by Nora Roberts
back with him. Her parents had assured him of it.
He smiled at her, that crooked, slightly confused smile that always touched her heart. “What in the world do you do here all day?”
“I’ve told you in my letters, Alan.” She sat across from him, leaned forward. This time, she was certain, she could make him understand. “I’m taking some time to think, to try to figure things out. I go for long walks, read, listen to music. I’ve been doing a lot of sketching. In fact—”
“Rowan, that’s all well and good for a few days,” he interrupted, the patience so thick in his voice her teeth went instantly on edge. “But this is hardly the place for you. It’s easy enough to read between the lines of your letters that you’ve developed some sort of romantic attachment for solitude, for living in some little cottage in the middle of nowhere. But this is hardly Walden Pond.”
He shot her that smile again, but this time it failed to soften her. “And I’m not Thoreau. Granted. But I’m happy here, Alan.”
She didn’t look happy, he noted. She looked irritable and edgy. Certain he could help her, he patted her hand. “For now, perhaps. For the moment. But what happens after a few more weeks, when you realize it’s all just a”—he gestured vaguely—“just an interlude? By then it’ll be too late to get your position back at your school, to register for the summer courses you planned to take toward your doctorate. The lease is up for your apartment in two months.”
Her hands were locked together in her lap now, to keep them from forming fists and beating in frustration on the arms of the chair. “It’s not just an interlude. It’s my life.”
“Exactly.” He beamed at her, as she had often seen him beam at a particularly slow student who suddenly grasped a thorny concept. “And your life is in San Francisco. Sweetheart, you and I both know you need more intellectual stimulation than you can find here. You need your studies, your students. What about your monthly book group? You have to be missing it. And the classes you planned to take? And you haven’t mentioned a word about the paper you were writing.”
“I haven’t mentioned it because I’m not writing it. I’m not going to write it.” Because it infuriated her that her fingers were beginning to tremble, she wrenched them apart and sprang up. “And I didn’t plan on taking classes, other people planned that for me. The way they’ve planned every step I’ve ever taken. I don’t want to study, I don’t want to teach. I don’t want any intellectual stimulation that I don’t choose for myself. This is exactly what I’ve told you before, what I’ve told my parents before. But you simply refuse to hear.”
He blinked, more than a little shocked at her sudden vehemence. “Because we care about you, Rowan. Very much.” He rose as well. His voice was soothing now. She rarely lost her temper, but he understood when she did she threw up a wall no amount of logic could crack. You just had to wait her out.
“I know you care.” Frustrated, she pressed her fingers to her eyes. “That’s why I want you to hear, I want you to understand, or if understanding is too much, to accept. I’m doing what I need to do. And, Alan—” She dropped her hands, looked directly into his eyes. “I’m not coming back.”
His face stiffened, and his eyes went cool as they did when he had outlined a logical premise and she disagreed with him. “I certainly hoped you’d had enough of this foolishness by now and would fly back with me tonight. I’m willing to find a hotel in the area for a few days, and wait.”
“No, Alan, you misunderstand. I’m not coming back to San Francisco. At all. Not now, not later.”
There, she thought, she’d said it. And a huge weight seemed to lift off her heart. It remained light even when she read the irritation in his eyes.
“That’s just nonsense, Rowan. It’s your home—of course you’ll come back.”
“It’s your home, and it’s my parents’ home. That doesn’t make it mine.” She reached out to take his hands, so happy with her own plans that she wanted him to be. “Please try to understand. I love it here. I feel so at home, so settled. I’ve never really felt like this before. I’ve even got a job sketching. It’s art for a computer game. It’s so much fun, Alan. So exciting. And I’m going to look into buying a house somewhere in the area. A place of my own, near the sea. I’m going to plant a garden and learn how to really cook and—”
“Have you lost your mind?” He turned his hands over to grip hers almost painfully. None of the sheer joy on her face registered. Only the words that were to him the next thing to madness. “Computer games? Gardens? Are you listening to yourself?”
“Yes, for the first time in my life that’s just what I’m doing. You’re hurting me, Alan.”
“I’m hurting you?” He came as close to shouting as she’d ever heard, and transferred his grip from her hands to her shoulders. “What about what I feel, what I want? Damn it, Rowan, I’ve been patient with you. You’re the one who suddenly and for no reason that made sense decided to change our relationship. One night we’re lovers, the next day we’re not. I didn’t press, I didn’t push. I tried to understand that you needed more time in that area.”
She’d bungled things, she realized. She’d bungled it and hurt him unnecessarily out of her inability to find the right words. Even now, she fumbled with them. “Alan, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t a matter of time. It was—”
“I’ve circled around this incomprehensible snit of yours,” he continued, fired up enough to give her a quick shake. “I’ve given you more room than anyone could expect, believing you wanted a bit more freedom before we settled down and married. Now it’s computer games? Games? And cabins in the woods?”
“Yes, it is. Alan—”
She was near tears, very near them, had lifted a hand to his chest, not to push him away, but to try to soothe. With a great feral howl, the wolf leaped through the open window. Fangs gleamed white in the lamplight as he sprang, a vicious snarl erupting from his throat.
His powerful forelegs caught Alan just below the shoulders, knocked him back. A table snapped as the combined weight crashed into it. And before Rowan could draw breath, Alan was lying white-faced on the floor with the black wolf snapping at his throat.
“No, no!” Terror gave her both speed and strength. She jumped to them, dived down to wrap her arms around the wolf’s neck. “Don’t, don’t hurt him. He wasn’t hurting me.”
She could feel the muscles vibrating beneath her, hear the growls rumble like threatening thunder. The horrible image of ripped flesh, pumping blood, screams raced through her head. Without a thought she shifted, pushed her face between them and looked into the wolf’s glowing eyes.
There she saw savagery.
“He wasn’t hurting me,” she said calmly. “He’s a friend. He’s upset, but he’d never hurt me. Let him up now, please.”
The wolf snarled again, and something flashed in his eyes that was almost … human, she thought. She could smell the wildness around him, in him. Very gently she laid her cheek against his. “It’s all right now.” Her lips grazed his fur. “Everything’s all right.”
Slowly he moved back. But his body shoved against hers until he stood between her and Alan. As a precaution, she kept a hand on the ruff of his neck as she got to her feet.
“I’m sorry, Alan. Are you hurt?”
“Name of God, name of God.” It was all he could manage in a voice that shook. Sheer terror had his muscles weak as water. Each breath burned his lungs, and his chest was bruised where the beast had attacked him. “Get away from it, Rowan. Get back.” Though he trembled all over from shock, he crawled to his feet, grabbed a lamp. “Get away, get upstairs.”
“Don’t you dare hit him.” Indignant, she snatched the lamp out of Alan’s unsteady hands. “He was only protecting me. He thought you were hurting me.”
“Protecting you? For the love of God, Rowan, that’s a wolf.”
She jerked back when he tried to grab her, then followed instinct and told perhaps the first outright lie of her life. “Of cour
se it’s not. Don’t be absurd. It’s a dog.” She thought she felt the wolf jolt under her hand at the claim. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him angle his head up and … well, glare at her. “My dog,” she insisted. “And he did precisely what you would expect from a well-trained dog. He protected me against what he saw as a threat.”
“A dog?” Staggered and far from convinced he wasn’t about to have his throat torn out, Alan shifted his gaze to her. “You have a dog?”
“Yes.” The lie was starting to twist around her tongue. “Um. And as you can see, I couldn’t be safer here. With him.”
“What kind of dog is that?”
“I don’t precisely know.” Oh, she was a miserably poor liar, she thought. “He’s been wonderful company, though, and as you can see I don’t have to worry about being alone. If I hadn’t called him off, he’d have bitten you.”
“It looks like a damn wolf.”
“Really, Alan.” She did her best to laugh, but it came out thin and squeaky. “Have you ever heard of a wolf leaping through a window, or taking commands from a woman? He’s marvelous.” She leaned down to nuzzle her face against his fur. “And as gentle with me as a Labrador.”
As if in disgust, the wolf shot her one steely look, then walked over to sit by the fire.
“See?” She didn’t let her breath shudder out in relief, but she wanted to.
“You never said anything about wanting a dog. I believe I’m allergic.” He dug out a handkerchief to catch the first sneeze.
“I never said a lot of things.” She crossed to him again, laying her hands on his arms. “I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I didn’t know what to say or how to say it until now.”
Alan’s eyes kept sliding back toward the wolf. “Could you put him outside?”
Put him outside? she thought, and felt another shaky laugh tickling her throat. The wolf came and went as he pleased. “He’s all right. I promise. Come sit down—you’re still shaken up.”
“Small wonder,” he muttered. He would have asked her for a brandy, but imagined she’d have to leave the room to get it. He wasn’t risking being alone with that great black hulk.
As if to show the wisdom of this decision, the wolf bared his teeth.
“Alan.” Rowan sat on the couch beside him, took his hands in hers. “I am sorry. For not understanding myself soon enough or clearly enough to make you understand. For not being what you’d hoped I would be. But I can’t change any of that, and I can’t go back to what was.”
Alan pushed his heavy hair back again. “Rowan, be reasonable.”
“I’m being as reasonable as I know how. I do care for you, Alan, so much. You’ve been a wonderful friend to me. Now be a friend and be honest. You’re not in love with me. It just seemed you should be.”
“Of course I love you, Rowan.”
Her smile was just a little wistful as she brushed back his hair herself. “If you were in love with me, you couldn’t have been so reasonable about not sleeping with me anymore.” Her smile warmed with affection when he fidgeted. “Alan, we’ve been good friends, but we were mediocre lovers. There was no passion between us, no urgency or desperation.”
Discussing such a matter quite so frankly embarrassed him. He’d have risen to pace, but the wolf had growled quietly again. “Why should there be?”
“I don’t know. I just know there should. There has to be.” Thoughtfully she reached up to straighten his tie. “You’re the son my parents always wanted. You’re kind, and you’re smart and so wonderfully steady. They love both of us.” She lifted her gaze to his, thought—hoped—she saw the beginnings of understanding there. “So they assumed we’d cooperate and marry each other. And they convinced you that you wanted the same thing. But do you, Alan? Do you really?”
He looked down at their joined hands. “I can’t imagine you not being part of my life.”
“I’ll always be part of it.” She tilted her head, leaned forward and laid her lips on his. At the gesture, the wolf rose, stalked over and snarled. She put an absent hand on his head as she drew back, and studied Alan. “Did that make your blood swim or your heart flip? Of course not,” she murmured before he could answer. “You don’t want me, Alan, not the way a man wildly in love wants. You can’t make love and passion logical.”
“If you came back, we could try.” When she only shook her head, he tightened his grip on her hand. “I don’t want to lose you, Rowan. You matter to me.”
“Then let me be happy. Let me know that at least one person I matter to, and who matters to me, can accept what I want to do.”
“I can’t stop you.” Resigned now, he lifted his shoulders. “You’ve changed, Rowan. In three short weeks, you’ve changed. Maybe you are happy, or maybe you’re just playing at being happy. Either way, we’ll all be there if you change your mind.”
“I know.”
“I should go. It’s a long drive to the airport.”
“I—I can fix you a meal. You can stay the night if you like and go back in the morning.”
“It’s best if I go now.” Skimming a cautious glance toward the hovering wolf, he rose, “I don’t know what I think, Rowan, and don’t honestly know what I’ll say to your parents. They were sure you’d be coming back with me.”
“Tell them I love them. And I’m happy.”
“I’ll tell them—and try to convince them. But since I’m not sure I believe it myself …” He sneezed again, backed away. “Don’t get up,” he told her, certain it was safer if she kept that light hand on her dog’s ferocious head. “I’ll let myself out. You ought to get a collar for that thing, at least … make sure he’s had his shots and—”
The sneezing fit shook his long, lanky frame so that he walked to the door with the handkerchief over his face. It looked as though the dog was grinning at him, which he knew was ridiculous.
“I’ll call you,” he managed to say, and rushed out into the fresh air.
“I hurt him.” Rowan let out a deep sigh and laid her cheek atop the wolf’s head as she listened to the sound of the rental car’s engine springing to life. “I couldn’t find a way not to. Just like I couldn’t find the way to love him.” She turned her face, comforting herself with the feel of that warm, soft fur. “You’re so brave. You’re so strong,” she crooned. “And you scared poor Alan half to death.”
She laughed a little, but the sound was perilously close to a sob. “Me, too, I guess. You looked magnificent coming through the window. So savage, so fierce. So beautiful. Teeth snapping, eyes gleaming, and that marvelous body fluid as rain.”
She slid off the couch to kneel beside him, to burrow against him. “I love you,” she murmured, felt him quiver as she caressed him. “It’s so easy with you.”
They stayed like that for a long, long time, with the wolf staring into the dying fire and listening to her quiet breathing.
* * *
Liam kept her busy and kept her close over the next three weeks. She loved the work—and that helped him justify spending so much time with her. It was true enough that most of her sketching could—even should—have been done on her own. But she didn’t argue when he insisted she come to him nearly every day to work.
It was only to … keep an eye on her, he told himself. To observe her, to help him decide what to do next. And when to do it. It wasn’t as if he wanted her company, particularly. He preferred working alone, and certainly didn’t need the distraction of her, the scent and the softness. Or the chatter that was by turns charming and revealing. He certainly didn’t need the offerings she so often brought over. Tarts and cookies and little cakes.
As often as not they were soggy or burned—and incredibly sweet.
It wasn’t as if he couldn’t do without her very, very easily. That’s what he told himself every day as he waited restlessly for her to arrive.
If he went to her nightly in wolf form, it was only because he understood she was lonely, and that she looked forward to the visits. Perhaps he did enjoy lying beside
her on the big canopy bed, listening to her read aloud from one of her books. Watching her fall asleep, invariably with her glasses on and the lamplight shining.
And if he often watched her in sleep, it wasn’t because she was so lovely, so fragile. It was only because she was a puzzle that needed to be solved. A problem that required logical handling.
His heart, he continued to assure himself, was well protected.
He knew the next step was approaching. A time when he would put the choice of what they became to each other in her hands.
Before he did, she would have to know who he was. And what he was.
He could have taken her as a lover without revealing himself. He had done so before with other women. What business had it been of theirs, after all? His powers, his heritage, his life, were his own.
But that might not be the case with Rowan.
She had a heritage of her own, one she knew nothing of. There would also come a time he would have to tell her of that, and convince her of what ran through her blood.
What she would do about it would be her own choice.
The choice to educate her had been his.
But he guarded his heart still. Desire was acceptable, but love was too big a risk.
On the night of the solstice, when magic was thick and the night came late, he prepared the circle. Deep in the woods, he stood in the center of the stone dance. Around him, the air sang, the sweet song of the ancients, the lively tune of the young, the shimmering strains of those who watched and waited.
And the aching harpstrings of hope.
The candles were white and slender, as were the flowers that lay between them. He wore a robe the color of moonglow belted with the jewels of his rank.
The wind caught his unbound hair as he lifted his face to the last light of the yielding sun. Beams of it fired the trees, shot lances of glimmering gold through the branches to lie like honed swords at his feet.
“What I do here, I do freely, but I make no vow to the woman or to my blood. No duty binds me, no promises made. Hear my voice before this longest day dies. I will call her, and she will come, but I will not use what I have beyond the call. What she sees, what she remembers and believes, is for her to decide.”
He watched the silver owl swoop, then perch imperiously on the king stone.
“Father,” he said, formally and with a bow. “Your wishes are known, but if I were ruled by them, would I rule others wisely?”
Knowing that question would irritate, Liam turned away before the smile could touch his lips. Once more he lifted his face. “I call Earth.” He opened his hand to reveal the deep, rich soil he held. “And Wind.” The breeze rose up high and wild, tossing the earth into a spiral. “And Fire.” Two columns of ice blue flame speared up, shivered. “Witness here what fate will conspire. A song in the blood, the power at hand.”
His eyes began to glow, twin flames against the glowing dark. “To honor both I’ve come to this strange land. If she’s mine, we both will see. As I will so mote it be.”
Then he turned, lighting each of the candles with a flick of his hand until their flames shot up clear gold and straight as arrows. The wind leaped up, howled like a thousand wolves on the hunt, but remained warm and fragrant with sea and pine and wildflowers.
It billowed the sleeves of his robe, streamed through his hair. And he tasted in it the power of the night.
“Moon rise full and Moon rise white, light her path to me tonight. Guide her here to the circle by the sea. As I will so mote it be.”
He lowered the hands he had flung up to the sky, and peered through the night, through the trees and the dark, to where she slept restlessly in her bed.
“Rowan,” he said with something like a sigh, “it’s time. No harm will come to you. It’s the only promise I’ll make. You don’t need to wake. You know the way in your dreams. I’m waiting for you.”
* * *
Something … called her. She could hear it, a murmur in the mind, a question. Stirring in sleep, she searched for the answer. But there was only wonder.
She rose, stretching luxuriously, enjoying the feel of the silky new nightshirt against her thighs. It was so nice to be out of flannel. Smiling to herself, she slipped into a robe of the same deep blue as her eyes, tucked her feet into slippers.
Anticipation shivered along her skin.
In that half dream, she walked down the steps, trailing her fingertips along the banister. The light in her eyes, the smile on her lips, were those of a woman going to meet her lover.
She thought of him, of Liam, the lover of her dreams, as she walked out of the house and into the swirling white fog.
The trees were curtained behind it, the path invisible. The air, moist and warm on her skin, seemed to sigh, then to part. She moved through it without fear, into that soft white sea of mist with the full white moon riding the sky above, and the stars glimmering like points of ice.
Trees closed in like sentinels. Ferns stirred in the damp breeze and shimmered with wet. She heard the long, deep call of an owl and turned without thought or hesitation toward the sound. Once, she saw him, huge and grand and as silver as the mist, with the glint of gold on his breast and the flash of green eyes.
Like walking through a fairy tale. A part of her mind recognized, acknowledged and embraced the magic of it, while another part slept, not yet ready to see, not yet ready to know. But her heart beat strong and steady and her steps were quick and light.
If there were eyes peeking from between the lacy branches of the ferns, if there was joyful laughter tinkling down from the high spreading branches of the firs, she could only enjoy it.
At each step, each turn of the path, the fog shimmered clear to open the way for her.
And the water sang quietly.
She saw the lights glowing, little fires in the night. She smelled sea, candle wax, sweet, fragrant flowers. Her soft smile spread as she stepped into the clearing, to the dance of stones.
Fog shivered at the edges, like a foamy hem, but didn’t slide between stone and candle and flowers. So he stood in the center, on clear ground, his robe white as the moonshine, the jewels belting it flashing with power and light.