Читать книгу The Wolf Prince - Karen Whiddon - Страница 7

The blast knocked them to the ground. Instinctively, Ruben tried to direct his fall to protect the unique woman who’d allowed him to spend the evening with her.

Willow. Hellhounds, he hoped she was all right. Ears ringing, he called her name, even as he hauled her to her feet amid the debris raining down on them.

She sagged against him, causing his heart to skip a beat. So tiny, her bones. He cupped her soot-covered chin in his hand and lifted her face to his. Her amazing caramel-colored eyes were open, if dazed. Alive. Relatively unhurt, as far as he could tell.

Relief flooding him, he slipped his arm around her impossibly small waist, helping her to steady herself.

“Are you okay?”

She opened her mouth to speak, and then licked her cracked lips instead, drawing his gaze. “I think so,” she finally croaked, sounding uncertain. Tentatively, she moved, testing her joints, and finally shook her head. “At least, I don’t hurt anywhere.”

She wasn’t bleeding, so for now he had no choice but to take her words for truth. As he turned away, there was another explosion, this one smaller and farther away.

Damn. His guests … his family … his home.

Releasing her, he turned to survey the damage, praying there were no fatalities. Several people were still down. Smoke rapidly began to fill the room, which meant there was a fire nearby. Flash. Another mini-explosion. Hell, he didn’t see his parents anywhere. The sounds—moans and wails and crying, fire crackling, something— What? Dripping? Smoke, more smoke. The tainted air grew rapidly difficult to breathe. How many were injured? How many were … dead? Hounds. He hoped none.

Need. To. Move. Now.

He took a deep breath. “I’ve got to help get everyone out. Are you well enough to assist me?”

Blinking, she nodded. The effort seemed to make her dizzy, as she swayed on her feet. Ruben cursed under his breath. He couldn’t leave her, but he wasn’t sure if dragging her around with him was the best idea, either.

At this point, he didn’t really have a choice. She wasn’t seriously hurt, so she either had to help or take herself to safety.

A prince’s first responsibility was toward his people. His family. His home. Damn and double damn.

“Come on.” Taking her arm, he led her through the thickening smoke toward the closest group of people, with the intent of leaving her with them. Most had scrambled back to their feet; those could make their way out, to safety.

Near them, several lay still on the floor, unmoving.

Ruben’s stomach lurched as he dropped to his knees next to an older man he recognized from court. So many people hadn’t yet risen. He didn’t dare think that they might not be alive. This man—George something or other—blinked and lifted his head, gray hair tinted red with blood. Hurt, but alive. Ruben helped him to his feet, pointing him and the others who were able to move toward the door.

The next several minutes—hours?—passed in a blur. Though he’d had to resort to crawling under the smoke, Ruben managed to get from group to group, with Willow surprisingly right alongside him. She’d refused to leave for safety with the others.

As they led more and more people toward the door, her strength appeared to improve rapidly, for which he was thankful. Together they tended to the wounded, helping people who’d been stunned by the blast to their feet, assisting others in moving their wounded outside, where it was safer area.

Gasping for air, three times they had led groups of people toward the door, coughing and hacking all the way. They couldn’t stay much longer. The smoke had grown so thick everyone was getting disoriented.

Was everyone out? He still had not seen his parents, which chilled his blood. He knew his father and if King Leo had been able to move, he would have worked tirelessly to save his people. Ruben prayed the older man worked in another part of the castle, or even better, outside doctoring the wounded. He couldn’t stop long enough to search for him.

With time of the essence, Ruben grabbed several of the palace guards to help him drag the wounded outside, away from danger. This helped speed things up. Soon, the smoke-filled room emptied and, gasping for air, Ruben finally staggered outside and collapsed on the grass.

While he tried to suck in enough air to his burning lungs, Ruben pushed away the hated and eerie feeling of déjà vu. This had happened before, when his sister Alisa and her now husband Braden were here. Bombs had gone off inside the palace. Then, many had supposed the attacks were targeted at Dr. Streib, Alisa’s husband who’d initially traveled to Teslinko to do research on her.

But over time, they’d learned differently. The bombings hadn’t been directed at the American doctor. Rather, the royal family had been targeted by a group of extremists, those who claimed they felt more connected to their wolf selves and believed remaining human for longer than a week or two was an abomination to their true natures. Only Alisa had known how much Ruben was like them, though he didn’t share their propensity for violence. Their methods, which involved violence such as bombings, were deadly. They believed such things would draw attention to their cause.

Their cause, as he knew better than most, was futile. Shifters could not stay wolf without losing their mind. Until recently, the Society of the Protectors had been dispatched to bring in Feral Shifters for rehabilitation. Those who had refused, or were deemed too mad, had been eliminated. Fortunately, that barbaric practice had been outlawed.

Still, everyone knew about the limitations placed on changing. Everyone except these extremists. Considering what had happened to him when he had tried to stay wolf more than human, he couldn’t help but wonder what sort of madness drove them.

Their bombs killed and maimed, accomplishing nothing but death and destruction, but still they persevered. The royal family of Teslinko had taken precautions to prevent this from ever happening again, but evidently those hadn’t been enough.

More death. More destruction. Senseless.

Shoving his thoughts to the back of his mind, Ruben summoned his last reserves of strength and began checking on his people. Now that they were out of the ballroom and safe, minor injuries could be attended to. Water was found and distributed and Ruben accepted a bottle gratefully, draining it in several gulps. He wished it did more to soothe his raw throat, but this would have to heal with time.

As he made his way through the throngs of people, Willow remained silently at his side, patching up the wounded, providing a slender shoulder when needed. Though she was covered in soot, her beautiful gown ruined, she worked tirelessly, selflessly, earning his gratitude and his admiration.

Finally, he thought everyone had been helped. As far as he could tell, they might have saved them all. With no casualties—at least that he knew of. All of the ones who’d been knocked out were all right.

He had yet to find his parents. Wearily, he pushed himself up off the grass. Willow looked at him quizzically, her exhaustion evident by the dark circles under her eyes. They had to be safe, he thought, seeing numerous members of the King’s personal guard milling about. If something had happened to either the king or queen, no matter how minor, there would have been an outcry and someone would have been sent to fetch him.

Finally, he found one of their assistants who, wide-eyed from shock, stuttered as he assured Ruben that the royal couple was fine. Apparently they’d been in another part of the palace when the explosion had occurred. They were now ministering to the servants and the most gravely injured.

Another part of the palace. Hearing this had brought a slight smile to his face, the first since the explosion. Even after all these years spent together, his parents were still deeply in love and were known to sneak off in the middle of a gala to grab some together time. He—along with all his sisters—used to find that mortifying. Lately, he’d viewed their amorous behavior more tolerantly, even finding it amusing.

This time he breathed a sigh of relief, believing this proclivity to sneak away to spend private time with each other might have saved their lives.

Relieved, he returned to his place on the grass by Willow and watched as a team of firefighters from the village worked frantically, attempting to put out the flames. Still, part of the ballroom continued to burn, the flames flickering, roaring hungrily and sending billows of thick smoke into the night sky.

Finally, the fire was extinguished. One last dousing of water had been sprayed. The remains of the ballroom were coated in watery soot and the sour odor of smoke still curdled the air.

Shoulders rounded with exhaustion, the firefighters silently put away their equipment and prepared to return to the village.

As he pushed again to his feet, Ruben realized he was exhausted. Even his wolf had slunk back deep inside him. He glanced at Willow to find she also stood at his side, clearly equally done in, yet uncomplaining.

When he turned to face her, she stumbled, nearly going to her knees. Easily he caught her, relishing the feel of her against him before setting her on her feet.

“I think we’re done.” Hand at her elbow, where soot made the material a dirty grayish black, he steadied her and smoothed her smoky, ash-covered hair back from her face. “Thank you so much for your help. We did a lot of good tonight. There was no loss of life.”

Appearing distracted, she nodded, biting her lip, almost as though she was on the verge of tears. Swaying, she glanced at all the people huddled together in various groups. Then, lifting her hand in a gesture that seemed a halfhearted wave, she staggered away. She weaved slightly and headed down a winding, cobbled path that led only toward an old stone bench which sat alone in a secluded arbor.

This bench had once been one of his sister Alisa’s favorite places. She’d gone there when she’d needed solitude in order to think. No one had used it since Alisa had gotten married and gone to America with her new husband. Following Willow, he wondered how she’d known how to find it.

With only the full moon shining in the cloudless night sky providing light, she rounded the final bend in the path. Then, smoothing her ruined skirt, she took a seat on the bench. As he came up on her, she gave him a tired smile. “Sorry. I couldn’t bear the smell of the smoke any longer.”

He nodded his understanding. With a sigh, she patted the space beside her for him to drop down next to her.

He did and they sat, shoulders touching, silently contemplating the night. Again he marveled at the way she’d helped for hours, uncomplaining or expecting any kind of preferential treatment normally given to a beautiful woman in a ball gown. A stranger, she hadn’t run from the chaos but rather dove right in to help people she clearly didn’t know.

In short, if he’d thought her amazing before, this was doubly so now. His feelings had expanded to a sort of exhausted wonder. How could she be both so lovely and so … good? Chest tight, he gazed at her, finding her soot-stained face extraordinarily beautiful.

“What time is it?” she asked him, her voice still raspy from the smoke.

He glanced at his watch, unsurprised to find that it would soon be morning, despite the huge moon hanging in the western night sky. “Four a.m. Can you believe the sun will be rising in a few hours?” he mused. “What a night. And I still have to make a statement to the authorities.”

At his words, she inhaled sharply, sitting up straight. “Four?”

Wide-eyed, she pushed to her feet, her movements still unsteady. She glanced at him before looking out at the still-dark forest beyond the castle. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go,” she told him. Was that the faintest note of panic he heard in her voice?

He rose with her, eyeing her curiously. She’d been calm before, in the face of disaster. And now, panicked at the idea of being late, she seemed like a different woman.

“I’ll vouch for you,” he told her. “Sit back down. I’m sure whoever is waiting for you will understand.”

“I doubt it.” Glancing wildly around her, as if she expected someone to jump out of the shadows and grab her, she gathered her shredded composure about her like a cloak. Dipping her chin formally, she mustered up a shaky smile. “It was very nice to meet you, Prince Ruben. I’m sorry that your party didn’t turn out as well as you’d hoped.”

And then, as he tried to process her remark, she leaped away like a wild animal, without a backward glance, and took off running into the dark woods.

Mind muddled with exhaustion, Ruben considered her retreat blankly. What the …? By the time he took a step to follow her, she’d vanished from sight, disappearing into the forest.

But why? The way she’d gone led to nothing but wilderness. The nearest town was in the opposite direction.

From the castle, someone shouted his name. The authorities must have arrived and they needed him to make a statement. Duty called. Reluctantly, he turned and headed back along the way he’d come.

The local police—along with the media—had indeed arrived. Amid the red and blue lights and the flash of cameras, a cluster of reporters had gathered to await the official statement.

Waving at them, Ruben again went looking for his father. Usually the king handled press conferences, though Ruben would do so if needed.

The Captain of the Royal Guard, a large, dark skinned Pack member named Drake, informed him that the king would indeed deal with the press. He’d asked Ruben to tie up any loose ends before he did so.

Though it was nearly morning and he was weary to his bones, Ruben took care of business. While he conferred with palace guards and picked his way through the rubble that had once been the enormous foyer and receiving room of the palace, Willow’s image hovered in the back of his mind. Not the beautiful woman in the beautiful ball gown, but the grimy, soot-covered one who’d so selflessly helped him. Who was she? Where had she come from? And why had she run away?

Had she been frightened, or had her fleeing been something else entirely? He froze as an awful thought occurred to him. Had she known something about the bomb or who had planted it? Had she seen something or was she much more intimately involved? Did she know something about the extremists?

As much as he tried, he couldn’t immediately dismiss the idea. He’d thought he was familiar with every noblewoman around, not only in Teslinko but in the neighboring countries. But he had no idea who she really was, what nationality, or even who her people were.

When he’d first found her, she’d been hiding, keeping to herself, speaking to no one. She’d been practically skulking about. Had what he’d put down to shyness been in actuality an attempt to remain unnoticed?

One thing he knew for certain. When all this was over, he had to find her again.

Finally finished, he straightened his shoulders. Since the press conference would be starting in a few minutes, he turned to go in search of his parents again. As he did, he glanced down. There, among the soot and the rubble, near his feet, something shimmered. He bent, his muscles sore, and picked it up.

A woman’s earring, a dangling pearl, now sullied by ash and soot. An image flashed into his mind of the earring swinging gently as Willow turned her head. The earring was hers. She must have lost it in the craziness after the explosion.

Jaw set, he slipped the jewelry into his pocket. He’d seek Willow out, ostensibly to return her earring. While he was there, he’d ask her to explain exactly why she’d run and what she’d seen.

Kicking off her heels and lifting her sodden, ruined skirt in one hand, Willow took off. She ran, full-out, panic fueling her, grateful for the sudden spurt of energy that enabled her to go. She relished the feel of her legs pounding the earth and the wind whipping her hair, pushing away her weariness. When she reached the veil, she didn’t hesitate, leaping toward the shimmering space as though the hounds of hell followed her.

For all she knew, one of them did.

When she’d discovered the veil, she’d quickly learned not to stay overnight. If she did, too much time passed on the other side. Once she’d come home after spending eighteen hours among the humans, only to learn over a week had passed at home.

She couldn’t chance that happening again. Especially not now, when her parents had warned her that the two princes from EastWard would be arriving by the next day. One of these men—Prince Chad—was to be her betrothed. The other, Prince Eric, would wed her older sister, Tatiana.

There would be a ball—the irony of this didn’t escape her—and she would be expected to make an appearance. As a matter of fact, she’d planned to wear the dress she’d worn tonight, which was now hopelessly ruined.

Once she’d landed—this time, miraculously on her feet—she hurried home. As soon as the glistening gold of the castle came into view, she felt some of her panic subside. Judging from the way the moon still hung low in the horizon, time had remained the same, or close enough that her lateness wouldn’t matter.

Out of breath with her heart pounding from her exertion, she skidded to a stop and smoothed down her hair. There was nothing she could do about her ruined and filthy dress. At least everyone should still be asleep in their beds.

Hurrying up the glittering steps and grasping the huge handle of the castle door, she pulled the heavy door open and slipped inside.

All quiet, exactly as it should be. So far, so good.

Then, as she turned the corner that would lead toward the stairs, she heard it. Coming from down the hall, emanating from the direction of one of the receiving rooms, the sound of harp music and muted laughter.

Oh, dark. Her heart in her throat, she froze, listening. Was this a party that had continued into the predawn hours? What else could it be? Had the East-Ward group already arrived? Her stomach clenched. She hoped not. If she’d missed some kind of welcoming reception, her mother would be furious with her.

Another laugh, deep and masculine, drifted down the hall. Immediately following, her sister Tatiana’s signature giggle. If this wasn’t the EastWard group, then her older sister had been entertaining another gentleman caller for the entire night.

Blech. Though Willow wouldn’t put it past Tatiana. One last fling before settling down to a boring married life would be the way her older sister would look at it.

Hoping she was wrong, Willow gave the room a wide berth and hurried to her room to shower and change out of her ruined dress into her pajamas. Hopefully she could manage to catch a few hours of sleep before anyone came looking for her.

The next morning, full sunlight lit her room when she finally opened her eyes. The clock on the night-stand next to her bed read eleven thirty-five. Nearly noon.

Though her first instinct was to panic and jump out of bed so she could rush through her normal morning preparations, after a moment of thought, she reconsidered. Stretching, she allowed herself to wallow in the unexpected luxury of sleeping in. Since no one had bothered her or, more specifically, come to chew her out, she’d have to assume that the EastWard group hadn’t yet arrived.

As she snuggled under the covers, her door swung open. Tatiana rushed into the room, slamming the door behind her. She wore one of her most glittery dresses, the shifting colors of white, gold, silver and blue giving Willow an instant headache.

“Good, you’re here,” Tatiana gushed, her golden hair all done up in ribbons and curls. Then, as she took in the sight of Willow snuggling under the covers, she frowned. “Why are you still in bed?”

Briefly Willow entertained the thought of telling her sister that frowning made a deep furrow appear right in the middle of her perfectly shaped eyebrows, but decided against it. “Thanks for knocking,” she said. “What do you want? I was sleeping.”

“This late?” Tatiana snorted. “Right. You forget, I know you. You’re hiding, aren’t you?”

Cautiously, Willow peered up at her sister. The waist of Tati’s sparkling dress had been cinched so tightly, it was a wonder the older girl could breathe. Her full breasts threatened to spill out if she moved the wrong way. The glittering material barely covered them, though the way it had been arranged put them on blatant display.

Of course. Tatiana was getting ready to meet her fiancé. She wanted to look her best.

“Why would I need to hide?” Cautiously, Willow sat up.

Narrow-eyed, Tatiana studied her. Her painted lips finally spread into a malicious grin. “You honestly don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“I’ll bet you didn’t show up at the welcome reception last night, did you?”

“Didn’t you notice?” Willow volleyed back. What kind of sister doesn’t discern whether or not her younger sibling was in attendance? She knew the answer to that one. Unless they were in direct competition with her for attention, a completely self-absorbed person like Tatiana rarely noticed any other woman in the room. And, since Willow clearly was no competition, Tatiana rarely knew—or cared about—her whereabouts.

Shaking her head so that her waves of bright, golden hair swung about her in a glorious cloud, Tatiana moved forward and perched on the chair at the side of Willow’s bed.

“The princes are here,” she said dreamily, though her bright violet eyes remained as sharp as ever. “Prince Eric is nearly as beautiful as me. And Prince Chad …”

Tatiana laughed, the sound so high-pitched and false Willow had to fight the urge to put her hands over her ears.

Tatiana’s perfect red lips widened into a mocking smile. “He’s perfect for you.”

Since Tatiana showed no signs of leaving and hadn’t yet arrived at the reason for her visit, Willow played along. “In what way? Is he also short and dark?”

“No. Quite the opposite. As a matter of fact, in his own way he’s very … appealing.” Tatiana gave a nervous laugh that was totally unlike her normal high-pitched giggle. This, along with the fact that her sister rarely even visited her room, made Willow instantly suspicious.

Slowly, she sat up, keeping as much of herself covered as she could for protection. She wouldn’t put it past her older sister to get in a few jabs about Willow’s lack of serious cleavage. About to ask for a second time what Tatiana wanted, Willow closed her mouth as Tatiana continued speaking.

“There’s a big breakfast this morning.” The words came out in a breathless rush, again not like her. “Since you missed the welcome reception last night, they’ve arranged for you to meet your intended in a few minutes over coffee and pastries. I was sent to fetch you.”

“A few minutes?” It took every ounce of restraint not to jump from her bed. Not only would she be rushed, but she’d be late for her worst nightmare. A big breakfast with a male stranger whom she was supposed to marry.

“I’ll stall them for you,” Tatiana offered.

Since her sister never did anything without expecting payment, Willow tilted her head. “Why would you do that?”

Tatiana abruptly fell silent, her huge violet eyes filling with tears. This made Willow instantly suspicious, as she knew her sister only cried to manipulate someone.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so awful to you lately,” Tatiana said. And there it was, or at least the beginnings of it. Exploitation. Though what Willow could possibly have that Tatiana would want, was beyond her.

Instead of acknowledging the apology, Willow simply crossed her arms and waited, knowing eventually Tatiana would get to the point.

But even she was shocked when her older sister suddenly burst into tears. And not fake tears either, but gut-busting, mascara-ruining real tears.