Читать книгу The Wolf Prince - Karen Whiddon - Страница 6

As dusk settled over the land like a tattered cloak, Prince Ruben of Teslinko stood alone in the crumbling, condemned tower of his ancestral home and wondered if madness had finally come to claim him.

If not yet madness, then complete blackness of soul. Worse, he could see no way out. He was trapped, as surely as a wild animal caught in a snare.

At the thought, his inner wolf snarled. The beast had been furious as of late, clamoring for him to shape-shift, to change. Stubbornly deliberate, Ruben had remained human for two entire days now. Normal for most Shifters. As for him, forty-eight hours felt like a death sentence.

If only death could come so easily.

Again, the black thoughts. Nothing would help him. Nothing save changing, letting his beast take over once more. Each time, he remained wolf longer and longer, having to battle the wolf inside to shift back to human. And then once he had … he wanted to die.

He’d lost control. More than that. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t seem to regain that part of himself he’d given over to the wolf. The human part, necessary to survive in the kingdom of his parents, the world of his people. Something had broken inside him and he didn’t know how to fix it. Being human felt like how an addict must feel without the drug. Craving it, shaking, unable to sleep, or eat, or function.

He was damaged, ruined, borderline insane. And he—or rather his wolf—didn’t care. Always, the idea of changing, of remaining wolf, beckoned like a glittery bauble forever out of reach. The struggle to keep from giving in grew more and more difficult, compounded by the fact that he really did not care. He’d rather be wolf than human. And though he knew this was considered wrong, it was the way he felt.

Worse, he could only think of one reason why he should try to repair his damaged psyche, because he sure as hell would rather stay wolf than man. But as his father’s sole heir, the fate of his bloodline rested squarely on him. Unless his hidden madness overwhelmed him, Prince Ruben would rule Teslinko one day. Therefore, he couldn’t give in to his deepest, darkest desire and vanish into the vast forests surrounding his father’s lands. Forever to walk on four legs instead of two.

Even the thought made his insides quiver with longing.

Damn it.

Rather than pace the confined space, stepping carefully to avoid the crumbling stones and gaping holes, Ruben gripped the stone window ledge so hard his knuckles turned white. Breathing rapidly, he watched as vehicle after vehicle snaked up the winding, ancient road toward the royal castle. Not to the old part where he now hid, but the sleek, renovated, modern building where his family resided.

No one but Ruben ever visited the decrepit ruins. He preferred it this way, relishing his solitude over the hundred irritating daily tasks a royal prince must perform.

He counted this night among those onerous duties.

His parents, King Leo and Queen Ionna of Teslinko, were having a huge ball. Tonight, and again one week from tonight, and once more a fortnight from tonight, and so on. As long as it took, they had said, making no secret as to their reason. Now that his sisters, including Alisa had been married, all eyes had turned to Ruben, the youngest child and, as the only male, the royal heir. His parents had decided Ruben needed to settle down and produce an heir of his own. This event would be the first of the many it took to find him a suitable wife.

Which was the absolute last thing he wanted.

Ruben could have told his parents they were wasting their time. But as much as he loved them, he was well aware of their shortcomings. They heard only what they wanted to hear, steadfastly refusing to believe their only son could do any wrong.

He certainly hadn’t told them of the dark cloud that had settled over him. They weren’t aware of the possibility of his encroaching madness, nor that he’d reached a decision never to marry. How could he, when he could be a danger to anyone who got too close to him?

So he’d suffer through who-knew-how-many balls, dances or parties, all the while hoping for a miracle that would likely never come. Pity he didn’t believe in either magic or divine intervention.

These days Ruben didn’t believe in much of anything. Least of all, in his ability to lead his people.

Below his vantage point, a door closed and a woman’s bright laughter trilled through the air, drawing his attention. They came alone and in groups, every young, marriageable woman in Teslinko and beyond. Dressed to impress, they chattered and giggled and plotted. Though he despised the label, he knew he was known far and wide as the catch of the season. Therefore he could, in theory, have his pick of gorgeous, desirable and well-connected women. Sadly, he wasn’t interested, not in the least. He had too many issues to burden anyone else with them.

Of course, unaware of this, his parents plunged full-steam ahead in their plans of finding him a mate. Shifter or human, they’d told him they’d be happy as long as he was happy. They had no idea that happiness for him was an unattainable goal.

A party only made him feel worse rather than better. And what a gala this would be. For this event, the royal decorator had spared no expense. A hundred thousand tiny lights illuminated the trees, the drive and the entrance.

Glumly, he continued to stare down at the festive scene below as more and more guests arrived. How many were there? From what he’d seen so far, he’d guess at least two or three hundred single women, all fixated on the same goal. Him.

Inside, his wolf stirred, intrigued by the variety of new scents and sounds. The beast wanted to be set free to investigate. As always, the notion tempted him.

No. He shook his head, mentally pushing his wolf back into a cage and locking the door. Once finished, his chest ached with the familiar and now forbidden longing. Better if he could simply shape-shift into wolf and never change back to human. At least this impending madness didn’t seem to bother his lupine self.

And there it was. Again. Temptation. If he valued what was left of his mind, he knew he could not give in.

Watching as expensive car after expensive car rolled up the drive and disgorged its contents, he sighed. He’d better go change and prepare to do his time. If he was lucky, he could snag a couple of glasses of strong Scotch to help him survive the ordeal.

Trudging through the forest, the watered silk of her best formal dress bunched up in her fist, Willow of the SouthWard Brights tried to think happy thoughts. Because she couldn’t take a chance on getting dirty, she ignored the siren call of the wild animals watching her from their various hiding places around the thick forest.

All she’d have to do was crook her little finger and whistle, and they’d come. When they were with her, carnivores ignored their natural prey, and the most skittish of beasts calmed under her gentle hand.

It was a gift and one she had kept hidden, by necessity. The one time she’d tried to tell her mother, she’d been treated with scorn and derision. After that, she’d supposed everyone else would view her gift the same way, so she had kept it secret. Not only from the rest of her family, but from everyone in the kingdom. In a place where the level of magical ability meant power, Willow’s was a secret best kept inside.

Just like the tear in the veil.

She’d discovered the portal by accident a year ago while on one of her solitary strolls through the forest. Just because she didn’t cast spells or use magic like her mother and sister, didn’t mean she couldn’t sense it. And the lure of the shimmering veil had drawn her as surely as a bear to honey.

With it, she could cross between her world and that of the humans. She’d taken advantage of this numerous times in the months since, yet another secret she held close to her breast.

She quite enjoyed her anonymity in the human world. There, no one knew she was a princess. No one thought she looked different or looked down on her because she was lacking in magic.

A loner by nature, Willow had few friends among her kind. With a rueful smile, she stepped over a fallen log. Make that no friends. At least, not among her people—the Bright.

Forcing herself to focus on the present, she felt the siren thrum of the magic as she approached the veil. Her heartbeat quickened and the scents of the forest became sharper, more intense. Damp earth and plant, and the slightly acrid, barely detectable scent of its animal inhabitants.

As she neared the shimmering space, she felt an unfamiliar tickle of anticipation.

The royal family of Teslinko was having a ball. Tonight, in fact. According to the chatter she’d picked up hanging around near their castle, they’d been preparing for the huge event for weeks. Rumor had it that the king and queen were determined to find their son, Prince Ruben, a bride.

Willow cared about none of that. As the youngest—and least desirable—daughter of a powerful queen, she had her own worries about that area. According to her older—and much more beautiful—sister, Tatiana, Willow would remain unwed the rest of her natural-born, magic-less life.

Which, though occasionally sounding lonely, was all right with Willow.

Growing closer to the veil, she felt the pull of its magic. She took a deep breath, then another, allowing herself to feel the power of the ancient earth gathering under her feet and the rush of air swirling around this, an opening between worlds.

Ahead, in a clearing between two tall ash trees, the space flickered, odd shapes sparkling through a fog, as though one might be able to see them if one turned quickly enough. The magic was strong here, visible even to the untrained eye. Briefly she wondered how it was that a hapless human hadn’t managed to wander straight into it and wind up among the land of the Bright—her home.

Maybe, because the power felt so odd, humans instinctively avoided this area.

Shaking her head at the absurdity of it all, Willow stepped into the shimmering veil and gave herself over to the magic.

Bored, drifting from one cluster of simpering women to another, trying not to gag on the choke of their strong perfume, Ruben glanced at his watch for the twentieth time and wondered how long he needed to stay. At least until the meal had been served, he estimated grimly. Naturally, the dinner service was a drawn out process that could take as long as two and a half hours. So for now, he was stuck.

His mother, Queen Ionna, had already taken him by the arm and dragged him around the crowded room, introducing him to what seemed like every unmarried woman under the age of forty. He’d taken care to be pleasant, nothing more, well aware of his mother’s displeasure when he didn’t choose one female to single out for his attentions.

He suspected several of the women were disappointed as well, though most took care not to show this. There were so many of them, women of every shape and size. Young and old, virgin and widow, his skin crawled as each eyed him as eagerly as if he were a prize stud up for auction to the highest bidder.

Which in a way, he supposed he was. His sister Alisa had often complained about this very thing. Aware of her tendency toward the dramatic, he’d never taken her complaints seriously. Now that she’d been married off and his parents’ focus had turned to him, he’d begun to see her point.

Restless, his wolf tested the edge of his control. Gritting his teeth, Ruben forced the beast back into his mental cage, a task growing more and more difficult.

At the thought, a wild longing swept him, freezing him in his tracks. To run free. Wild. As he pushed the desire away, he swore he could feel his wolf’s savage amusement.

Not good. So not good.

The evening was early yet, the music soft and the food and drink plentiful. He eyed the guests lingering over their cocktails, standing in clusters and conversing about financial markets, the latest fashions or the employment crisis in other nations. All topics which held zero interest for him.

He’d already downed two strong Scotch-and-waters and now sipped his third. Mildly intoxicated, he was well aware that he had to slow down if he wanted to keep the wolf at bay and the darkness inside him from leaking out. Wouldn’t do, he thought cynically, if the guests were to realize the heir to the throne grappled with bouts of insanity. The humans would be horrified and the Shifters … they’d be appalled. He could imagine the varied reactions. He wouldn’t be regarded as such a catch then.

Again, he nearly smiled, his wolf pacing restlessly, full of nervous energy. The idea almost sounded … good to him. Proof positive how unbalanced he’d become.

In the crowded ballroom, Shifters and humans mingled, the majority of the humans unaware that there were those among them who could change into a wolf at will. His boredom growing, Ruben began picturing their reactions if he were to calmly stroll out to the middle of the empty dance floor, strip off his tuxedo and drop to all fours to initiate the change that would turn his human form into that of a huge, nearly Feral, wolf.

Panic from the humans. His wolf snarled, enjoying the mental image. From his own kind, the Shifters, he expected he’d see a mixture of shock, anger and disgust.

His parents would be mortified. After the first moment of horror, the damage control would begin in earnest.

The thought made him smile again, a record as of late. Again, the idea felt tantalizing. As if he could close his eyes, let his tattered willpower fall away, and allow events to happen as they would. His wolf would take over. Everything would be out of Ruben’s hands.

So simple … He swayed, tempted. Snapping his eyes open, he took another slug of the strong liquor, letting it burn its way down his throat.

And therein lay the twisted path to madness.

Giving himself an inner shake, putting a choke hold on the furious wolf inside, he again began to make another circuit of the room, trying to regulate his breathing, his thoughts, his steps. As he looked up, he noted his mother’s sharp gaze fixed on him.

Inhaling the mixed odors of perfume and human sweat, he shuddered, longing for the clean, crisp scent of the pines, the damp muskiness of the earth. The lure of the forest beyond the castle, where he spent so much of his time, pulled at him, though he knew part of that was tied up in his wolf’s desire to break free.

While he strolled about, gritting his teeth and hiding his indifference, inside his wolf snarled and paced and raged. Ignoring the capricious beast took effort, but he managed. He wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ruins at the edge of the forest, but he fixed what he hoped was a pleasant expression on his face and attempted to socialize.

His mother’s earlier decree replayed in his head. Find a wife. You are heir to the throne. It’s long past time you settled down. Marry. Have children.

His absolute worst nightmare. No, he paused, twirling the ice inside his almost empty glass. His second worst nightmare.

And the women. Every one of them made no attempt to hide their hope that he’d chose them. They smiled and simpered and tried to seduce him, but he barely gave any even a cursory glance. Despite their varying beauty, none of them interested him. He knew many of them, had run into them at one event or another over the years. Some he’d grown up with, played childhood games alongside, and even stolen his first kiss from while hidden in a high-walled garden and thrilling at the forbidden taste. He sighed with annoyance. Such memories were a thing of the past.

Of late, he’d lived the life of a monk, abstaining from all feminine companionship. Another attempt to keep the darkness that haunted him secret.

Glancing at his watch, he prayed this night would be over.

And then, as fate played some sort of ironic trick on him, he saw her from across the room. Unfamiliar, tiny, exquisite, the dusky rose of her skin faintly shimmering with life. Desire stabbed him, sharp and strong and so gut-wrenchingly powerful even his wolf was stunned into silence.

Unlike the others, who resembled overdressed peacocks, she wore a simple long sheath in a muted yellow, devoid of ornamentation or jangle. Head high, smooth shoulders back, she carried herself with the unconscious bearing of royalty. Though he could tell from her lack of aura that she was not Pack, he found himself wondering if she was even human. Something about her …

Damn and double damn. He swayed, wondering if he’d had more to drink than he’d thought.

For the first time in a long time, his wolf approved. Though he’d not yet taken measure of her scent, the beast wanted to mate with her.

Letting his wolf guide him, he began moving toward her, determined to claim her as his.

When their gazes met, every jangling noise inside Willow went still. Who was he? What was he? Whatever he was, he wasn’t human. The darkness emanating from him drew her. She wondered if this was because of her secret Shadow heritage or if, as always, the part of her that was Bright felt a compulsion to bring light to the faintest bit of darkness.

Of course, since she had no magic, she never could. But that didn’t stop the longing.

As he began to move toward her, certain and sure and clearly determined to reach her, she panicked. Glancing left, then right, she quickly calculated an escape route and tried to leap toward it. She didn’t know if she was afraid because she’d crashed his party, or because he was so damn beautiful. She went with her gut reaction to flee. However, she’d completely forgotten about her long skirt and high heels, and as a result, she stumbled and nearly fell.

Miraculously, she caught herself. Casting a quick glance over her shoulder—he was drawing impossibly closer—she slipped in between two groups of women and hurried away. Keeping to the most crowded part of the room, she weaved her way toward a balcony she noticed on the other side.

Finally there, she opened the French style door and slipped out into the cool darkness, lit by the brightness of the full moon. Safe, at least for now.

As she gripped the iron railing, she wasn’t surprised to note her hands were trembling.

Inhaling the sharp, fresh air, she wondered when she’d become such a coward. Behind her the door opened with a click. Even though she’d remained in the shadows, she knew he’d found her, even before he spoke.

“I’m not dangerous, you know.” The husky-as-sin voice sounded exactly that. Dangerous as hell.

Slowly she raised her head. Years of experience at her parents’ court enabled her to put a pleasantly surprised expression on her face. “I think if you feel the need to even say such a thing, then you must be very unsafe indeed.”

When his smile came, the sight of it made her pulse race. She futilely tried to get her now scattered bearings, when he spoke again.

“Walk with me.” He held out his arm, his words a command rather than a request.

She swallowed hard and tried to think. This she hadn’t planned for. She gazed up at him, a dark figure of a man with powerful shoulders and broad chest, and her mouth went dry. Blindly she reached out and took his hand. The roughness of it gave her an unwanted sense of protection. She glanced down at their entwined hands and realized his fingers were beautiful—long and strong and oddly graceful, like those of an artist.

“Who are you?” she asked, finding her voice.

“Ruben,” he answered simply, his dark gaze locked on hers. Despite herself, she shivered.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured.

At that, she straightened her shoulders. She might be many things, but coward was not one of them. “I’m not,” she said, wondering why the words felt like a lie.

He gave her hand a gentle tug. Moving with him out onto the terrace, when they reached the balcony that in daylight would look out over the lush and green forest, she let go of him, taking a small step sideways to keep their bodies from touching. He didn’t react to this, gripping the smooth marble rail and staring straight ahead, almost as if he’d forgotten she was there.

Together they stood, side by side, gazing out over the darkness toward the mountains, the silence growing between them. The faint swell of music from inside provided background noise. She fought the urge to fidget or to speak, simply to hear the sound of her own voice.

Evidently, despite the way he’d sought her out, he had nothing to say to her. Just like she was back at home, the ugly younger sister. Though she knew she ought to be used to it by now, it still hurt.

Turning to face him, she lifted her chin and flashed a carefully casual smile. “I have to go,” she said, no trace of regret in her voice.

Tall and straight, he swung his head to gaze down at her. “Please, not yet. Stay with me a little longer. Please.”

Though his husky voice simmered with enough sensuality to make her feel dizzy, she suspected he might be toying with her. Though for what reason, she couldn’t tell.

“Why?”

“A simple enough question.” He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “Though my answer is more complicated. I’m the prince.”

“The prince?” she repeated, shocked.

“Yes. This—” he waved one hand “—This is all for me. My parents’ idea of a good time. They’re putting me through ball after endless ball, all to find me a wife.”

At the word, he gave an exaggerated shudder, making her laugh despite herself. “I take it you don’t like the idea?”

“That would be a major understatement. I don’t want to marry.” Casually, he placed his hand on her shoulder. Despite the heavy material of the dress, she felt the heat of his beautiful fingers and had to fight not to lean into him. To be able to choose one’s own fate … now that was a luxury she wished she had.

“Me, either.” She sighed, unwillingly reminded of the unknown prince her parents had promised her to.

“You never told me your name,” he said.

Since she now realized the man, this prince, rather, needed a friend rather than a date, she relaxed. “Willow.”

His disheveled dark hair gleamed in the lights from inside. “That’s an unusual name.”

More at ease now, she grinned up at him. “I’m an unusual person.”

As he continued to gaze at her without responding, she felt her face heat. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not really good at flirting.” The words came out in a rush.

He shrugged. “Who is? I’d rather run in the woods.”

At his words, she couldn’t help but silently agree. How could this be possible? He’d unknowingly echoed her earlier thoughts. “You run in the woods? Me, too, though I roam more than run. I love the forest.”

He grinned, devastating her, and then he laughed, the deep, rich masculine sound curling around her like a shawl.

“Come with me.” Again, he held out his hand.

This time, instead of blindly accepting, she shook her head. “First, tell me where we’re going.”

Gravely, he regarded her, the flickering interior lights casting shadows on his craggy features. “To dance, of course.”

And just like that, he made her want him. So intensely her entire being ached with it.

“Let’s go,” she said, surprised her voice didn’t crack.

As they entered through the French doors, the band had begun to play a waltz, as if on cue. Because her mother had seen to it that Willow had received the same dance lessons as her sister, she knew all the steps.

He swept her into his arms and she had to remind herself how to breathe.

In that instant, she felt sharply the loss of every magical power she’d never had. Because dancing with Ruben was all that and more. He was tall and fit, his broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. By the laws of physics, he should have been clumsy, a stumbling bear of a man. Instead, he moved with the grace of a born athlete. Women watched them enviously. And the men … the men eyed her, wondering no doubt why such a beautiful man wasted time on such a skinny and frumpy girl.

“They all want you,” he rumbled in her ear, making her start. At his playful words, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“I know,” she murmured back, enjoying the joke. “How could they not want the one who can get the prince to dance?”

He peered down at her, mischief making his eyes sparkle. “You’re right about that, you know. I haven’t danced at a single one of these things since I was twelve.”

“Why not?” The instant she asked the question, she knew the answer. A man who’d rather be running in the wild forest would eschew dances and banquets and all the other social nonsense that came with being royalty. She should know. She was exactly the same way, though no doubt for dissimilar reasons.

Still, this was different, somehow. Her beautiful skirt floated around her ankles and she felt as if she were gliding on air.

They’d barely begun—this time a fox-trot—when someone screamed, a shrill sound of absolute panic. As Willow, along with everyone else, turned to look, the rear of the ballroom exploded.