Eyes Like a Wolf

by Evangeline Anderson

  “We just did,” he said softly.

  “It was an accident,” I said, trying to talk it away. Trying to justify it. “I was confused, and it's been so long since we've seen each other.”

  He looked at me steadily. “Is that what you think? Is that why your heart beats so hard I can hear it every time I touch you? Rachel, don't you remember anything about our past? About the promises we made?”

  “Children promise lots of things,” I said softly, my mouth trembling. “But I never promised to let you…do that to me.”

  “You really don't remember, do you?” He pulled away from me, taking his warmth and comfort with him. I clutched at his arm.

  “Don't…don't go,” I said. “Stay with me. Tell me what you need to tell me.”

  He shook his head. “No. Not tonight. You're not ready.” He started to rise from the bed, but I pulled him back.

  “Please, Richard. The dream—what if it comes back? I need you with me.”

  “How do you need me?” In the darkness his voice was low and full of promises. Promises I was afraid he might keep.

  “Don't you remember when we were children?” I said, hearing the note of pleading in my voice and not caring. “The way you held me close and kept me safe when I was scared? Can't…can't it be like that?”

  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, Rachel. Do you know how much I love you?”

  I stared at him silently, my eyes wide in the darkness.

  “No,” he murmured. “I don't believe you do. All right, I'll hold you until you go to sleep. But then I'd better go back to the cot.”

  “All right.” We lay back down on the bed, my back to his front as we had when we were children. I felt his heart pound against me and the warmth of his big body cradling my own. Feeling comforted, I let the sweet sensations lull me to sleep.

  I didn't dream of the boy with wolf's eyes again, but as I slipped into sleep, another image followed me down...

  I woke up from a disturbing dream breathing hard, my hand pressed to my breasts. I was so wet between my thighs that for a moment I wondered if it had been no dream. But, no, Richard wasn't even in the bed with me. It was impossible, but my body didn't think so.

  I could feel my heart pounding like one of the frightened rabbits my father used to take Richard and me to catch on our moonlight hunts. Then I shook my head, trying to block the memory. I hadn't thought of that in ages—the way we'd run down the tiny furry creatures on foot and caught them in our teeth as though we were animals…

  You're Amon-kai, the dream Richard's voice echoed in my head. I looked over and saw that he was sleeping in the cot, having apparently left my bed after I'd fallen asleep myself. What was this crazy dream, and why should I have it now? Why should I be thinking of things, feeling things, I hadn't thought of or felt since childhood?

  Disturbed, I lay back on the pillow and turned my back resolutely away from the sleeping form of my adopted brother. It's just a dream, I told myself. No need to be so upset—people have weird dreams all the time. But why should I have a dream like that? That I had somehow gone back to a time I would have had with Richard if my mother hadn't taken me away? But even if she hadn't, Richard and I never would have done…that together, would we? Of course not, it was stupid, crazy, ridiculous…

  But no matter what I told myself, I found it nearly impossible to get back to sleep that night.

  Chapter Six

  “Dearest, I'm so very sorry about the other night.” The voice on the other end of my phone was obviously Charles, and he sounded sincere.

  “Well…” I hedged, not sure I was ready to forgive him. I sat in a small park a few blocks from the courthouse, finishing my lunch, a cup of yogurt and an apple. It was a sunny day, but not too hot—a rarity in Tampa—and I had been having a perfectly good day before he called. “I'm sorry, too, I guess,” I said at last, tossing my empty yogurt container in the nearby trash can.

  “I mean, I should've trusted your judgment. And it was ridiculous of me to be so jealous. He's just your brother, after all, even if you aren't really related by blood.”

  I felt my face color, remembering the way Richard had held me and kissed me that first night. Just my brother indeed. Then why did my heart skip a beat every time he touched me? But I pushed the thought away and tried to concentrate on what Charles was saying.

  “I was thinking about a double date. My cousin, Ursula, is going to be in town this coming Friday—she'll be staying with the family until the wedding—and I thought you and I could take both her and Richard out to dinner. Wouldn't that be lovely?”

  “Ah…yes, lovely,” I said reluctantly. “But listen, Charles, let me run it by Richard first and see what he thinks. I don't want to set him up on a blind date without asking him first.”

  “Of course, of course. Whatever you think is best, my dear.” His voice was light and airy, and for the first time I wondered if he had been drinking. Unlike some men who got angry or mean when they had a few too many, Charles became almost pathologically agreeable. Would he sober up and be sorry he had extended the olive branch?

  “Look, Charles, I'm going to be late for court. Can we talk about this later?”

  “As long as we talk.” He sounded more serious now—maybe he wasn't drunk after all. “These past several weeks have been absolutely intolerable, Rachel. I need you in my life. We're going to be married in a little over two weeks, for Christ's sake. Please don't shut me out.”

  “Oh, Charles.” I was truly touched this time. It was a fact that I had made no effort to call him in the two weeks following our catastrophic fight in the downtown PD. I had decided that if he wanted me back, he could damn well make the first move himself. It was a good thing my future mother-in-law was handling every aspect of our impending wedding except the gown, which was hanging like a white, plastic-wrapped ghost in the back of my hall closet, because I hadn't even spared it a thought. And I hadn't exactly been sitting around waiting for the phone to ring, either—I had other things on my mind besides my pouting fiancé.

  For one thing, Richard was still staying with me even though he had been cleared of all charges. Both of the supposed “witnesses” had recanted their statements, a fact that didn't surprise anyone very much. Neither of them had been very credible in the first place, and it was likely that their new pimp, whoever he was, didn't want them involved with an open homicide investigation. So the case was closed, but Richard stayed. Frankly, I didn't want him to go. Not yet, and if I listened to the whispers of my heart, maybe not ever.

  “I know you're in a hurry, but just think about it and let me know. Ursula has grown into quite a lovely young lady, and I'm sure Richard would fancy her.”

  “I'm sure,” I said noncommittally. The fact that Charles was on the phone, offering to set Richard up with his own flesh and blood told me two things: one, he had checked out my adopted brother's background and found out that he was wealthy, and two, that he already knew that Richard had been cleared of the charges that had landed him in my lap over a week ago. The fact that Richard could now leave and yet hadn't weighed heavily in the air between us, but neither of us said anything about it.

  “Well…I love you.” Charles's voice sounded slightly uncertain.

  I decided to let him off the hook. “I love you too,” I said, as sincerely as I could. “Talk to you soon about Friday night. Just let me run it by Richard first.”

  “Of course. Later, darling.” He hung up, leaving me with a vague uneasiness I couldn't understand. Two weeks to go until my wedding, and until Charles had called me, I had almost managed to forget about it completely. That didn't seem normal at all, but maybe I just had a lot on my mind.

  I stood up and grabbed my briefcase. The courthouse was just a few blocks from the park, and I was looking forward to the walk. I was about to shove my cell phone back into my purse when it chimed again. The caller ID showed my home number—Richard, then. He'd been working out of the house on his latest consulting job, redesign
ing the communications system for a major bank in the Tampa Bay area.

  I answered the phone with considerably more enthusiasm this time. “Hi, Richard.” I could hear the smile in my voice, and I knew he could, too.

  “Hi, is this the phone of the big-shot attorney?” His tone was teasing, but his voice was as deep as dark chocolate.

  “Close,” I replied, laughing. “You've reached the phone of the lowest-ranked ADA, will that do?”

  “I guess it'll have to do for now. Listen, I just called to see what time you'll be home for dinner. I don't want my latest masterpiece to get cold.”

  I groaned. “Richard, if you keep cooking for me, I'll be as big as a blimp.” He'd been buying groceries and making dinner and breakfast for me for almost two weeks now, and he showed no sign of getting tired of it. Personally, I couldn't cook to save my life, but Richard was excellent at it.

  He laughed. “What are you talking about? You eat like a bird.”

  “A bird that weighs a ton,” I said, beginning the walk to the courthouse. “What's on the menu at Chez Kemet tonight, anyway?”

  “Kobe beef stir-fry with fresh snap peas and Portobello mushrooms. You're going to love it,” he promised.

  “Richard, that sounds like so much work,” I protested. “You don't have to fix a gourmet meal every night, you know.”

  “Who said anything about gourmet?” he asked. “It's quick, simple, and easy. If you get home in time, I'll teach you how to make it yourself.”

  “Oh, no, buster. You're not domesticating me,” I said, rounding the corner that led to the courthouse. I could see the proud old granite building rising tall before me—the sight always gave me a little surge of pride. Hokey, I know, but I'm a sentimental kind of girl. Richard's next words drove all thoughts of the courthouse out of my mind, though.

  “That's exactly what I'm hoping to do—domesticate you.” His voice was soft and completely devoid of all humor. I felt a tremble somewhere inside my chest. Every once in a while he would come out with a statement like this, and it always left me feeling uncertain and somehow adrift.

  “Well, it's not going to happen,” I said jokingly, after an uncomfortable pause that lasted longer than it should have. “Your little sister is not a domestic kind of girl. Besides, if I could cook as well as you, I'd have to give up practicing law and become a chef. Listen,” I hurried on, wanting to get over the awkward patch in our conversation. “Charles finally called me to apologize and he had a suggestion. He wants us to all get together Friday on a double date. He's bringing his cousin Ursula, and she's supposed to be very pretty. You interested?”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, and I could feel him trying and discarding different replies to what I had proposed. Finally he said, “Can we talk about it tonight after dinner? I feel like…well, remember the thing I wanted to talk to you about the first night I was at your house?”

  “Yes.” I felt a lump rise in my throat for some reason. Why did I automatically assume that whatever he had to tell me would be bad or hard to hear?

  He took a deep breath. “Well, I'd like to tell you tonight. I think it's time.”

  “Okay,” I said through numb lips. “Whatever it is, I'm sure we can talk it out, Richard.”

  “Hey, don't sound so upset. I promise I won't bite—I just want to talk. Think of it as the show that goes with your gourmet dinner.” The light, teasing tone in his voice made me smile with relief. Maybe it wouldn't be such a big deal after all.

  “All right. Well, if things don't go crazy and nothing pops up at the last minute, I should be home around seven. But I'll try to call if I'm going to be late. Okay?”

  “Okay. I'll let you go then.”

  “Bye,” I said, about to snap the phone shut, but his voice stopped me.

  “Hey, Rache?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Love you. Can't wait to see you.”

  “I love you, too, Richard,” I said softly. The words came more naturally to my lips than they had ten minutes before when I was talking to Charles, but I was in too much of a hurry to wonder why.

  I snapped the phone shut at last and was mounting the steps in front of the courthouse when Detective Marks nudged my arm.

  “Hey, I've been trying to get your attention for the last half block.” She was breathing a little heavily, her round cheeks pink with exertion. “But you were way into that phone conversation—didn't even look up when I shouted your name.”

  “Hello, Genevieve.” I smiled at her, glad to see a friendly face. “You ready for the Ginelli case? It's your turn on the stand today, isn't it?”

  She grimaced. “And how—man, what a pain in the ass.”

  “You better watch your ass if Ginelli's tied up with Momo the shark,” I warned her.

  “What, or I'll sleep with the fishes?” She gave me a crooked grin. “I don't think so. Besides, Ginelli's a little fish—no way we could tie him to Momo. I only wish, but no, this is purely a shit detail.” She sighed. “Just wish I had somebody to brighten my day like you.”

  “What do you mean?” I looked at her as we entered the courthouse, sincerely confused.

  She gestured to my face. “You're practically glowing, and you have this little smile in the corners of your mouth that just won't quit. You and Charlie-boy must have made up, huh?”

  “Well actually, yes. But just before I met you, I was talking to my brother,” I said, before I realized how strange it sounded. “I mean—he's making beef stir-fry tonight and well…he's a really good cook,” I trailed off lamely.

  “So he's still with you?” Genevieve looked at me directly, a little frown in her gray eyes.

  “Well, sure. I mean, we're still catching up. We hadn't seen each other in—”

  “I know, I know—seventeen years. It just seems to me that a man who's been implicated in a homicide and then told he's free to go would get the hell out of Dodge pretty quick. Don't you think?”

  “Not an innocent man,” I said stiffly, disliking the turn the conversation had taken.

  Genevieve shook her bushy head. “It doesn't strike you as strange at all that he's hanging around?”

  “No,” I said. “Look, I really need to go. I'm going to be late for court.”

  “Okay, all right.” She held up her hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Hey, I didn't mean to offend you, Kemet. You're my friend, that's all. I worry about my friends.”

  “Well, your worries are unfounded,” I snapped. “Richard hasn't murdered me in my bed yet, and I'm not expecting him to anytime soon. Now, if you'll excuse me…” We had reached the entrance to my appointed courtroom, and I nodded curtly at her before closing the heavy wooden door in her face with a muted bang.

  Chapter Seven

  I could barely concentrate on the court proceedings that afternoon as I mulled over the argument I'd had with Genevieve Marks. She was right—we were friends, although it was the first time either of us had really said it out loud. I supposed if I saw her entering what I considered a risky situation I would try to warn her, too. So why was I so defensive about my arrangement with Richard?

  Well, I admitted to myself, part of it was our sleeping arrangements. The fact was that the first night when the dream had woken me with its bloody violence and Richard had left his cot to hold me wasn't an isolated incident. To put it bluntly, we were still sleeping in the same bed and had been for the entire time he'd been with me. I thought about that as I went through the proceedings on autopilot, something I usually try not to do no matter how minor the case was.

  It's my fault, I thought, and that was true. Richard had started it the first night when he came to comfort me after the dream. But I had continued it the second night, and with no very clear idea of why I was doing it.

  It's not like we're doing anything together—not really, I argued to myself. But that didn't change the fact that I had invited Richard to share my bed or that he had accepted. It didn't alter the situation I found myself in. I wasn't sure i
f that was the problem, or if it was the fact that I didn't really want the situation altered at all. If only I had bitten my tongue that second night he stayed with me…

  * * *

  He'd been fresh out of the shower again, the black hair curling against the back of his neck, his eyes almost luminous in the half-light cast by the still-full moon. The towel draped around his lean hips showed rippling abdominals—something I was sure I shouldn't be noticing, and yet, I couldn't seem to help myself. He looked like an ad for sex on a stick—like he'd stepped right out from between the pages of Playgirl.

  “Good night, Rachel,” he said in that low, gentle voice I was already beginning to love. How was it that I could hear the boy he used to be in the man he had become and need them both so much? He told me good night, but he stood at the foot of my bed, as though waiting for something.

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him good night as well, but when I opened my mouth, what came out was, “You don't have to.”

  “I don't have to what?” His voice was careful—almost hopeful.

  “Don't have to sleep on the cot,” I said, my voice little more that a whisper. “I mean, it must be uncomfortable and…” I trailed off, shaking my head.

  “Do you want me to sleep with you?” he asked directly, taking a step toward my side of the bed.

  I wasn't sure what he was asking me, and it scared me to death. Then again, I wasn't sure what I was asking him, either. “Just…” I cleared my throat, forcing myself to go on. “Just hold me like you did last night. Is…is that all right?”

  “Sure, it's all right.” If he was disappointed or in some way surprised by my request, he didn't show it in the least. “Let me just get on my PJ's, and I'll be right there.”

  PJ's. The word from our childhood made me smile, and I felt more relaxed. Soon Richard returned, wearing only the loose pajama bottoms, his bare, muscular chest barely visible in the dim room. “Hey,” he said softly.