The Eye of the Wolf (22 page)

“The storm seems to have moved on.” Mikayla murmured
against his chest, her voice drowsy. Her fingers trailed along his chest, slow
and gentle.

He smiled at the sensations her hands created as
they ran over his skin. “Hmm…” He was incapable of speech; he was incapable of
thought. He was lost in her, fearing to think of anything beyond where he was
and who he was with.

Mikayla leaned up on one arm and gazed at his face.
With a finger she traced the curves and hollows of his aristocratic face. He
kissed her finger when it memorized his lips. She smiled down at him and
pressed a kiss to his brow. She pulled the coverlet from the foot of the bed
over him and left him to his dreams.

Mikayla pulled her bathrobe from the closet and
moved down the stairs fastening the robe as she went. She moved around the
downstairs, blowing out the candles that had left pools of wax on the fine
wooden tables. She carried the lantern Will had left burning near the front
door into the kitchen and rummaged through one of the cupboards. She was
surprised to find herself humming the song Will had sung to her days before on
the mountain-top. She wasn’t one to give into silly romantic notions such as
humming. Despite herself, Mikayla smiled and sung softly the words that sang in
her heart.

          Mikayla lit the
gas stove and placed the frying pan on the burner. Into the pan, she dumped
eggs, cheese, and ham allowing it to bubble and crackle merrily. Although she
wasn’t one for cooking, she did know how to make an omelet, and she knew she
was hungry. She sang other songs that popped into her brain as she watched the
eggs cook.

          Although the
thunder had moved out to sea, lightening still flickered in the night, creating
ghostly shadows and flashes of light in the dark house. One of the shadows
moved with ease through the dark, avoiding the flashes of light. He crept
across the hard-wood floor, stealthy as a mouse in the darkened house, towards
the door to the cellar.

         
He could hear her voice singing
in the kitchen and faint crackle of eggs frying in the pan. The smell wafted
towards him reminding him he needed to hurry. She would be finished cooking
soon and probably headed up the stairs. He was in her path to the stairs. He
had to move. He lightly adjusted the backpack he had slung over his shoulders
and took another step towards the cellar door. Under his weight, the old wood
of the floor creaked.

Mikayla’s
hand froze over the pan, spatula poised. She held still, barely breathing. She
swallowed stiffly. In the darkness, shadows jumped and wavered. In the
darkness, things seemed out of place, wrong somehow. Then, she shook her head.
She was being ridiculous. “Will?” She called out cheerfully. She scooped up the
eggs onto a plate and waited for his sandy blond head to appear around the
corner. There was no answer.

She
looked around her at the darkened kitchen, realizing a draft scuttled through
the room just as the lantern went out. She froze, in the darkness, her breath
shallow and her heart racing.

He
took another step, sweat beading on his brow as he moved with the shadows,
thankful for once for the night breezes off the sea. His foot hit another
creak. He knew she was frozen in place; she wasn’t moving, frightened of the
night sounds.

He
paused and peered through the darkness. He could just see her filmy white robe
through the darkness, clinging to her sweat slicked skin. Another man would
have longed to peel that robe away and touch her, and although desire raced
through him, he didn’t have the time nor the luxury to give in to fantasies.
Her back was to him as she waited in the darkness for her heart to stop racing.
He carefully turned the knob of the cellar door, lessening the scrape of the
handle and hinges as he pulled it open.

Mikayla
jerked at the noise and whirled around, lost in the dark, wishing Will would
come down with a candle lit in his hand and find her. She swallowed again,
knowing there was someone just out of her reach. She could sense the presence,
something ominous and evil.

“Will?”
Mikayla whispered into the shadows. Her voice shook slightly and sweat slicked
her clenched fists. She clutched the spatula in her hand like a weapon and slid
her hand along the edge of the counter. She took one step forward, waiting.
When she heard nothing, she took another step forward.

Slowly,
one foot at a time, she moved towards the cellar door. Lightning flashes
illuminated the room, brightening the corners and creating other shadows. Wind
whistled through the open window, fluttering the once friendly curtains that
now hung like ghosts in the gloom. Her heart beat uncontrollably, pounding in
her ears. Again, she whispered Will’s name.

The
cellar door was there, before her in the dark. She gathered her courage and
reached out a tremulous hand. She felt the door knob cool against her fingers.

Then, a hand closed over her
wrist.

Mikayla’s
scream pierced the air, and the spatula skittered across the kitchen floor as
she struggled against the hands that gripped her in the darkness. She fought
the arms that encircled her and cried out, drowning the voice that called her
name. Panic filled her as the darkness closed in; then, there was light.

“Mikayla!”
Will’s voice cut through her panic. He shook her slightly, his hands holding
her wrists to prevent the blows she struggled to throw at him. “Mikayla, it’s
me!” His voice echoed in the silent kitchen cutting through her whimpers.

Mikayla
looked up into his face that was brilliantly lit in the kitchen now that the
power had returned to the island. His hair was tussled with sleep and sex. His
eyes peered into her face, concern written in every feature. He held her wrists
looser now that she had stopped fighting against him and as her breath blew out
in one shaky breath he pulled her close, encircling her in his strong arms,
safety and protection.

Mikayla pushed away from him and moved so the
island stood between them, separating them. She tugged her bathrobe tight
against her skin and rubbed the gooseflesh that covered her arms. She said
nothing and refused to look in his eyes. Her shame because of her fright was
more than she could handle. She was ashamed of her fright, her need to be held
close by him. She was ashamed of her sudden need for him alone. She had never
needed anyone, and no one had ever needed her. Alex hadn’t needed her, and she
hadn’t needed Alex. That was what had led to the end of their rocky
relationship. She didn’t need anyone, and she certainly didn’t want to need
Will, not then, not ever.

Will
leaned both hands on the counter. He watched her closely but made no attempt to
reach for her. She had pushed him away, and despite the need in him to hold her
close and soothe her, he wouldn’t grovel. He had come to her because he had
needed her in his lowest moment. He wouldn’t lower himself again since she
obviously wasn’t going to reach for him when she needed someone to protect her.
Anger and resentment stirred inside of him, mixed with another emotion he
hadn’t known he could feel for a woman, sadness at her obvious rejection.

“What
frightened you, Mikayla?” His voice was soft, his accent soft and melodic,
denying the new storm that stirred his blood. This storm was not one of
mourning and anger, but one of resentment that she should so easily dismiss
their moments of love making and turn from him.

Mikayla
pointed to the cellar door that now, in the light, was not menacing. There was
no evil air in the room, simply that coldness that followed some intimate
experiences. That ill-ease that prevented Mikayla from believing in fairy tales
and romance novels. Her voice trembled slightly, but she stood tall, ready for
his harsh criticisms or the cold tone that told her she was being ridiculous.
“I thought I saw someone by the door. I heard the creaks of the house, as if
someone were walking across the floor. The wind blew the lantern out and I was
left in darkness.” She laughed half-heartedly at the idea of the dark scaring
her. “I was just being silly.”

Will
leaned on the counter and mentally traced the royal crest in-laid in the tile
before speaking. “It isn’t silly to be frightened of the dark, Mikayla. Lots of
people are scared of the dark.” He frowned and looked into her eyes that now
reflected his image back at him, a wall keeping her emotions hidden, keeping
them apart. “Why didn’t you call for me?”

Mikayla
swallowed. She had called for him, and he hadn’t answered. He hadn’t been there
when she was the most scared. She had been alone. She had been alone just as
she was always alone. Distrust tasted like bile in her throat, and she wondered
where he had come from. Why hadn’t she heard his approach? She said nothing
only hugged herself and continued to stare at him, her eyes wide with wariness
and distrust.

Will
picked up the frying pan from the stove, and holding it high, he moved to the
cellar door. He slowly opened the door and flicked the light switch just inside
the door. He peered down the stairs before moving down, disappearing into the
depths.

Mikayla
gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white. Her breath was
lodged in her throat as worry creased her forehead. She believed there had been
someone standing there, in the dark, watching her, but she hadn’t expected Will
to take her seriously. She hadn’t expected him to go in search of the specter
that had startled her beyond reason. Her breathing regulated itself as he
appeared at the tops of the stairs and shook his head. He flicked off the
light-switch, closed the cellar door, and flipped the lock. He set the pan back
on the stove and moved toward her around the island. As he grew closer, Mikayla
backed away, tugging nervously on the sash to her robe.

Will
followed her slowly around the island as she backed away. There wasn’t fear in
her, he could see that, but there was something else, something that was
pulling her away from him even after they had been so close. “Mikayla, why do
you keep moving away from me?” He smiled, but it was feral. His white teeth and
gray eyes shone too brightly in the light.

Mikayla
wrapped her arms around herself and kept backing up until she bumped into the
table in the dining area. “I…um…I” her voice faltered as he cupped her cheek
tenderly, rubbing her face with his thumb. Her eyes were drawn upward to his
face. The light was behind his head, his face in shadows. Only his eyes glowed,
like a predator hunting its prey. Mikayla felt fear suddenly, real fear, fear
of the unknown and fear of the man before her who only an hour before she had
laid in his arms. Where had he been when she had been so frightened of the
dark? Why hadn’t he seemed surprised that she had believed there was someone
near the cellar? Who was this man? Distrust suddenly filled her. That feeling
on unease seeped in from where she had shoved it originally. He was hiding
something; she had thought it before, and now, in the remnants of a
storm-tossed night, the thoughts returned full-force.

She swallowed the lump in her
throat and purposefully straightened her spine. Her mind scrambled for an
answer as he lowered his head to nibble along her jaw-line. It was wrong, she
knew it was wrong. She didn’t want it to be wrong; yet she knew Will wasn’t all
that he seemed. Something had driven him to her that night, and now, as her own
passion diminished, she wondered about the intentions of this man she had
allowed inside her body, heart, and soul.

Mikayla
flattened her hands against his chest and pushed him away. It was wrong. Just
because she had made the mistake before didn’t mean she had to make it again.
It had been a temporary lapse of judgment. That was all. People did it all the
time; she was human, but it couldn’t happen again. She wasn’t a woman who
flirted. She wasn’t a woman that men desired. She wasn’t a woman who was given
to mindless affairs. She wasn’t a woman who found sex a desirable experience.
It had always left her unfulfilled, empty and wishing for more, except for…no,
she wouldn’t think of how she had come alive beneath Will’s hands and how she
had ached for him or how wonderful it had been to be with him. He had come to
her because he had wanted something. He had volunteered to help her with the
research because he wanted something, and now, he stood before her because he
had wanted something. Something she had given him without even a second
thought. He hadn’t wanted her, he had wanted to forget, to get lost. He had
used her to do that.

Will
watched her curiously. She knotted her fingers together and moved slowly, lost
in her thoughts. He wished he knew what those thoughts were. He watched her
wander into the front room, the gauzy robe moving with her walk, a hint of the
naked body beneath. He would have loved to peal that robe away and love her
again, this time for her, not himself but he sensed there was something that
was preventing it. “Mikayla?” He followed her into the front room. “What are
you thinking?”

Mikayla
turned on him and stood there, frank in the living room with light behind her,
turning her auburn curls into a halo of red and gold. “Why did you come here
tonight, Will?” Her frankness startled him, but he knew he had to answer her,
plainly, even if he didn’t tell her the truth.

Will
shrugged his shoulders. He would have put his hands into his pockets, had he
had any pockets, but instead he ran a hand through his tussled hair and rubbed
the back of his neck. “I needed you, Mikayla.” He held out his hands in a
helpless gesture. It was the truth, even if it wasn’t the complete truth. He
couldn’t tell her the entire truth; she would never understand his grief and
the need to hide from it for just a moment in something that was so alive. She
would never understand to run from what and who he was.