished she had something to give it, some way to thank it. As it gazed at her from the cover of the brush, she met its pale eyes and smiled in spite of herself.

“Well, wolf. We meet again .

It cocked its head and lolled its tongue in an expression ridiculously like a grin.

“Looks like I have you to thank for saving me from those roughnecks. I only wish I had some way to repay…”

She broke off when she realized she was talking to empty air. With a shrug, she slid down to the ground and made a makeshift nest against the rock with her jacket. Strange that she felt almost safe knowing the wolf might be near. Secure enough to relax for just a few moments.

Joey woke with a start. The sun had dipped to the west, and shadows stretched across the beach, hinting at the coming of evening. Her clothes and shoes were nearly dry, and she knew she’d have to get moving, she would be lucky to make it home before dark. The thought of being out here at night, alone, was motivation enough to pull her up with a groan and contemplate pulling damp boots over stiff socks.

While she tugged them on, she gazed out over the peaceful waters of the lake. How still it seemed, how unlike those men. She froze in midthought. The water was not quite so still after all. There was something breaking the surface in long, regular strokes, cutting across the lake from the east. It didn’t take long for Joey to determine that the form was human, a pale shape against azure. Her heart began to pound again, she searched for an object, any object, that might serve as a weapon.

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