PRINCE OF WOLVES By Susan Krinard

He stood there behind the screen of trees for a long moment, pulled savagely in two directions, longing to go to her again and knowing he could not. He had made that mistake once before. At last he submitted to the silent call of his brothers and whirled back into the forest, rejoining them as they milled eagerly among the patterns of light and shadow that mottled the forest floor. Their call was compelling, and he did not fight it.

As before, he ran to clear the smell of her from his nostrils, to forget the feel of her in his arms, though now he did not run alone. The wolves leaped and bounded about him, and he shared the lead with the alpha female of the pack as they left the man-tainted lands and returned to the protected haunts of his domain.

They ran and then slowed again, to await the coming of sunset, the lead female caught the scent of prey, and they were off on the hunt. The deer that fled before them, incautious in its late-afternoon graze, was swift and valiant despite the flaw that had marked it as the wolves’ chosen prey. They took the chance that nature gave them, to make themselves strong while keeping the deer tribe free of the individuals that would make it weak.

The hunt was successful this time, as it often was not. Luke sat off to the side as the wolves feasted, even the exhilaration and exhaustion of running long and hard had not freed him of her presence. The wolves knew it, for even they looked up at him and kept their distance, growling and groveling when he came near. He was always a little separate from them, but now he was truly alone. There was only one solution to his aloneness now, and for all time to come.

With a snarl Luke slammed his fist into the broken surface of the rock on which he sat. He had surely learned his lesson by now. He had paid—and made her pay—for his failure to heed the warnings his senses had given him. She thought he was crazy, or worse—and with good reason. That thought hurt more than he would have believed possible. Any other woman would never have forced him to endure this. He would have forgotten about her as he’d told Joey to forget about him.

But Joey wasn’t any other woman, as he knew now to the marrow of his bones. And he knew her well enough to understand that, in spite of his warnings and threats, she would not give up on her crazy scheme, the one for which he’d promised his help. How easily he’d made that promise when he’d thought it was still possible to take her and let her go like any of the others.

Her words echoed in his mind. Coward. Was he a coward? Afraid to risk himself to help her after he’d given his word? But it wasn’t that simple. He dropped his head into his folded arms and sighed. She had as much to lose as he did. And he had everything to lose.

For the first time in many hours Luke’s mind settled into the rhythms of cold logic. He knew she would do what she’d planned, without his help, just as she’d threatened. So it came down to risks that seemed equally terrible: her very life—or her sanity, and his. He could stop her from crossing his lands easily enough, but she would find a way around them, pushing her quest into the dangerous time that came with the first snows. He could let her go alone, but he knew she would haunt him, and that would drive him to madness. He could not let her die because he had refused the help only he could give.

The solution, when it came, was as inevitable as the rising of the moon in the night sky. It brought with it no relief, no acceptance—but it was all he had.

The wolves were dispersing, bellies full with their meal. They came to him to pay him homage, ducking heads and flattening ears, from the alpha female to the lowest-ranked animal in the pack. Luke stood up to acknowledge it, asserting his dominance with looks and gestures the wolves understood with the ease of long familiarity. Then he dismissed them, and they trotted away to find their resting place as he watched them disappear into the deep shadows of the forest.

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