Heart of the Winter Wolf Read online

  Still, it was disconcerting to be dreaming about the wolf at all. The dream had certainly warned her of impending changes to her life before Connor offered her this job. But now that she was here, shouldn't the dream disappear?

  Even the rugged beauty she encountered during her hike couldn't shake the thoughts from her mind. Why was she still having the wolf dream? And why so frequently? As she sat gazing out at the river valley below, Jillian wondered if she should call up her old counselor, then dismissed the notion with a snort. It had been years, years for God's sake, and Marjorie was probably not even there anymore. And what would she say to the woman? Help me, I've had a few dreams? Actually, they're really good dreams. It's just that there's a lot of them and....

  "Okay, maybe not," she said aloud. "Let's save the counseling for someone with scarier problems." But maybe thinking of Marjorie could be helpful just the same. What would she say about all this? "She'd probably tell me to consider anything that's different in my life." Well, that was a no-brainer--only everything. New job, new digs, new town, even a new part of the country. New people, new boss. New equals change equals s-t-r-e-s-s. No matter how positive all these new things were, they still caused stress.

  "Simple." Jillian felt much better. Now she had something tangible she could point to. "It would be amazing if I wasn't having dreams." Just ordinary stress, pure and simple, due to a huge list of new things to get used to all at once. And that meant that as she became accustomed to her new life, the dreams would stop.

  So why didn't that satisfy her? Truth be told, she'd miss the white wolf, even if he was only a dream. His appearance brought her a feeling like no other, a powerful peace. Warmth radiated from the enormous wolf as if from a banked fire, a warmth that relaxed and replenished.

  Jillian sighed and turned her attention back to her camera and shot several frames of the stunning landscape. The light was slanted now, tingeing the shadows with gold and gilding the river. Her stomach tried to remind her that she hadn't eaten since breakfast, but she didn't want to reach for her energy bars right now. All she wanted was to get some photos and head back down the hillside before dark. The scolding of a red squirrel made her start and turn around. "What?" She laughed. "What's the matter, am I too close to ...." Jillian trailed off as the evening sunlight suddenly illuminated a stony plateau behind her. "How did I miss this? It's almost as beautiful as the view." She must have bypassed it when she came through the brush and trees on the west side, focused only on gaining a vantage point of the valley below. Jillian rose and slowly made her way around the wide, flat-topped boulders that formed a rough circle, a circle with a floor not of earth or stone but soft reddish sand, a testament to ancient seas. Tall spruce marched right up to the edges of the stony ring but did not enter it, only stood as sentinels around it. No brush grew in the center of the plateau, but a few charred bits of wood suggested there had been a recent campfire in the sand. She hopped up to sit on one of the bigger rocks, and swung her feet like a first-grader on a grown-up's chair. The stone was warm beneath her hands, and she was tempted to stretch out on it. But the sky was deepening to amber, and she knew she ought to leave while she could still find her way back.

  She packed her camera away and hefted her backpack. She'd taken no more than a step when one of her water bottles came loose, bouncing and rolling off among the rocks. Swearing, she chased it down and reached to retrieve it, but her hand froze in mid-air. Prints. Three perfect paw prints in the sand and several partials. Large. Deep. Dog-like yet elongated. Wolf.

  Chapter Four

  She sat on her heels and just gazed at her find for a long time. Wolf prints. There were honest-to-God wolves living here. Giddiness and a bone-deep reverence mixed chaotically within her as she unpacked her camera and strained to find an angle that would give enough contrast. Only after she'd shot several frames did her excitement allow her to realize something unusual about these prints. The sand sparkled slightly as Jillian traced the outline of one print with her finger in wonder. It was more than merely large. Including the claws, it was as big as her entire hand. Nothing she had ever read, nothing she had ever seen, had prepared her for the sheer size of the animal. Jillian knew some Alaskan wolves could top 175 pounds. But this creature? The hair on the back of her neck prickled as she found a quarter in one of her pockets, set it by one of the untouched paw prints as a size reference and shot the last of her film.

  Jillian scanned the ground around the rocks and quickly discovered dozens more prints. All were on the large side, but there were enough variations in size to indicate several wolves, likely a pack. The sand revealed plenty of shoe prints too, also of varying sizes. She identified no less than five distinctive treads, from assorted sneakers and hiking boots. But the prints were all mixed together and she was unable to discern which had come to this spot first, the humans or the wolves.

  Probably the humans, she thought. If they had a fire, they probably had food. And if there had been food, perhaps the wolves had simply followed their noses and checked it out after the humans left. Jillian's stomach reminded her once more that it was empty. She straightened, blinked, and realized she'd been squinting at the prints. The light had faded considerably. It was past time to leave.

  She put the camera away quickly, fastened the errant water bottle to her pack, and set off down the hill the way she had come. As much as she wanted to hurry, the thick brush wouldn't permit it. The game trail was narrow, crisscrossed with other narrow trails and fallen trees. Nothing looked familiar in the fading light and she had to concentrate to choose the right direction, focus to place her feet carefully. One wrong step along this steep, rugged path and she would have a lot more to worry about than the dark.

  * * * *

  What kind of woman runs after a wolf?

  James was no closer to answering that question than he had been many hours before when he had paused in the clinic loft, two bounds away from the open window, and listened to the human calling after the white wolf. He had been startled to find the woman up and around so close to dawn, but more surprised by her reaction when she spotted him. She should have been terrified, should have been screaming. Instead she had stopped still, remaining quiet until he melted back into the darkness--then had plunged forward in a vain attempt to follow him. She acted as if she knew the wolf, but how could that be? There was something else too; something in her voice had almost compelled him to--what? Answer her? Reveal himself? He didn't know. The woman had gone room to room then, switching on every light, searching.

  He wasn't surprised when she didn't check the loft. After all, it was fifteen feet above the ground floor and accessible only by a vertical ladder. A wolf couldn't climb it, and she had no way of knowing that what she pursued was not a wolf and that the ladder was no impediment to him at all. The stack of bales outside, from which he had initially leapt, was more than thirty feet from the loading door of the loft. Only a very large tiger might cross such a span. Or a Changeling.

  Now as then, James felt a strange disappointment tugging at his senses, almost a regret that the woman had not found him. Who are you? Why do I know you? Within his lupine body, James chuffed out a breath in frustration. And why do I care? The angle of the fading light told him it was time to hunt, that deer would be on the move. Weary of human thoughts, human concerns, he relaxed into his wolf nature and disappeared beneath it.

  * * * *

  "What a tourist I am!" Jillian berated herself for not bringing a cell phone, for not paying more attention to the time, for traveling in the bush alone, for not bringing at least a chocolate bar with her. Two chocolate bars. Maybe three. The energy bars she'd brought tasted terrible. She made a long mental list of the things she was going to do to be more prepared for the next hike, because as difficult as the trail was, she simply had to go back to that rocky plateau, had to see if the wolves would return. Was it part of their territory or were they just passing through?

  The sun was long gone. Stars were pinning a deep indigo sky,
and a full moon was floating just above the horizon. It had climbed enough to glimmer through the trees and lay a broad swath of light over the surface of the river when Jillian finally found the marked hiking trail. Compared to the goat path she'd been traveling, the graveled corridor was like a wide paved highway, level and free of overhanging brush and fallen logs. It promised easier, faster travel in spite of the darkness. She was still two and a half, maybe three, miles from the truck she had borrowed from the clinic, but at least now she had a direct route.

  The flashback broadsided her without warning.

  It might have been the crunch of gravel beneath her feet, or the rustle of leaves in the trees, the scent of the river, but whatever the trigger, she was suddenly on another trail by another river. Phantom images, sounds, even smells burst vividly upon her senses. Jillian stumbled forward and fell to her knees, skinning them both right through her jeans. She rolled and sat, but clasped her hands to her head rather than to her wounds. "Don't close your eyes, don't close your eyes. You're not there. It's not real. It's over. Jesus, it's over, it's over and you're okay. You're okay." She spoke slowly, deliberately, coaching herself until the shaking stopped. "It's a different place and a different time. I'm not back there, I'm here. I'm here and I'm okay." I'm okay, I'm okay.

  But she wasn't, not yet. She rocked back and forth in the gravel. "My name is Jillian Descharme and I'm a licensed veterinarian and I'm okay. I'm thirty-two years old and I'm in Dunvegan, Alberta and I'm okay. Nothing is threatening me, nothing is wrong, I'm okay." She drew a long shaky breath and rubbed her runny nose with her sleeve like a child. "I'm okay. Jeez! Jeez goddamn Louise!" She was cold, freezing cold, her clothes soaked with sweat and her skin clammy, but the fear had her by the throat and she couldn't move. She had to think of something fast, something to help her break away from this terror, break out of this inertia or she'd be here all night. And then it came. The image of the white wolf--the memory, the dream, flowed into her, warmed her like brandy. Jillian clung to that mental picture like a life preserver in rough seas, let the wolf's unspoken words "Not alone. Here with you." fill her mind and calm it.

  She rose at last on trembling legs and cursed as her knees made their condition known. The sharp stinging cleared the last of the flashback from her head however, banished the nausea from her stomach. She stood for several moments, hugging herself, hands rubbing her upper arms. She sucked in great lungfuls of the cool moist air until she felt steady again, and took a few tentative steps along the dark path--but had to resist the impulse to run flat out. If she ran, she might never stop.

  "Think of the white wolf, think of the white wolf." Calm, she had to be calm. Take big breaths. "Walk like a normal person. It's okay to walk fast because I'm busy, got things to do, places to go, people to see, but I don't have to run. I can walk because nothing's wrong, I'm okay." She was in control. She would stay in control. As she walked, however, she couldn't stop her senses from being on hyper-alert. Her eyes flicked rapidly from side to side, searching the darkness, her ears straining to hear any rustle of leaf or snap of twig. She noticed the tiny brown bats that dipped and whirled in the air above her. She noted the calls of night birds, of loons settling and owls hunting. A mouse hurried in front of her, crossing and re-crossing the path. A few moments later, a weasel followed it, all slinky rolling motion. Jillian was keenly aware of everything--the blood pounding in her ears, the sound of her footsteps in the gravel, the liquid sounds of the nearby river--but not the tree root bulging up through the path.

  She yelled in surprise, then in pain as her knees hit the gravel again. She rolled to a sitting position, cursing the sharp stinging and her own clumsiness--hadn't she just successfully negotiated a rugged game trail down a steep hillside for heaven's sake? She couldn't see much even with the moon's light, but a quick examination showed both knees were bleeding, her jeans in shreds. She cursed even more as she picked out a few obvious shards of gravel, but cleaning and bandaging were just going to have to wait until she reached the truck. At least it wasn't anything worse. Annoying, damn sore and embarrassing, but not a broken ankle or snakebite. Her eyes strayed to the underbrush in spite of herself--there weren't any poisonous snakes this far north, were there? "Good grief!" Jillian yanked her mind firmly away from that train of thought and was pondering if it was possible to stand without the use of her knees when she heard the howl.

  She sat bolt upright as if an electric current had suddenly passed through her, every hair on end, every sense alert. The call came again, closer. Deep, primal, long and low. Drawn out and out and out, an ancient song, mournful yet somehow sweet. When it fell silent, Jillian felt as if time itself had stopped. And she found herself straining to hear the song again, fascinated, even as her brain told her to run and instinct told her to freeze.

  The moon was higher now. The pale light filtered down through the trees and laid a dappled carpet of silver on the stony path. There was no wind, no breeze. Jillian held her breath, listening, watching, but all was still. Her heart was pounding hard enough to hurt with both excitement and fear. Normally she would love to get a glimpse of a wolf in the wild, but the idea was a lot less attractive when she was alone in the dark. There were few recorded incidents of wolves attacking humans and none of wolves killing humans, but all the data in the world wasn't very reassuring when she was sitting here bleeding. Immediately she wished she hadn't thought of that. It was just a little blood, but she struggled to get the image of a wounded fish in a shark tank out of her head.

  A movement at the edge of the path beyond seized her attention. A pale shape emerged from the shadows, seemed to coalesce in the moonlight and grow larger until it was a vivid white creature of impossible size. Jillian's heart stuck in her throat as the great wolf slowly turned its massive head and stared directly at her.

  Oh, Jesus. She had studied wolves more than any other wildlife, but only from books and captive specimens. Wolves don't attack humans, she reminded herself. Wolves don't attack humans--but there had been that one case in Saskatchewan. She gritted her teeth and sat perfectly still, afraid to breathe as the wolf began to slowly move in her direction. The creature approached within ten feet, then abruptly sat on its haunches and stared at her.

  It was enormous. She swallowed hard, realizing if the wolf attacked there would be nothing she could do. Nothing. She wouldn't even manage a scream before it was on her. Not one bit of her martial arts training would help, especially when she was sitting on the ground. Nevertheless she scanned the ground with her peripheral vision for anything she might use as a weapon. Her fingers inched towards a rock, closed around it as the wolf rose, took a slow step towards her, into a pool of moonlight. Instantly its snowy fur gleamed and its eyes were ... its eyes were....

  Blue.

  Jillian felt as if the air had been knocked from her body. The rock rolled out of her palm. Trembling, shaking, she reached a tentative hand towards the animal. "You. It's you," she choked out. "Oh, my God, it's you, isn't it? You're real."

  The wolf closed the gap between them and licked her outstretched fingers. Omigod, omigod. She couldn't move at first, both enthralled and terrified--until the animal nudged his head under her hand like a dog asking to be petted. Jillian moved her fingers lightly across the broad skull, scratching hesitantly at first. Then fear fell away, and she worked both hands behind the sensitive ears, into the glossy ruff. The wolf stood panting mildly, the immense jaws slack and the great pink tongue lolling out in apparent pleasure. Jillian had no illusions about the animal's power--it might behave like a big dog but those jaws could easily crack the leg bones of moose. Those teeth could tear out the throat of a bull elk in full flight. And as surely as she knew those facts, she knew the wolf would not hurt her. It wasn't sensible. It wasn't logical, but the certainty was core-deep. Instinct? Intuition? Insanity? She didn't know and suddenly didn't care. The wolf held steady as Jillian wrapped her arms around its great neck and buried her face in its thick white fur. "I thought I dreamed you. Yo
u came to me. You came when no one would come, but they all told me I dreamed you because no one saw you but me. And I looked and looked for you, but I couldn't find you."

  Here now. Found you.

  The voice in her mind was real. The fur beneath her hands and face was real. The heat radiating from the wolf's body was real. Her voice hitched as joy overwhelmed her. "You're in my dreams all the time. I'm so glad that you're here, that you exist." And that she wasn't crazy. Although her rational brain told her there was certainly something crazy about being in the forest at night, hugging a giant wolf. But she couldn't think about that right now. She had this moment in time and she had things to say. "I owe you a lot. You don't know how much you've done. You saved my life all those years ago, but you saved my sanity too. When things were hard and horrible, and I didn't want to face them, I thought of you and it helped me get through. I got through the hospital and the counseling and the therapy and came out the other side, because of you." She wiped her cheek on the soft fur, but couldn't stop the tears. "I thought I was done then, I really did. But after a while I felt like it wasn't enough to be alive, that I hadn't really survived until I started living my life again. And you helped me do that, too. I thought about what to do with my life and it was so plain to me--I wanted to work with animals, work with wolves. Because of you, I found that dream inside me. You did that for me, and I can't tell you how thankful I am, how grateful I am that you were there for me. Even now, just handling ordinary life, I feel like I'm never really alone."

  Not alone. Here with you. He nuzzled and licked at her hair, then lay down beside her. Gradually the tears subsided, and Jillian tumbled into an exhausted sleep with her arms still around the wolf's neck.

  * * * *

  He couldn't remember who she was. Within the body of the wolf, James struggled to understand how her scent could be so familiar yet her identity elude him. All he knew was that she was important. Vitally important. In her presence, both his wolf and human natures were strangely in accord, balanced. Almost at peace. As she slept, he had nudged her to softer ground by the side of the trail as he would do for a cub. He had even felt compelled to try to heal her injured knees as he would do for a packmate. Yet she was neither cub nor packmate. Not a stranger. What was she?