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“Lord, no,” he said with irony and a great bark of laughter. “I’ve seen far too much. I’ve had too many prayers go unanswered.”
“So you don’t believe in God?” she asked.
“If there’s something up there, someone just and loving and kind… well, then why is there so much hatred and injustice in the world?”
“Because of men like you,” she answered before she could catch herself.
A flash of rage, then an injured look. Tense silence crept into the chapel, and for a passing moment, Blanchette felt an apology form on her lips. Within the quiet din, the rain picked up. Its rhythmic melody puttered against the stone walls. Thunder roared, low and ominous, like the growl of a great beast waking from its slumber.
“Rowan, I?—”
“I shall take that as my leave, Princess. I’ll be waiting without. Do your duty. Pray your prayers.” He was mocking her, she knew. He hung the torch in a mounted sconce, then departed from the chamber with those swift, confident strides, Smoke trailing him.
Emptiness rose around her. Blanchette released tears she hadn’t realized she’d been holding back. She collapsed to her knees and let them wash down her cheeks and neck. Bittersweet relief filled her. And within the solitude of her family’s chapel, she found she could not pray.
Perhaps she and the Black Wolf were more alike than she dared admit.
Good, she thought, as the tears dried on her cheeks and grew cold. I can also be a wolf.
* * *
Because of men like you.
Rowan allowed Blanchette her solitude and listened from outside the chapel while she sobbed. He sank to his knees, a strange knot tightening around his gut. In that queer moment, their despair became one. Sitting in the dark hallway, he leaned against the door’s iron-studded panel while a thousand haunting sounds and sights rose in his mind.
The ghosts of his past returned with a vengeance.
How would it feel to not suffer alone? How would it feel to hold someone, to whisper his darkest fears to another, and fall asleep in each other’s arms? He’d never had that. Not with his wife for the better part of their marriage. Nor with Kathryn years later.
“You’re here for me, eh?” he murmured to Smoke. Rowan wrapped his arms around the beast’s thick, dark neck and nuzzled his fur. He could smell the ash and maple wood and dirt and the musty Rockbluff River. He hugged him tightly and felt the wolf’s rough tongue on his cheek.
Minutes crept by. Blanchette’s sobs abated into soft cries and then silence. Rowan eased the door open to check on her. She was fast asleep on the stone floor, her pale cheeks stained with tears. Torchlight washed over the gentle curves of her body. The red riding cloak had fallen open to reveal a cream-colored dress. Beautiful and classic, much like Blanchette herself. The swell of her breasts blended into the material.
He knelt beside her as his heart rapidly drummed against his ribs. He bit at the fingers of his gloves and unsheathed his hand. It trembled in midair as he reached out. He held his breath as his palm lowered to her curls. They felt like silk against his skin. He couldn’t recall ever touching something so soft. She was beautiful and warm yet as strong as steel.
Rowan never cared about what others thought of him, yet as sudden as a storm, he couldn’t bear the fact that she detested him.
He watched her sleep. Whatever remained of his heart did strange flips. He felt foolish. Conflicted. Guilt-ridden. Yet he also felt at peace. Her lips moved as she slept on, murmuring incoherent words… pleas? Prayers? Curses? He lowered his head close to her own.
The warm rush of air from her breaths stirred his hair. A lush fan of lashes clashed against the whiteness of her skin; they were slightly darker than her hair, the tips a gilded bronze. She trembled in her sleep… from the nightmares or cold, he could not say.
A primitive longing triggered in him. One he hadn’t felt for years. One he damn well imagined he’d never know again.
He reached down and laid his hand across her chest. His palm tingled at the feel of her heartbeat. The desire to give her the warmth and protection of his own body frightened him more than he dared to admit.
Rowan stood and unfastened his cloak’s ties with fingers that shook. He swished off the garment, then knelt again, draping the cloak over her. He backed against the wall and stood in the shadows, watching her for several minutes without moving. A serenity came to him as she stopped trembling and relaxed into his cloak.
Then he watched as Smoke padded close to her. He lowered his muzzle and sniffed her hair and the cloak, taking in her scent, determining whether she was a friend or still a foe. Dizzyingly, he walked round in circles three times—then lay down next to her, fitting his body in the curve of Blanchette’s. He gave a human-like sigh and lowered his muzzle to the ground. Almost triumphantly, the wolf eyed him from the chapel floor before drifting off to sleep.
* * *
Blanchette stirred at the sensation of falling. She gave a thin gasp, then took in the chapel’s dimness. Groaning, she scrambled into a sitting position. Her wounded leg felt sore from lying on it. She tried to rub the burn out—and was met with the heavy fabric of Rowan’s cloak and that wolf.
She jumped up with a gasp. Smoke’s head jerked in alarm. He sat on his haunches, looking at her expectantly. His golden eyes shined in the dark chapel. The wall sconce had sputtered out.
Recalling her conversation with Rowan, she skimmed her fingertips along the fur-lined collar and wolf heads. Her dream came tumbling into her forethoughts. Her mother had stroked her hair, her fingers deft and compassionate and filling her with comfort…
How real it’d felt, she thought, her eyes connecting with the wolf’s steady gaze. The beast refused to break their melded stares.
