Secret of the Wolf (42 page)

Quentin's eyes shot open. He muttered an oath, his whole body going rigid as she

proceeded with her explorations. His fingers caught in her hair. His breathing grew more

and more uneven. At what she perceived to be the last possible instant, he pushed her

away and swung his feet over the side of the bed, shuddering
.

"I wasn't finished," she protested. "Come back here—”

"No." He turned about in one motion and bore her back onto the bed. "Not this time.”

Her heart began to pound at half again its normal speed
.

This was it, then. He lay over her, braced on his arms, the sleek and now-familiar shape

of his manhood pressed into her belly. Her insides had become liquid with wanting him;

her body couldn't be more eager to accept him
.

He would enter, and thrust, and move within her. She knew what it would be like. She

could imagine it so well that the excitement sparked all over again, threatening to burst

out of control before he so much as breached her maidenhead
.

"Quentin," she whispered. "I am ready. Now, mein Herz.”

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He repositioned himself, nudging her legs apart. He slid into place like a key ready to

enter a well-oiled lock. Just the smallest movement, the merest thrust

And he withdrew, clumsy with unfulfilled desire. Johanna bit her lips to keep from crying

out in frustration
.

"Not today, Johanna," he said, turning his head from her
.

"Why?" Tears collected in her throat—rare, unwelcome visitors. "Why?”

"It isn't your fault, Johanna. Never think that." He looked at her, all humor fled from his

face. "I can't, Johanna. It isn't for lack of wanting you." He tried, and failed, to smile. "I've

never wanted a woman so much in my life. But the time isn't right. You know it as well

as I do. Too much is at stake, too much uncertain.”

"But I explained to you—”

"I know. I wanted to share what I could with you, Johanna. While I still had the chance.

But if there's ever to be—more between us, things have to be different. Don't you see?”

She folded her arms across her breasts, bereft, somehow ashamed. Though her body

wailed protest and her emotions seethed with anger and sorrow, her intellect

understood him completely
.

One night wouldn't be enough. Not for her. Once they joined, she'd want him for all time.

But such promises could not be made, such castles built, while Fenris stood by and

waited to usurp Quentin's place
.

She pulled the tousled sheets up to her shoulders and drew them tight. "I see," she

said
.

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"Don't hate me, Johanna." He knelt before her, pleading with his eyes—this aristocrat,

this fine and handsome madman who had loved her so magnificently. "I couldn't bear it

if you hated me.”

"Hate you?" Mein Gott. Hate him

how could she hate the man she loved?

A shot of ice water mingled with the blood in her veins
.

Love
.

She smoothed her face to serenity and took his hand. "I could never hate you, Quentin.

Not for any reason.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it lingeringly. "My dear Valkyrie.”

Her heart stopped and started again, heavy and sluggish. She turned her hand to cup

his cheek
.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you for tonight.”

Mute, he kissed her palm and rose from the bed. He flipped back the sheets and

gathered her up in his arms, lifting her against his chest. In a few long, silent steps he

carried her from his room to hers, and laid her down in her own cool bed
.

"Sleep, Johanna," he said. He kissed her forehead and then her lips, almost chastely.

"Sleep well.”

She slept so well that she woke sometime after sunrise, her body singing with

remembered ecstasy after a night of glorious dreams
.

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Dreams that completed what she and Quentin had not
.

She moved about the room only half awake, trying to hold on to the fantasies. And the

memories. She saw herself in the mirror and wondered at this vision, this goddess she

saw before her. She touched her breasts and remembered how Quentin had caressed

and suckled them. She pressed her hand to her belly and imagined it filled with

Quentin's child
.

That was not to be. Not so long as things remained as they were. And she must take

great pains to be sure that the other patients didn't realize how her relationship with

Quentin had changed. But now she knew what she wanted above all things in the world.

Once she'd told herself that the only way to be free of her attraction to Quentin was to

cure him. Curing him was still the only route to happiness for them both. They had gone

beyond the safe association of doctor and patient, but she had a greater advantage

than any she'd possessed in the past. She knew the full depth of Quentin's illness, and

had faced his inner nemesis without submitting to it. She had a strong theory about how

Fenris had come to exist
.

And she had love on her side
.

Love. It was much too new an idea to embrace fully. She must grow used to it by

stages, little by little, until it became one with her heart. Love, and all its attendant

expectations
.

She smiled foolishly at her reflection in the mirror and began to dress
.

With the perfectly valid excuse of keeping an eye on him, she paused at Quentin's door

on the way to the kitchen. His belongings were in place and the bed was neatly made,

but he had already stepped out. To the woods, undoubtedly, alone or with May. Once

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she'd started the morning routine, she'd make certain of his whereabouts and ask him to

remain on Haven grounds
.

Furthermore, she must prepare May for her escape to Sacramento without alerting

Quentin to the specifics of her plans for the girl. With luck, Bridget would hear back from

her cousin soon, and she'd accompany May to a place where Bolkonsky and Ingram

wouldn't find her. Much must be accomplished in the coming days
.

Mrs. Daugherty was at work in the kitchen, making breakfast. When she saw Johanna

she stopped her work and bustled forward with an envelope in her hand
.

"Doc Jo!" she said, a little out of breath. "I have some-thin' for you. Just an hour ago,

that Dr. Bolkonsky met me on the road and asked me to deliver this." She scowled. "He

said it was urgent.”

That made it urgent for Johanna as well. She tore open the envelope. The letter was yet

another request for her to meet him—not in town, but at a point halfway between the

Haven and Silverado Springs. Once again he declined to visit the Haven, expecting her

to come to him
.

Nevertheless, she couldn't afford to ignore him. Keeping him satisfied was her best way

of holding him off until May was gone
.

She made her rounds to visit her father and the other patients, seeing to their immediate

needs, and then asked Oscar to help her saddle Daisy
.

"Have you seen Quentin this morning?" she asked as she took the reins
.

"Nope. Not this mornin'." Oscar rubbed Daisy's nose. "May went out to look for him.”

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They weren't together, then. But Johanna refused to be concerned. May wouldn't

venture far from the Haven, given her experience in Silverado Springs. And after last

night, Johanna suspected that Quentin had as much to think about as she did
.

"Oscar, you know the places where May likes to go. Would you find her and bring her

home straightaway?”

"I will, Doc Jo.”

"Thank you." She clucked to Daisy and set out for Bolkonsky's rendezvous
.

He was waiting for her as promised, mounted on one of the best horses from the town

livery. His animal's restless pawing reflected the anxious expression on Bolkonsky's

deceptively handsome face
.

"Johanna. I'm glad you came.”

She drew Daisy up beside him. "You said it was urgent.”

"Yes." His voice held a note of strain, and he kept looking back over his shoulder toward

town as if he expected followers. "Something new has happened in Silverado Springs

that I felt you should know about directly. Before someone else arrives to inform you.”

Foreboding stiffened Johanna's shoulders. "Go on.”

"Another man has been attacked," he said. "Last night, well after midnight. His body

was disovered just outside of Silverado Springs. I am told the man was a local mine

owner of some wealth, known chiefly for his cruel treatment of his Chinese workers. He

was not well liked, so I hear—but someone resented him enough to kill him.”

"He's dead?”

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"Torn apart, I hear, though I have not seen the body.”

A metallic taste coated her mouth. "And they suspect that one of my patients is

responsible.”

"Yes." He gave her a grave and sympathetic look. "I thought it best to warn you, so that

you are prepared. After the previous attack on Ingram

the crowd was in an ugly mood

this morning, and I fear—" He sighed. "I fear they may take matters into their own

hands.”

"Without proof?”

"What proof does a mob need? And there is more

two men from town claim to have

identified a man lurking near the place when the mine owner was found. He bears, from

the description, a striking resemblance to your Quentin Forster.”

With as much stern discipline as she'd ever employed, Johanna prevented herself from

showing any reaction. "I see.”

"You do know where he is?”

"Naturally. It's all an unfortunate mistake. I thank you for your warning." She turned

Daisy away, but Bolkonsky caught at her reins
.

"My dear Johanna, I understand your dismay, but you can see now why it is necessary

for me to take May with dispatch. She may be in danger from this—this madman,

whoever he may be.”

"But we agreed—”

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"I'm sorry, Johanna. I'll be coming within the next few hours to fetch her. I would

appreciate it if you'd have the girl's belongings packed and ready." He patted her arm. "I

would prefer this to be as pleasant as possible, for all of us—without involving any

outside authorities.”

Bolkonsky had made just such a threat before. The last thing she wanted now was the

local law sniffing about the Haven
.

"Very well," she said. "I will do my best.”

She sawed at Daisy's reins a little too violently, and the mare tossed up her head with a

snort. She murmured an apology and kicked the horse into a gallop for home, not

bothering with farewells. Let Bolkonsky look to himself
.

As she must look to May and Quentin. All at once everything was falling apart, the reins

of control slipping through her fingers. She had no notes or textbooks to consult, no

protocols to fall back on
.

Quentin—Fenris—was all but accused of being a killer. If, indeed, Bolkonsky was telling

the truth. He was not a man to be trusted on any count, but she had to assume the

worst. And May was in immediate danger
.

So short a time ago she'd been filled with hope and happiness, imagining a future built

upon love as well as science
.

That future, and all she'd ever believed in, was crumbling before her eyes
.

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Quentin turned over in his bed, breathing in the scent of Johanna's body. Her perfume

saturated the sheets, filling him with fresh desire and the urge to roll about and rub the

scent into his skin like the wolf he could so easily become
.

Last night, after the loving, he'd ran as a wolf—swift, sure, and silent. There was no

other way to express the joy, the fullness of his heart. And the frustration of self-denial
.

He'd done the right thing. He knew that. Johanna was still a virgin, free to give herself to

another man without regret
.

Or free to choose him, if by some miraculous turn of events fate granted him one more

chance
.

He got up and walked to the window, stretching in the shafts of morning sunlight until

his bones cracked. Another chance. Was it possible?

Only if he wanted Johanna, a life with her, enough to change: not from man to wolf, but