The Eye of the Wolf (14 page)

Mikayla sipped her wine and
smiled again to herself. She looked across the patio at the lovers who were now
feeding one another breadsticks. They were sweet. She wondered if someday there
might be someone to feed her breadsticks on a cobblestone patio by the sea. She
slipped on her sunglasses and looked back out at the sea, content to feel the
sea breezes through her hair for the moment, even if she was alone.

Will paused at the gate of the
patio before entering. He tilted his head and allowed the dying rays of the sun
to shoot fire through her hair. He watched Mikayla slip on her sunglasses and
turn her attention to the sea with a private, secret smile playing on her rosy
lips. Her feet were crossed and rested on the railing that separated the patio
from the sand. A long, linen skirt covered her legs, but Will treasured the
glimpse of a long, tan leg that the slit allowed to peek out. Her feet were
covered in leather sandals that were more functional than beautiful, but on her
feet, where pink nail polish teased, the sandals were intriguing and becoming.
She wore a teal tank that showcased well-toned arms with a faint tan. Her
slender hands and fingers tapped against her wine glass to the music playing
through the outdoor speakers, something Spanish, he supposed. Her long, curly
hair shone in the fading sunlight like a dying fire. He felt the sudden punch
of lust deep in his belly, but he dampened it just as he had the night before
when she had looked so beautiful standing beneath her porch light with sleeping
tropical flowers surrounding her in an ocean of fragrance. She looked so
content sitting there alone, lost in her own musings, totally different than
the first night when he had found her sitting there, alone.

The first night, he had decided
to dine on the patio instead of at home and had been surprised to find her
there, reading a book about the royal family of Amor. He had contemplated
turning to walk away but had joined her instead. It had been easy to decide to
interrupt her solitude. He had known it would irritate her beyond belief and
raise her passions to the surface. He had accomplished his goal that evening
and was pleased when the next morning she had yelled at him three or four times
within the first hour simply because he was there and he annoyed her, or so she
said. She had spent too much of her life, it seemed, lost in her own world, accomplishing
her own goals, and being allowed to stay within her shell. Besides, he enjoyed
her when her temper was raised. Her blue eyes were bright like the hottest part
of a flame. Her cheeks would flush to a rosy glow and her lips would tremble,
just a little, just enough to drive him to near distraction until she was the
only thing in his mind.

The second night he had
followed an instinct and found her there again, at the same table, talking
quietly with Stephen, the waiter. She had laughed then, at Stephen and
something he had said. It had a musical quality and warmed the air around her.
The light had sparkled against the water and glimmered in her hair. He had felt
his chest tighten with an ache that he couldn’t explain and had felt a stab of
jealousy that she would laugh at a waiter but never at him. That stab of
jealousy had disturbed him so much that he had marched through the gate and
pulled out a chair without even saying hello. He had seated himself, barked an
order in Italian to Stephen, and helped himself to a glass of wine from the
bottle on the table. Stephen and Mikayla had both been so surprised that
neither had said a word. She had been irritated with him at first, he could
tell, and then, she softened. He had made her laugh, and it had been the most
wonderful moment of his life, to hear the music in the air that was her
laughter.

The third night had been much
the same, but there was a change in the air. He no longer irritated her. He was
her dinner companion. They had drank, eaten, and laughed at his stories of life
on Amor. Then, he had walked her home. He had sung her love songs from his
ancestors as they walked along the cobbled streets of the city. He had plucked
a flower from a window box as they passed and tucked it in her hair. The moonlight
had reflected off of her skin, and there had been stars in her eyes. At her
door, the door of the little teal house beneath the Secluded City, he had felt
the need to draw her close, smell her scent, the vanilla that wrapped itself
around her and anyone near. He had felt the need to kiss her lips, gently, just
to get the taste of her. But Will Chambers was a gentleman to the end. In the
end, he had wished her goodnight and walked away into the darkness, up the
stairs, to his own home, only to lay awake in the dark, thinking of her and
wishing he wasn’t. Wishing she didn’t devastate him with one look from beneath
long lashes.

Now, here Mikayla was again,
lost in her own reverie, and Will had no desire to disturb her private
thoughts. He only wanted to be near her again, to be wrapped in her
intoxicating fragrance and hold her close. Will turned to walk away when he saw
in the corner of his eye the movement of the signature black suit and the tap
of the walking stick on brick. There was only one person on Amor who wore a
black suit regardless of the time of day or month of the year. There was also
only one person on Amor who religiously carried a walking stick. Antonio
Kankaredes.

Will slipped behind the trellis
of pink flowers that provided a privacy barrier for the patio from the street.
He moved the flowers slightly to the side and watched carefully as Kankaredes
approached Mikayla, rapping his walking stick with a wolf-head on the brick.

Mikayla opened her eyes as she
heard his approach. The smile on her lips faded when Kankaredes came into view.
Despite the setting sun, Mikayla felt darkness come over her and fear, a
deep-rooted fear that she couldn’t explain. She set her feet on the ground and
removed her sunglasses. She watched him closely as he approached her table. He
moved with precision, almost stealthily, like the wolf that topped his walking
stick.

Kankaredes stopped at her table
and tapped the walking stick on the brick once. He then pulled out the chair
that had been waiting for Will, poured wine into the glass that was meant for
Will, and sipped casually from the glass. He swished the wine in his mouth,
savoring the taste, even though he wasn’t a large fan of Italian wines.

Mikayla watched him closely.
She measured her words carefully before speaking. “Please, make yourself
comfortable, Mr. Kankaredes.”

Her tone was soft, but there
was enough sarcasm overlaying her words that Kankaredes narrowed his eyes as he
regarded her across the table. He had little regard for Americans, and even
less respect for this particular American. His job was to prevent her from
picking up the scent of those secrets that must remain hidden. Dejeune had said
she wasn’t very smart, but Kankaredes had read her notes. He had seen her
notebook and the sketches she was making. He had had Dejeune remove information
and plant information in the Hall of Records. She had been getting close,
whether she knew it or not, she had been getting close, too close. He had to
prevent it; the Wolf had declared it so.

“Good evening, Miss Knight.” He
swirled his glass, watching her over the rim of the glass. He knew he made her
nervous. He liked knowing he made her nervous; it gave him the power, the power
of the Wolf.

Mikayla set her own wine glass
down and swiveled in her chair until she faced him directly across the table.
“Mr. Kankaredes, I worked very hard to achieve my doctorate. I would appreciate
it if you would acknowledge my position with the appropriate title.”

Kankaredes raised an eyebrow,
enough so to give a look of disdain, enough to make Mikayla feel about five
years old. “As you wish, Doctor Knight.” He stressed her academic title,
knowing that that would make her feel even smaller.

Mikayla shifted uneasily in her
chair. Again, she felt like a spoiled five year old who hadn’t been allowed to
get the prize out of the cereal box. She straightened in her chair and moved a
stray strand of hair that had blown into her mouth. She wouldn’t allow him to
belittle her efforts, her hard-work. He was a pompous, arrogant man who probably
kept his own wife chained to the kitchen, bare-foot, and pregnant. “Can I help
you with anything, Mr. Kankaredes?” Silently, she added, since you haven’t
helped me one bit.

Kankaredes filled his wine
glass again and settled back into his chair. He liked the way she attempted to
be tall, proud, and haughty. It only increased his already low opinion of
Americans and women, in particular. She was nothing, he realized, nothing but a
woman attempting to be something she wasn’t. She would fail. She would publish
her book, but she would never understand the truth of her research because she
was stupid. Another stupid American. “I received your messages. I wanted to
invite you to tour the Secluded City the day after tomorrow.”

Mikayla looked into his eyes
and found them deep and disturbing but guileless. He sat straight in the chair,
watching her; there was no other movement other than his jeweled hand moving
the wine glass to his mouth. “All right. What time should I be there?”

Kankaredes set the glass down
and gripped the handle of his walking stick. Every movement was a practice in
control. It was important that he remain in control of the situation, the
information, everything. He couldn’t allow that control to slip from his
fingers. “I will send the Royal Guard down to greet you and escort you through
the gates. They will arrive at your dwelling at 8:00 sharp.” He looked at her
sharply. “You will have exactly two hours for the tour. After that, you will be
escorted back to your house.”

Mikayla instinctively reached
out a hand. She grabbed his sleeve. She jerked her hand back when he froze her
with a glance and remained still. “What about the royal family?”

Kankaredes sighed inwardly.
“They are not available.” His answer was short, cold, and sharp as a knife. “You
will leave your camera and tape recorder at home. You will only bring a pencil
and paper. Is that understood?”

Mikayla nodded. She was
incapable of any other response. Kankaredes turned and strode away, rapping the
walking stick on the patio brick. Mikayla exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized
she was holding.

Will watched Kankaredes slip
through the door into the restaurant before stepping from behind the trellis.
He exhaled the breath he had been holding, relieved that he had not been seen
by the Minister of State. It would have caused serious problems for him and
Mikayla if he had been seen by the one man who controlled the royal government
now that the King was ill. The one man who controlled the world Will moved
quietly within. He unclenched the fist that he had not known he had created and
flexed his fingers willing the circulation to return. Kankaredes was a powerful
man, not only on Amor but in the world. Will didn’t need that kind of political
entanglement, not now, not when they were so close.

He shook his head and pushed
open the gate. Enough internal dialogue about what ifs and possibilities. He
stepped across the brick in short steps and pulled out the chair Kankaredes had
just vacated. He was pleased to get even more of a glimpse of Mikayla’s leg
when she crossed her legs and braced them against the railing. The skirt slid
seductively up a little higher on her thigh. A strap slid from under her tank
top. It was a bright blue color, the color of the sky on a clear summer day.
Will sucked in his breath as that feeling of lust once again stabbed him in the
gut.

Mikayla looked up. The frown on
her face caused by Kankaredes and displeasure in her eyes instantly disappeared
at the sight of him. The darkness that had been in her eyes cleared until the blue
matched that of the strap that was sneaking from beneath her shirt. Her smile
welcomed him and she held out a hand.

Deliberately Will sat down and
avoided her hand. He needed to give himself a moment to allow that intense heat
to die and disappear. He signaled Stephen to bring another glass. 

Mikayla withdrew her hand and
watched Will carefully. He was withdrawn and avoiding her eyes. His gray eyes
were turbulent like the sea just after a storm, just before the calm. His
normally jovial smile was a straight line of tension and something else,
something she couldn’t read.

Will sloshed wine into his clean glass and all but
gulped it to soothe the burning inside of him. The wine did nothing to dampen
the heat, but it gave him something to do with his hands, which currently
itched to run through the waves of hair that cascaded down the back of her
chair. He wondered silently if she knew what an image she portrayed. She no
longer was the competent history professor; now she was the island beauty that
had men stopping in their tracks to gawk, gaze, and dream. When his thoughts
had cooled, he sipped the wine and watched her over the rim of the glass. She
was watching him very carefully.

“Rough day?” Mikayla inquired with a soft musical
lilt in her voice. She lifted an eye brow.

Will smirked. “Yeah.” He clinked his glass against
hers. “My boss is such a bitch. She works me like a dog, day in and day out!”

Mikayla rolled her eyes and gave him one of her
champion sultry glances. “Really?”

Will nodded and continued to smirk at her as he
sipped. “Oh yeah. Today, she had me digging through this box of old books
looking for the first census of Amor.” He shook his head and frowned, mock
agony on his features but there was a twinkle in his eye. “Can you imagine?”