Eyes Like a Wolf

by Evangeline Anderson

  I let out a long, trembling breath and shook my head. “You're my brother,” I said at last. “I'm sorry, Richard, but that's what it really comes down to. Blood or not, we were raised as siblings. I need you to stop this now. I need you to get off of me. To get out of me. Please understand I can't…can't let my own brother fuck me. I just can't.”

  “We're not truly siblings, but we are of the same breed—the Amon-kai,” he countered. “And blood is thicker than water, Rachel. There's a bond between us that can never be severed. You'll never be satisfied until you let me in, until you give yourself to me completely. Only when you feel my cock buried deep in your willing pussy and my essence filling your womb will you find peace. One day you'll understand that.”

  “But not today. Not now. Please, Richard.” I could feel the hot tears welling in my eyes. I just couldn't do it—couldn't let him go through with it. “Don't do this to me,” I told him, my fear overwhelming my pleasure at last and letting me think clearly. “I love you, Richard, but there are some things I can't forgive. Don't…don't rape me.”

  My words had an immediate effect on him. He pulled out of me abruptly, leaving me intact, and rolled to one side, breathing heavily with one arm over his eyes. I curled myself into a ball and pulled the edge of the bedspread over me to hide my nakedness.

  “I'm sorry, Richard,” I said, my throat thick with tears. “But I can't…we can't let ourselves do this. It's…it's wrong in so many ways. I think we should try to forget this happened and…and just go on like before.”

  “Just pretend I didn't almost claim you?” he asked bitterly, lifting his arm to look me in the eyes. “Pretend my cock wasn't just halfway buried in your cunt? I suppose next you'll say we should go out on that ridiculous date your fiancé has planned tomorrow night and pretend we give a damn about Charles and his little cousin.”

  “I do give a damn about Charles,” I said, but my voice didn't sound as strong as I wanted it to. “And…” I sat up, being careful to keep the bedspread wrapped around me. “…I think we should go out. We need to do something normal. I love you, Richard, but we've gotten too wrapped up in each other since you came back into my life. We need to get out and see that there are other people in the world.”

  Richard's face looked haggard—the face of a lost soul. “You don't understand. Even now, you don't understand. There's never going to be anyone else in the world for me besides you,” he whispered in a low, wounded voice.

  “Richard,” I reminded him as gently as I could. “I can never be yours. I'm engaged to another man, and besides, I'm your sister.”

  “My sister in nothing but name,” he said bitterly. “But fine. You want to go out and spend time with other people, we'll go. I'll even do my damnedest to show Charles's cousin a good time. I can be very charming when I want to be.”

  “So I've noticed,” I said quietly.

  Richard got off the bed, careless of his nudity. I had to look away from his muscular body because of the lust the sight kindled in my belly.

  “You'll see,” he said. “The bond that was formed when we were children is already too strong to break. Nothing but death can separate us now, and I promise you, by the end of the evening, we'll both be wishing we were dead. It's going to be painful, in more ways than one.”

  Chapter Ten

  “So, Charles tells us you're an actress.” Richard leaned forward and put an arm around the back of Ursula's chair, smiling charmingly. He was dressed impeccably in a dark charcoal suit and a bottle-green tie that brought out his eyes. We were sitting, Charles and I on one side and Richard and Charles's cousin, Ursula on the other, at a small rectangular table draped with spotless white linen in the imposing gold and scarlet-draped dining room at Bern's.

  “I can tell just by looking at you that the camera must love you,” Richard continued. Somehow he managed to make the compliment sound sincere and to look truly interested in his date's vocation.

  Ursula blushed becomingly, obviously overcome by my adopted brother's charm. “Well, I've just had a few bit parts here and there,” she murmured modestly. She was a natural redhead with a creamy complexion and a stunning figure that looked poured into the little black dress she was wearing. Beside her, I felt frumpy and overdressed in the slinky, pale green silk dress that usually made me feel so sexy and sleek. Even the Jimmy Choos Charles had bought me that exactly matched the dress didn't help. Besides, they hurt my feet.

  “Ursula had a speaking part in Faces in the Mirror,” Charles chimed in helpfully.

  “Oh, yes, I loved that movie. You were…” Richard snapped his fingers, “You were the waitress, weren't you? The one with the mentally-challenged brother and the cocaine habit?”

  “Yes, that was me.” Ursula blushed again and smiled, clearly pleased.

  “Well, that was an amazing performance.” Richard smiled at her and casually reached out to brush a lock of silky red hair out of her eyes. I felt the burn of jealousy all the way down to my fingertips when his well-shaped hand lingered just a little too long on her pale skin. “Tell me,” he said. “What do you think your character's motivation was when she grabbed the gun?”

  “I thought about that,” Ursula said eagerly. “I mean, I think she was frightened—terrified, actually. I had to put myself into her shoes when I did that—I literally had to scare myself.”

  She was scaring me for sure, but Richard continued to hang on her every word attentively, as though she were the only woman in the room. I wanted to pull her silky red hair out by the roots, but I restrained myself and crushed the impulse. What was wrong with me tonight?

  Charles leaned closer to me and whispered in my ear, “Well, those two seem to be getting along famously. I think we've got a match.” He patted my knee under the long, white linen tablecloth, making me flinch.

  “Uh, yeah,” I made myself say, trying to inch away from him a little bit. For some reason, I didn't want to be near him tonight, and it wasn't just that I had gotten used to being near Richard, either, or so I told myself. In fact, it had nothing to do with Richard's predictions of doom if we tried to see other people. It was just that…I wasn't in a very touchy mood tonight. Wasn't in the mood to be pawed at.

  Just then the waiter, dressed in black pants and a spotless white jacket, came to take our order. Bern's is one of those once-a-year places where you go for your anniversary or where you take a major client if you want to impress them and you have money to burn. Their menu is full of aged steaks, ultra-fresh exotic seafood, and they have something close to seven thousand selections on their wine list. They even have a magnum of wine that belonged to Napoleon that costs as much as a luxury car. It's been on the menu for years. Charles, who was a wine connoisseur, speculated about it every time we went.

  Generally I loved going to Bern's, although I couldn't help secretly thinking that it was an extravagant waste of money. I mean, the restaurant could talk about specially raised, organically fed cows, aged meat, and exotic sauces all they wanted to, but they still, in my opinion, couldn't make a steak good enough to charge a hundred dollars for it. Money was no object to Charles, however, and I stared blindly at the menu, trying not to notice Richard's flirtation with Ursula as he ordered.

  “Let's see now…” Charles mused. “I think I'll have the special chateaubriand with the pinot noir reduction, a Hawaiian red salt baked Okinawa sweet potato, and the grilled asparagus au poivre on the side.” He looked up at me, one eyebrow quirked. “Darling, what would you like?”

  “I'll have the filet mignon, extra rare,” I said, trying to sound interested in what I was ordering.

  “Really?” Charles looked surprised. “But you never order red meat, and you certainly never eat anything rare.” He tsked disapprovingly. “What about your usual charcoal-grilled salmon paillard salad, darling?”

  “I'm not in a salad mood tonight,” I snapped, trying not to notice the way Richard whispered something into Ursula's little pink shell of an ear that made her giggle. Then I looked apologetical
ly at Charles. “I mean…that salad is so huge, and I'm saving my appetite for dessert,” I told him. “You know how I love the Bananas Foster here.” Another nice thing about Bern's is that they have a whole separate dessert room with a baby grand piano and a piano player who takes requests so you can dance after you've finished your ridiculously expensive meal. Not that I was interested in flaming bananas or romantic dancing at the moment.

  “Of course.” Charles smiled at me forgivingly and nodded at the waiter. “My bride-to-be always eats like a bird.”

  “Actually, she's got a good appetite—if you know what to feed her,” Richard said, interrupting his attentions to Ursula for a moment. “Isn't that right, sis?”

  “Oh?” Charles looked at me for confirmation. “Have you two been dining out a lot these past few weeks?”

  “Not at all.” I took a sip of sauvignon to cover my confusion. “Actually, Richard has been cooking for me. He's the next best thing to a gourmet chef.”

  “What do you mean the next best thing?” Richard grinned at me, pulling an unwilling smile to my lips as well.

  “All right—he is a gourmet chef,” I said, laughing a little.

  “And of course you would know.” Richard's voice was deep and seductive now that he was focusing on me instead of his date. “You taste excellent—or, excuse me, I meant you have excellent taste, Rachel.”

  Unbidden, the image of him laying me on the bed and kissing me all over, of him tasting me, rose to the forefront of my mind, and I felt myself blushing helplessly. Richard looked into my eyes, and I knew that he somehow knew what I was thinking. A slow, sensual smile curved the corners of his mouth, and the room seemed to narrow down to just him and me. I could feel my heart pounding against my ribs, and my mouth was suddenly dry. Damn him—how could he do this to me and in front of Charles, of all people?

  “Well, of course Rachel has excellent taste,” my fiancé said, breaking the sudden tension with a forced laugh. “I knew that the moment she agreed to marry me.” He squeezed my knee under the tablecloth, and I pushed his hand away without thinking. Ursula joined in with a nervous titter, and the strange mood that had settled over the table was broken, at least for a moment.

  After that brief exchange, Richard went back to pretending that Ursula was the love of his life, and Charles began to natter on about our upcoming wedding and the honeymoon to follow. We had decided, or rather, he had decided, that we would fly to Paris and tour Europe for two weeks, which was all the time I could get off from the DA's office. I would rather have taken a cruise to Alaska and hiked through the wilderness, observing the wildlife, but Charles had vetoed that out of hand. He wasn't a very outdoorsy kind of person and wouldn't even go on a picnic unless there was a domestic along to serve him his chilled champagne and caviar.

  As the night wore on, I found myself more and more irritated by my fiancé. Nothing he said seemed to make an impression on my brain, and I had to keep asking him to repeat himself, which he did in his high, nasal voice that sounded like an annoying gnat buzzing around my ear. Also, he kept trying to grab my thigh under the tablecloth. This was something I would have put up with in the past, but tonight I felt like I might take my steak knife to his fingers if he tried it one more time. Something about his touch repelled me, all of a sudden. Having his cold, slimy fingers creeping up my inner thigh was like being crawled over by slugs, and I simply couldn't tolerate it.

  Across from us, apparently focused on nothing but each other sat Richard and Ursula, staring dreamily into each other's eyes. If they had been on one of those reality TV dating shows, the studio audience would have voted for them to go out on a second date for sure—they practically had love connection stamped on their foreheads.

  I knew that Richard was just trying to make me jealous and I shouldn't rise to the bait, but I couldn't seem to help myself. By the time we were all slow dancing, I with Charles and Richard with Ursula, in the dimly lit dessert room after a double order of Bananas Foster, I felt like I might start to scream. Just the sight of him, holding Ursula's slender form close and whispering in her ear, while Charles put his slimy, reptilian hands all over me as we swayed to the music made me feel sick.

  As I moved my fiancé's hands from my ass to my waist for what felt like the fortieth time, I realized that it wasn't an exaggeration. I was literally, physically ill and feeling more nauseated by the minute. I wasn't sure if it was the sight of Richard with another woman or the feel of Charles's hands on me or a combination of the two, but I suddenly thought I might throw up or faint at any moment.

  “Darling?” I heard Charles ask. “Are you all right? You're looking frightfully pale.”

  “I'm—” I started to say.

  Richard's familiar, deep voice said, “May I cut in?”

  “I think she's ill.” Charles looked at him doubtfully.

  “Nothing a little dance with her big brother won't cure,” Richard said easily. He took my hand, and Charles relinquished his grip on me with rather poor grace. Instantly, I began to feel better.

  “Dearest?” My fiancé was still hovering around uncertainly as Richard's large warm hand settled at my lower back and we began to sway to the music. My brother's touch on my skin seemed to revive me in some strange way—I felt like a houseplant that had just been watered after a long dry spell, and the slick fist of nausea that had been gripping the pit of my stomach dissipated as though it had never been.

  “I'm fine, Charles,” I said, trying to smile at him. “Go dance with Ursula for a while—you don't want her to feel you're neglecting her.”

  “Oh, well, of course. Just let me know if you need anything.” He gave a forced laugh and edged away to where his cousin waited. Ursula looked at Richard with a mixture of confusion and yearning as Charles took her in his arms to dance.

  “Feeling better?” Richard murmured in my ear. His warm breath on the side of my neck made me shiver. But now that my stomach had stopped rolling, my temper picked up speed.

  “I don't know what you're trying to prove,” I hissed in his ear. “But I don't appreciate it.”

  “I'm not trying to prove anything—I've already proved it,” he said, pulling me closer. “Proved that we need each other—that there is no one else in the entire world for either one of us.”

  “That's bullshit,” I said, trying to make some space between us. “Don't hold me so close—it doesn't look right.”

  “But it feels right, doesn't it?” He ran a caressing hand down my bare arm, making me shiver. Why was it that his touch did this to me, made me feel like an electrical storm was brewing just under my skin, like lightning might strike wherever he kissed me? Not that I wanted him to kiss me—it was completely wrong, and besides, Charles watched us over Ursula's shoulder as they danced.

  “It doesn't matter how it feels,” I told him, trying to look like we were just making polite conversation. “It's wrong, Richard.”

  “Why?” he insisted. “Because we were raised as siblings? Or because of your precious fiancé?”

  “Charles is a big part of my life, which is more than I can say for you,” I retorted angrily.

  “Rachel,” he said softly. “I would have been a bigger part of your life if I could've. If I'd been able to find you sooner. Don't you know that?”

  The love I saw in the depths of his pale green eyes made me feel defensive and angry. What right had he to remind me that he had never given up searching for me, even though I had given up searching for him? And what was he hiding from me? There had to be more to it than the legend of the Amon-kai. Why did he need me so badly, and why did I feel that I needed him like my next breath now that we had found each other again? It was almost like I was addicted to him in some sick way. The thought scared me more than I cared to admit.

  “It doesn't matter,” I told him stubbornly. “Charles is my fiancé, and he's been there for me for the past two years—”

  “And he'll be there in the next two weeks, waiting for you to give him what he wants in bed a
s soon as you're married,” Richard interrupted me, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Are you ready for that, Rachel? Ready to give him everything he wants—to give him your body, your soul, your heart?”

  I felt my stomach roll at the image his words inspired—Charles waiting in bed for me on our honeymoon night, eager to collect on the emotional debt I'd been accruing for the past two years. Every single time I had told him no or put him off, telling him to wait until we were married flashed before my eyes. I realized it wouldn't matter if we spent our honeymoon in Paris or Alaska, because I wasn't likely to see anything except the bedroom ceiling for the entire two weeks. I thought of Charles on top of me, taking me, penetrating me…and I felt like I might be getting sick all over again.

  But I knew my reaction was wrong. The idea of making love to the man who was soon to be my husband ought to make me feel good. Instead, I felt like I was a contestant on one of those TV reality shows where they put you in a clear Plexiglas tub and dumped spiders or snakes or pig entrails all over you. Words like “slimy,” “skin-crawling,” and “horrible” shouldn't be associated with the man I told myself I loved. What was wrong with me?

  “Is that what you really want?” Richard asked me, obviously reading my emotions on my face.

  “Yes,” I said stubbornly, despite the way my filet mignon wanted to rise at the thought of Charles touching me, taking me the way Richard almost had the night before. It was what I wanted—or what I ought to want, anyway. What I shouldn't want was to make love with Richard, and yet my body felt warm and willing whenever he touched me. Felt ready to melt with desire the moment I looked in his slanting green eyes. How had he done this to me? Poisoned me against the touch of any other man? Ruined me for anyone but him?

  “Liar,” Richard whispered in my ear, and it was too much. I tore myself away from his arms and stalked toward the graceful archway that led from the dessert room to the rest of the restaurant. Charles was instantly by my side.