Secret of the Wolf (38 page)

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"Not always," he said, licking his lips and watching her face as she realized his

intentions. "Not today." He ran his finger down the center of her bodice, pressing

between her breasts
.

Her deep breath defied him. "Where is Quentin?”

"I told you." He grasped her elbow and jerked her toward him. "He's gone.”

"Where?”

He tilted her head back, yanking the pins from her hair. "Where he can't stop me.”

"You share his body.”

"He squanders it." He tore off the second and third buttons of her bodice. "I use it. As I'll

use yours.”

Her pupils narrowed to pinpricks, swallowed in a sea of blue. "I understand," she said.

"All the strange things Quentin has done, the behavior that made no sense—it was

you.”

"Stop wasting our time," he growled
.

"When will

" She gave an almost inaudible gasp as he squeezed her breast in his

hand. "When will he return?”

"When I'm finished. If I let him." He ground his erection between her thighs. "No more

talk. Take off your dress.”

She was stronger than he'd realized. Her resistance was a solid thing of bone and

muscle, preventing him from relieving her of her bodice
.

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The resistance was what excited him. Making her admit she wanted him to take her was

more exciting still
.

"Release me," she demanded
.

"Lying to yourself, Doctor?" He bent his head and grazed her neck with his teeth,

nipping just firmly enough to make her feel it. "You can't wait to find out what it's like to

have me pounding my way inside you.”

"You have no access to my thoughts

Fenris. What you propose is simply rape,

nothing more.”

The sheer coolness of her accusation filled him with rage. He twisted one of her arms

behind her so that she couldn't move without pain. "It's Quentin, isn't it? You've been

lusting after him like a bitch in heat. You think you can have him and get rid of me. It

isn't going to work. Once I take you, he'll be that much weaker.”

"Quentin's honor is more potent than your violence.”

"Is it?" He laughed. "The honor that made him go to your room with only one thing in

mind?”

"That wasn't Quentin.”

"It was both of us. But I'm getting stronger all the time. And when I'm done, Quentin'll

never show his face again. First I'll take his woman, and then the rest of his miserable

life." He jerked her arm, forcing her to cry out. "Open your legs for me, woman.”

"I will not." She stared straight into his eyes. "Do you know everything Quentin knows?”

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He laughed in contempt. "More. Much more." He licked the underside of her jaw. "You

pretend to be a tight little virgin, but I saw your body when you were with him, your tits

all hard and your juices flowing. I smelled your lust. I smell it now.”

"Does he know about you?”

She was distracting him with all her questions. "Shut up." He pushed her to the chaise

and turned her so that she would fall on her back
.

"You do intend to rape me, then," she said. "Now I know you are not Quentin.”

"Quentin!" He flung her down and fell on top of her, holding himself just above with his

braced arms. "Did he ever kiss you like this?”

He seized her mouth, hard, thrusting his tongue deep inside. She lay quiet under him,

unresponsive. A howl of fury built up in his throat
.

"Quentin would never kiss me like that," she said, when she could speak again. "He is a

gentleman. I do not know what you are." Intermittent shivers rushed through her body,

as if she were only half able to control them. "You have the strength to do what you like

with me, but I doubt that you will find it entirely pleasant.”

He raised his fist to hit her, saw the glint of fear under the stalwart façade, and let his

hand fall. For all her brave display of fortitude, she was weaker than he was. Weaker,

and not to be abused. That was the rule
.

Quentin. Quentin did this to him. Quentin's rules still bound him. If he tried to break

them, he would lose
.

"Damn you," he snarled. "I will make you beg for it.”

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She touched him then, deliberately, spreading her fingers across his chest in a gesture

that both invited and repelled
.

"I have a better idea," she said with that excruciating, deceptive calm. "I'll strike a

bargain with you. You want me—but not unwilling.”

Oh, yes, he wanted her—now, as he'd wanted her from the very beginning, willing or

unwilling
.

"I'll give myself to you freely," she said, "if you answer my questions.”

Questions, always questions. He leaned so close that her breath filled his mouth like

wine. "Why should I bargain?”

"Because—" She paused, some calculation moving behind her eyes. "Because if you

rape me, you'll be no better than May's father abusing that girl at the hotel.”

The impact of her words sent his soul spinning like a top. For a moment he lost

possession of his body, felt it slipping away from him
.

Quentin was trying to take it back
.

"No," he cried. "Not yet." He leaped away from Johanna and flung himself at the nearest

wall, pounding his body against it until the pain convinced him that it remained in his

power
.

His body. His
.

"Fenris?”

She stood by the chaise, unruffled, not even bothering to close the gap in her bodice
.

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Arrogant bitch. "A bargain," he said, hating and wanting so much that his bruised body

screamed with the unrequited need to hurt in turn
.

"You will answer?" she asked
.

"Five minutes," he said. "And then—" He smiled and pointed at the chaise in a way she

could not possibly misunderstand
.

Johanna let herself sag against the chaise, just enough to be sure that her body would

not fail her, not enough for Fenris to sense her vulnerability
.

Or her fear
.

His thoughts were transparent on his altered face. She had prayed that hers remained

hidden, and it seemed as if her prayers were answered. She held the advantage.

Reason must always win out over savagery
.

She had no doubt that Fenris was capable of savagery. That was what made the

situation so remarkable, why fascination warred with fear and kept her mind racing
.

For Fenris was Quentin. Not Quentin as she knew him, but another manifestation of his

personality, ordinarily hidden from the world. She'd caught glimpses of him before, but

now she had no further doubts
.

And with his appearance came hope for the answers she had sought
.

She had heard of such phenomena, read of them in books, rare though they were:

incidences of two personalities sharing a single body, alternating ownership of it. In

France there'd been the case of a woman named Felida. Two completely dissimilar

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women had existed in separate lives, total opposites in nature and ambitions. One, the

original Felida, had been dull and gentle; the other, which her physician called her

"second state," was flirtatious and wild. When one held ownership of the body, the other

disappeared. And only the second personality knew of the other's existence or

remembered the other's experiences. For Felida, whole periods of time—hours, weeks,

eventually months—simply vanished
.

Never before had Johanna the occasion to witness this bizarre syndrome for herself. It

explained so much, yet her knowledge was pathetically deficient. If she could only

speak to Fenris as she did Quentin, win his trust, she might find the way to heal

Quentin's complex illness
.

The key lay in this personality she confronted, in his mysterious origins—and in how

much he differed from the gentle man she knew
.

In at least one way he resembled Quentin. Her mention of May's father had been an act

of desperation, based upon speculation and instinct. What Quentin hated, Fenris might

also hate
.

As what Quentin desired, Fenris also desired, without the inhibitions. And yet Fenris had

been prepared to make a bargain
.

"Four minutes," Fenris said
.

She focused on him again, seeking Quentin behind that sneering mask. He was there,

no matter how deeply buried he seemed
.

"You were in town last night," she said, speaking as she would to any patient
.

He wasn't fooled; his sharp white incisors flashed a predatory glint. "Yes.”

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"You attacked May's father, did you not?”

"Yes—once I got rid of Quentin." His lips contorted in disdain. "Is that the best you can

do?”

"Why did you attack him?”

"I don't need a reason." He stretched, cracking the joints in his spine. "I enjoyed it.”

He was lying. He had a reason. He, or Quentin
.

"You said before that you know much more than Quentin does. What did you mean?”

"Can't you guess, Johanna?" Her name on his lips became almost an obscenity, laced

with the threat of sexual perversions beyond naming
.

"Quentin doesn't realize you exist," she said. "But you know everything he does, feels,

thinks.”

"Another brilliant deduction." Idly, he touched himself, outlining the heavy fullness of his

erection. "He pretends I don't exist, to save himself. Stupid fool. If I weren't here, he

would have died long ago. I keep him alive only for my own sake.”

"You keep him alive?”

"He's a weakling and a coward.”

"But you are not." She locked her gaze on his face and refused to look elsewhere.

"You

do things he wouldn't. You are willing to fight, even harm others, as he would

not.”

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He clapped his hands. "Bravo, Doctor.”

Once more she mentally catalogued all she'd read about the condition sometimes

known as "splitting of the personality," or "double consciousness." "You and Quentin

share the same body," she said. "You cannot control it at the same time. But Quentin is

the one who holds it most often. Is that not correct?”

Baleful light flickered in his eyes. "Until now.”

"When you control your body, Quentin goes away. He can't affect what you do. He isn't

even aware of your existence." More pieces of the puzzle fell into place. "But if he

doesn't know about you, he can't consciously let you out. When do you take

possession, Fenris? What makes it possible?”

He took a step forward. "You're nearly out of time, Johanna.”

"Answer my question.”

"I come when he's afraid to act, when he meets what he can't face. When he tries to

escape into drink and can't hold his liquor.”

"When he gets angry," she guessed, "so angry that he feels he may do violence.”

"When he can't protect himself." His fingers curled like claws. "Then I come.”

"And what makes him so angry and afraid, Fenris?”

The ruthless mockery in Fenris's eyes subsided, replaced for an instant with confusion
.

She was close, so close. A few more questions answered and her supposition would be

confirmed
.

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"When were you born, Fenris?" she asked
.

He looked through her to some distant time and place
.

"What is your first memory?”

His expression darkened, became so rigid that it looked as though it might crack with a

single twitch
.

"The cellar," he said hoarsely
.

"The cellar, where?”

"Greyburn.”

Just as she had suspected. She subdued her excitement
.

"How old were you?”

"Eight.”

"Why did you come then, Fenris?”

"He called me.”

"Quentin? Quentin called you?”

"To make sure he wouldn't die.”

Her throat closed in on itself. "Why would he die?”

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Fenris closed his eyes. "It hurt too much. He wanted to kill—”

"What hurt, Fenris?”

He shook his head wildly. Johanna recalled that one session with Quentin

his childlike

cries, speaking to someone from his past: "If I don't do what he says—I won't—he locks