Susan Krinard - Prince of Wolves

PRINCE OF WOLVES

By

Susan Krinard

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

PRINCE

OF

WOLVES

Susan Krinard

BANTAM BOOKS

New York • Toronto • London • Sydney • Auckland

Prince of Wolves A Bantam Fanfare Book / September 1994

FANFARE and the portrayal of a boxed 'ff' are trademarks of Bantam Books a

division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc

part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,

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storage and retneval system, without permission in writing from the publisher For

information address Bantam Books

ISBN 0-553-56775 6

Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada

Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday

Dell Publishing Group, Inc Its trademark, consisting of the words "Bantam Books"

and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U S Patent and Trademark Office and

in other countries Marca Registrada Bantam Books, 1540 Broadway, New York.

New York 10036

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To Jennara Wend and Rosemary Edghill who got me started

and

to Serge, my real-life

French-Canadian hero

Chapter One

There was a stranger in town.

His keen sight picked her out from his vantage atop one of the rocky cliffs that

formed sentinels on either side of the narrow two-lane highway that led into town.

From here he could see the main street with its clumps of buildings, a warren of

human habitation surrounded by wilderness. There were people moving about as

there always were, even in this isolated place—but she stood out. She was different.

An outsider. The townsfolk of Lovell, British Columbia, might not care for

strangers, but he occasionally had use for them. At least the women…

His long suntanned fingers stroked slowly through the dense fur of the wolf

beside him. It had been a long time since he'd enjoyed the company of a woman,

and the desires that had awakened with the coming of spring had not been satisfied.

There were women in town who would share his bed, who would be more than

willing to overlook his reputation. But he had long ago lost any appetite for the

entanglements that came with local relationships The few times he'd tried it hadn't

been worth the trouble.

And he'd been alone so long.

The wolf under his stroking hand shifted and whined softly With a murmured

apology, he released his grip on the heavy mane behind the animal's neck He didn't

care that the townsfolk regarded him with suspicion, they were not his kind. But their

distrust limited his choices. When winter drifted into spring and the need came on

him, there was only one way to meet it. Hikers and adventurers and tourists out to

see their last chunk of real wilderness came year by year to Lovell's single lodge, and

nearly always there were women among them willing to share his cabin and bed. But

this year had been a lean one. Until yesterday.

And she was lovely. It hadn't been difficult to find her desirable.

It had been easy to observe her, to mark her out from the rest. She shone among

the townsfolk, a flame among ashes, luring his senses with an undeniable attraction.

She wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd seen, but there was a vitality about her

that burned as brightly as the sun on her hair.

He smiled slowly, a slight upcurve of lips that seldom resorted to the expression.

Yes, she would do very well.

The wolf interrupted his reverie with an impatient thrust of its muzzle under his

hand. Intelligent eyes, pale and rimmed in black, met his questioningly. He drew his

hand over the broad forehead and scratched between the triangular ears. The wolf

closed its eyes and stretched with a yawn that revealed rows of sharp teeth. Then it

straightened, yipped once, and turned in a tight circle.

The impatient gesture drew a rough chuckle from the man. "Yes, my friend Don't

let me keep you from important business." The wolf waved its tail once in answer

and sat on its haunches, regarding him. "I won't be joining you now. I've got other

game today." He turned again to gaze at the town, though the woman had long since

disappeared. "I haven't done this kind of hunting in some time—and I think this one

might prove to be a challenge. I'll have to be careful to stay downwind until I've

caught her."

Anticipation tightened his muscles, and the wolf yipped again. "Go. I'll find you

later. We'll have to plan this carefully—and keep an eye on her in the meantime." He

pushed gently at the wolf, and the beast whirled and vanished like a gray phantom.

The sun rose higher, limning the serrated hillsides to the east with radiant yellow

light against deep blue-green. The mountains beyond caught the illumination with the

brilliance of a diamond. He breathed in the crisp air, savoring the myriad scents of a

new day. Before it ended, he planned to know more about the stranger—and begin

his hunt.

Joelle Randall didn't think she'd ever seen anything so beautiful.

The long slope, carpeted in wildflowers, released a heady perfume on the cool air

of late summer. Conifers bordered the meadow like the watchful sentries of a vast

army, marching up the slopes of surrounding mountains—sharp peaks streaked with

the white of perpetual ice. Just out of sight were lakes of perfect crystal blue, fed by

streams that cut their way over jumbled rocks and through forests almost as pristine

as the day they were created.

Joey drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. It was hard to believe so much

beauty could conceal, somewhere among its secret corners, the tragedy that had left

her alone in the world. Somewhere in these mountains and valleys lay the key to

freeing her heart of its long-held burden.

Freedom. Joey took another deep breath of scented air. That was all she had left,

the hope of resolving the old sorrow at last. It could never be finished—not until she

found the place where her parents had died.

Even now, that word was hard to acknowledge. They'd left her, without a

good-bye, without giving her a chance to tell them how much she loved them. She'd

only been a kid then: sixteen, still at that vulnerable age, so close to her parents when

they'd left on their final journey.

If it hadn't been for a freak storm, the kind of accident even the most experienced

pilot couldn't always avoid—Joey clenched her fists, feeling the sudden sharp twist

of painful memory. Her father had been careful, she knew that, he'd been flying for

years, and the small plane had been meticulously kept up. Not his fault that they'd

gone down in these mountains they'd loved, never to be found.

Opening her eyes, Joey pushed back the sadness and focused on the resolve that

had kept her going during the past months.

This was the turning point, the time that she would take back her life at last. She

would find the place where they had been lost, confront that crippling sorrow, let the

clear mountain winds carry her good-byes over the wilderness. There was nothing,

now, to hold her back.

She looked down at the half-finished sketch in her lap. She knew she'd made the

right decision to leave her architect's job in San Francisco, no matter how

comfortable and lucrative. There'd been too much waiting, too much wasting of her

life in a vain effort to find the security her parents' death had taken from her.

Even Richard—what she'd had with Richard had been a desperate grasp at

replacing something of what had been lost, restoring some meaning to her life. She'd

still been young, vulnerable, so full of need, he'd seemed strong, controlled,

everything she thought she'd wanted then. But she'd grown up, found that security

could be an illusion, control a trap. And all the empty places in her heart had not

been filled.

She tossed her head angrily. That was behind her, and well left behind. There

could be no more dull security to cover the hurt. No, she wouldn't think of Richard.

No regrets. From now on she'd be in control of her own life.

Absently she set down her sketchpad and caressed one of the vivid blossoms at

her feet. It was a deep pink shooting star, one of many wildflowers that turned the

mountain hillsides into brilliant canvases from late spring through early autumn. She'd

had ample time to study just about every kind of wildflower from the very first

blooms after the snowmelt, but now the summer was fading, and all the beauty of

Nature couldn't change that unalterable fact.

When she'd come to these mountains in the spring, she'd been confident of

finding what she sought before midsummer. But after searching several of the most

likely areas in this stretch of the Rockies, she faced the very real possibility of

failure. This was her last hope—this town, this valley, and the wild stretches of

surrounding mountains. If they weren't here... She bit her lip, hard.

She had to find them. They had to be here. Time was running out. Here in the

north, the time of blue skies and green growing things—and passable trails—was all

too brief. City-bred she might be, but she understood that once the first snows fell,

her quest would be over for the year. That was simply a thought she could not bear.

In an effort to clear her head, Joey focused on her breathing and steadied it until

her pulse had slowed again. No smog here—no fumes, no constant racket of cars

and human clamor. Here, away from the town, it was easy to pretend you were the

last person on earth. Joey grimaced to herself. She might be savoring that feeling if it

hadn't been for the constant worries that hung over her. She'd been waiting for her

local guide now—one she'd hired in the last town—for over a week. If he didn't

show up soon...

Her brooding thoughts were interrupted by a pale flash of movement among the

trees at the foot of the slope below. It wasn't a deer—that much she was sure

of—but it wasn't something immediately recognizable to her unpracticed eye. She

reached down to the binoculars at her belt. Fixing the location of the elusive shape in

her mind, Joey unhooked them and focused on the blue-green blur of trees that

marked the lower boundary of the meadow.

Close up, the details leaped to life in her vision: individual Douglas fir, spruce, and

pine with a scattered understory of shrubs and brush. She almost passed over the

pale shape the first time she caught it in her sights, hurriedly readjusting until she had

it in focus again. Her breath tangled in her throat.

A wolf—a great gray timber wolf—stood absolutely still in the half-concealment

of a larchberry bush. Joey's hands tightened on the binoculars to steady them. Her

first wolf. All this time in the mountains and she'd never seen one, though she'd

heard them in the summer nights, shivering in spite of herself at their eerie chorus.

She knew they were elusive, uncommon even in protected areas. But to see one here,

alone, in broad daylight...

Joey studied the wolf intently. It was huge—even from this distance, she could tell

that—and its coat was lush and heavy, pale on the belly and legs, shot with silver

and gray and black across the back and masking the face. The triangular ears were

alert, the bushy tail slightly raised. It seemed to be watching, or waiting. For prey,

perhaps? Joey moved the binoculars to get a clearer look at the pale, tilted eyes. She

nearly dropped them in astonishment. The wolf seemed to be staring straight at her.

Fascinated, Joey stared back. She knew it was impossible that the wolf could be

looking directly at her through the binocular lenses, but the sensation persisted, all

logic to the contrary. Perhaps it simply sensed her presence with the uncanny ability

wild animals have. That seemed reasonable, but Joey wasn't feeling very reasonable

at the moment. Those eyes—pale and slanted and oddly intelligent—had a very

strange effect. She almost got the feeling that the wolf not only saw her but was

studying her in turn. The longer she looked, the stronger the peculiar feeling grew.

Those eyes...

It took a long moment for Joey to realize she had been lost in that wild stare for a

frightening length of time. Unnerved, she dropped the binoculars. She blinked as her

eyes adjusted, and without intending to, she found herself searching the forest edge

again for the pale shape of the wolf. For an instant she caught sight of it, its head still

raised as if to watch her. And then it moved, disappearing silently between one blink

and the next.

Joey bit her lip and hooked the binoculars back to her belt. She realized her back

and arms were taut with tension. True, it was the first time she'd ever seen a wild

wolf, but that was no reason to get quite so worked up. She knew healthy wolves

weren't dangerous to people, and that wolf had certainly kept its distance.

But she couldn't quite shake the weird intensity of the wolf's gaze, or the bizarre

way she'd almost gotten lost in it. There was something in this mountain air and

ancient wilderness that made a person feel not quite earthbound. But such flights of

fancy were useless to her and could only distract her from her purpose.

Joey flipped her braid over one shoulder with an irritated toss of her head. She'd

just have to make doubly sure from now on that she didn't let this countryside

hypnotize her into complacency—or turn on her with the treachery it had shown her

parents.

Sighing deeply, Joey lay back and stretched out into the bed of grass and flowers,

allowing the soft scent of crushed blossoms to soothe her. She concentrated on the

distant chatter of birds from the trees at the meadow's edge, the soft soughing of a

breeze through the fir and spruce, drifts of air idly teasing the pale hair that had

escaped her braid. She smiled experimentally into the sun, eyes squeezed shut, and

decided to live for the moment—at least for a few minutes.

Joey came to full, sudden wakefulness with an odd, distinctly unflowerlike odor

assaulting her nose. In the moment it took her to realize she'd relaxed enough to fall

asleep in the grass, she knew that something was different. As she rolled over, her

body tingled with a primitive urge to run and hide. She froze instead. It was then that

she saw the wolf.

Her fingers dug deeply into soft earth as she stared at the animal. It was the same

wolf—the very same wolf, but this time considerably closer and much, much larger.

It sat on its haunches no more than a few yards away, and its gaze was locked on

hers. She could see every detail in the cool depth of its pale eyes, the dark round

pupils, the black rims, and the masklike markings of its facial fur.

For a moment she distanced herself from fear by studying the wolf

dispassionately, as if it were simply one of her architectural designs, a living

construct to be classified and assigned its proper place. The coat was thick and

heavy and woven of many subtle shades, ranging from nearly white to nearly black in

the fur across the broad shoulders and back. The bushy tail rested half-curled

behind the haunches, and the paws—each toe tipped with a thick black claw—were

huge. The neat ears were cocked forward, and there was no doubt that the animal's

attention was most definitely focused on her. She could hear the soft puff of its

breath as it regarded her, glimpsed menacing white teeth and curled pink tongue as it

panted. But it was the eyes—those strangely intense eyes—that caught and held her

just as they had before. This time she didn't have the protection of binoculars and

distance.

It seemed to be an impasse. Joey bit her lip and held herself very still. She was

not quite prepared to test the theory that normal wild wolves would not attack human

beings. Even if this one did seem rather friendly and not particularly threatening. She

had the sudden, absurd desire to hold out her hand and say "Nice doggy," an image

that immediately provoked a gasp of stifled laughter. She choked on it as the wolf

stood up on all fours and moved a step closer. Its gaze never wavered.

Joey knew the wisest course would be to stay in place until the wolf got bored

and went about its business; if it hadn't been for the cooling air and darkening sky,

she would have been resigned to an indefinite wait. But the sun was setting—and if

this wolf had friends likely to join it after dark, she wasn't particularly keen on being

here to meet them.

There didn't seem to be much point in prolonging the confrontation. Joey drew in

a deep breath, gathered her courage, and decided to risk it. "Look, wolf," she

murmured as it regarded her in grave silence, "I don't know why you're here or why

you're so interested in me—but it's getting late, and I really have to be going."

The sheer absurdity of the situation made her tremble and choke back another

inappropriate giggle as the wolf tilted its head to one side. She moved

experimentally, gathering herself to rise. The wolf went very still.

And then, almost as if it understood, the wolf looked off in the direction of the

town. It was the first time it had broken eye contact, and Joey felt a profound sense

of relief to be free of that unwavering stare. She rose cautiously to her knees. The

relief was short-lived, for within a moment the wolf looked back and moved several

steps closer, putting it within easy leaping distance. Joey braced herself.

But the wolf didn't leap or make any threatening move. Instead, it crept forward

and pushed its nose toward her hand—almost trembling—and touched the backs of

her fingers ever so gently. The contact was surprisingly warm, not cold and wet as

she'd expected. She didn't have time to flinch or react in any way, for almost

immediately the wolf retreated, barked once, trotted a few yards in the direction of

the town, and looked back at her. Stunned by the oddly intelligent behavior, Joey

watched as the wolf repeated its action with something unmistakably like impatience.

Joey shook her head, forcing her muscles to relax one by one. This had to be one

of the strangest experiences of her life—but she was as sure as she was ever likely to

be that the wolf would not attack. Eyes fixed on the animal, she got slowly to her

feet.

With a soft yip that sounded strangely like approval, the wolf waved its plumed

tail and opened its mouth in a toothy grin. As she began to move forward, the wolf

kept its distance, always ahead, always turning to look back at her in encouragement.

At last Joey gave up trying to figure it out and set off with a determination aided by

her awareness of the fading sky. If she were lucky, she'd make it back to town by

dark. Of course, she might be able to rely on the wolf for protection. Her

half-hysterical giggle turned into a gasp as she caught her foot on a rock hidden in

the thick grass .Absurd amusement fled, and her mouth set in a grim line.

Perhaps she'd been too casual, too certain of her own competence. This was not

her world, and it might send her warnings—but it would never defeat her or scare her

away. She would win. She'd set a goal, and she always did what she set out to do.

She almost didn't notice when the wolf disappeared, just short of the light cast by

the windows of Lovell's first outlying cabins.

The warm wooden paneling of the O'Briens' guest lodge was a welcoming sight

as Joey pushed open the heavy door and entered the common room. It was

deserted, but the rich smells of recent cooking hung in the air, and Joey felt her

stomach rumble in response. She'd probably just missed dinner, but even after so

short a time she knew Mrs O'Brien well enough to expect that a sizable portion had

been set aside for her return.

The O'Briens had been attentive hosts during the past week of her stay in Lovell,

guests were sparse this late in the summer, and they'd taken a great deal of trouble to

make her feel welcome. In turn Joey had spent the quiet evening hours regaling them

with tales of city life, much to their amusement and fascination. Lovell, B.C. , was a

very long way from San Francisco, California.

As Joey shut the door behind her, Mrs O'Brien swept into the room, her arms full

of clean linen. Her faded gray eyes peered over the stack as she caught sight of Joey

and hurried to put the neatly folded cloth on the nearest table.

"There you are!" she exclaimed "We were wondering what happened to you."

Joey smiled and made her way across the room to a worn easy chair, settling into

it with a sigh It felt like heaven.

She looked up at Mrs O'Brien. "Nothing too exciting by local standards, I

suppose," she said, deliberately casual. "I was out on the hillside, and I managed to

fall asleep. When I woke up, I had company." Her smile turned to a wry grimace. "I

know I should have been a lot more careful, but I never thought a wild wolf would

come right up to me and—"

"A wolf?" Mrs O'Briens friendly voice went strange, her expression drawing tight

and closed.

"Yes," Joey affirmed, watching the older woman's face in puzzlement. "A lone

wolf, a big gray one—it just sat there and stared at me It didn't try to attack, or

threaten me in any way. After a while I tried moving, and the wolf actually seemed

to... " She broke off, embarrassed. Mrs O'Brien's reaction was very odd, and Joey

felt rather foolish. "I know it sounds pretty ridiculous, but I would almost swear the

wolf was trying to lead me back to town."

Mrs O'Brien shook her head. "That wolf," she muttered. "That damned wolf."

For a moment she seemed lost in her own troubled thoughts, and then she pursed

her lips and turned back to Joey with a frown ."You want my advice, Joey? You

watch out for those wolves. Can't trust 'em." Still muttering and shaking her head,

the older woman retrieved her linens and bustled out of the room. "I'll go heat up

your dinner. Those damned wolves..."

Staring after her, Joey shrugged and leaned back into the chair. Mrs O'Brien

clearly didn't like wolves, but this one hadn't done Joey any harm. In any case, she

had more important things on her mind at the moment. A hot meal and a hot bath

could do wonders at the end of a long and somewhat unsettling day; there were still

a few of the benefits of civilization to be had here in the wilds of the north, and for

that she was profoundly grateful.

But, she reminded herself, she'd learned an important lesson today. Face-to-face

with a powerful timber wolf, she'd managed to keep her head. If nothing else, it

proved she could do what she'd set out to do—she'd just have to be a little more

careful from now on. If the wilderness had seduced her into forgetting her natural

caution, she'd be sure not to let it happen again. Things were going to go her way.

With the proper planning life was a lot less likely to deal nasty and unexpected

blows. This had just been a reminder.

Mrs O'Brien broke into her reverie with the concrete distraction of a hot

home-cooked dinner. Joey started into the generous meal with enthusiasm. She was

just finishing the last bit of bread and home-made jam when the local doctor, Allan

Collier, emerged from the hallway.

"As I said, Martha, don't worry about Harry. Just give him a couple more days in

bed, and he'll be good as new."

Joey politely turned her attention to the business of stacking her plates as the

doctor spent several minutes reassuring Mrs O'Brien that her husband's condition

was not serious. She dropped off her dishes in the kitchen, and when she returned,

Collier was alone in the common room, consulting a small appointment book with a

pencil clenched in his teeth.

The doctor was a man of middle years, a little younger than Mrs O'Brien, with a

face still bearing the traces of a handsome youth. His eyes were generously marked

with laugh lines, but there was a sadness about him that Joey had seen from the first,

the day she'd been introduced to him by the O'Briens. Dr Collier was the town's only

doctor and one of the few serving the surrounding region, and so was a valued local

figure, Joey had also seen immediately why he was also well-liked. In many ways he

reminded her of her own father.

"Hello, Doctor," she said, leaning against the serving counter that ran between the

dining area and the kitchen. Collier blinked, the pencil dropping from his mouth. He

caught it in midfall and smiled at her warmly.

"Good evening, Miss Randall. Nice to see you again." Closing the notebook with

a snap, he tucked it into the black bag resting on the counter. "How are your plans

progressing?"

"A little slower than I'd like," Joey admitted. Collier cocked his head with an

inquiring look that invited trust; he gestured her over to a cluster of chairs near the

fireplace.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he murmured as they settled into a pair of mismatched

armchairs. His gentle fingers stroked the worn leather of the doctor's bag in his lap.

"Martha tells me you had a little encounter with a wolf today." He raised his arched

brows and looked her over significantly. "Obviously it wasn't a fatal one, for all of

Martha's dire pronouncements."

His conspiratorial smile seemed to release the last of Joey's remaining tension, she

chuckled in spite of herself. "I guess I was a little careless," she admitted. "I always

thought that wild animals were shy."

"Most of them are," Collier said. There was an odd, distant note to his voice.

"Though there are times..." He fell silent, his gaze turning inward, and when it

became clear he was drifting in his own thoughts, Joey leaned forward to interrupt.

"Then that wasn't normal behavior, was it?" she asked softly. Collier's attention

Susan Krinard - Prince of Wolves

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