SECRET OF THE WOLF By Susan Krinard

Perhaps, this time, he’d been lucky.

“Is that why you call this place the Haven?” he asked, gesturing at the room. “You scrape unfortunate sots like me off the floor and minister to them until they’re well again?”

“Not as a rule,” she said with a twitch of her lips. Humor again—hidden, but there. “You are something of an exception.”

He placed his hand over his heart. “I’m honored. But if this is not a Haven for vagabonds such as myself, who does it shelter besides a skilled and lovely lady doctor?”

His compliment seemed to go right over her head. “You have met Oscar,” she said. “He is one of the patients here.”

“Patients?”

“You might as well know where you are, Mr. Forster, since you are likely to be spending a few more days with us.”

“But I’m well, I assure you—”

“I shall be the judge of that.” Before he could speak another word, she picked up the thermometer and pushed it into his mouth. His teeth clicked on the glass.

“The Haven,” she said, “is what I call our little farm. There are seven of us in residence: myself, my father, Doctor Wilhelm Schell, and five patients. We came to this valley two years ago, when we found it necessary to close our private asylum in Pennsylvania.”

“Your—” Quentin tried to speak around the thermometer. Johanna snatched it from his mouth, examined it, and shook her head. “You are a very lucky man, Mr. Forster.”

“Quentin,” he reminded her. “Yes, I’m exceedingly lucky.” He laughed under his breath. “Is this by any chance a madhouse?”

“We do not use that name here. The Haven is different. Our residents are only a few of those we treated in Pennsylvania. Those it seemed best to bring with us.” Her voice softened. “They have become very much like family. This is what I want you to understand, Mr.—Quentin. You will be meeting them, and I do not wish you to disrupt our routines out of ignorance.” She searched his face. “Does insanity frighten you? Does it disgust you? You will see behavior you may consider peculiar—”

“More peculiar than mine?”

“—and if you cannot treat the residents with the dignity they require, I shall have to make other arrangements for your care.”

Yes, there was fire in Johanna Schell. It sparked in her eyes when she spoke of her “residents,” with all the ferocity of a lioness guarding her cubs. Passion existed in that curvaceous frame… not for romance and the usual women’s fancies, but to protect those in her care. A woman who took on great responsibility, and relished it.

In that way she was the complete opposite of Quentin himself. Johanna Schell was not like the demimondaines he’d tended to run into during the past several years, nor did she bear any resemblance to the proper and well-bred aristocrats of England. She was something new to him—honest, straightforward, unselfish, with hidden emotions yet to be discovered. He couldn’t assign her to a category and dismiss her as unimportant, as he did the other men and women he met briefly in his wanderings. That was what intrigued him most.

Ordinarily, he wouldn’t linger long enough to indulge his curiosity. But he found himself admiring this cool, stern, and utterly sensible goddess. Not merely admiring—he was drawn to her, and by more than the erotic promise of her touch.

If she’d been loup-garou, the explanation would have been simple enough. There was always the possibility of a sudden and unbreakable bond forming between two of werewolf blood. But, even though he lacked his brother’s broad mental powers and flawless ability to recognize others of their kind, he knew that Johanna was unmistakably human.

No matter. He couldn’t trust himself to remain here longer than strictly necessary. His safety—his sanity—lay in constant motion. And if his worst, half-acknowledged fears were correct… if he left turmoil behind each and every time he lost his memory in drink…

Guilt was one of the emotions he’d learn to outran. Sadness was another. And loneliness.

Johanna reminded him that he was lonely. She and her healer’s touch.

“I am the last man to judge another’s madness,” he said at last, meeting her eyes. “You may trust me in that, if in nothing else.”

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