Alanna (When Hearts Dare Series Book 2) (15 page)

“Fine,” Old Chinese said, surprising Wolf with his acquiescence. “We shall have one more lesson today. Tomorrow you will learn how to outrun pain.”

Wolf grinned. “Now there’s a lesson.”

“So, Wolf, let’s finish for today. Lunge for your partner’s waist with the intention of attacking her. Pay careful attention to her movements.”

Attack her? “Why?”

“Because it’s your last lesson of the day, that’s why.”

Wolf stepped forward.

“Stop.” Old Chinese grunted. “You move like some frightened kitten afraid of a mouse. Move with all the force and power you have. Attack!”

Wolf turned on his heel. “I can’t do this.”

Old Chinese scowled. “Why not?”

“She’s a woman.”

“Would you hesitate even if the woman was trained to kill and intended to?”

A memory of his mother being battered flashed through Wolf’s mind and shot through his heart. “I . . . I can’t.”

Old Chinese looked down his nose. “Are you afraid?”

Anger boiled, wiping out the memory of his mother. “It’s not in me to attack a woman, goddamn it!”

He didn’t know where Alanna came from. He only saw the flash of her hand as she struck his gut, knocking the wind out of him, and sending his senses reeling.

A hard smack of her foot followed and sent him flying across the room to land on the hard floor with a resounding thud. He lay where he fell, his shoulder pasted to the wood, unable to breathe. He tried to gather his sense of feeling, of direction.

He heard his own groan as he rolled onto his hands and knees, gasping. His hair, knocked from its tie at his nape, tumbled about his face. Ten men on a rowdy night in St. Joseph couldn’t have done as much damage.

But worse than the physical hurt was the utter sense of betrayal, of feeling cast out, of being made a complete fool. He staggered to his feet, still bent over, his hands clutching his gut, his ragged heaving for air the only sound in the silent room.

Slowly, he straightened. He remained still, hands on hips, face to the ceiling, until his breath flowed freely. Then he turned and headed for Alanna.

 

 

Gone was Wolf’s bewitching warmth and humor. The lethal blaze in his eyes pierced the distance between them, stunning Alanna. Fire and ice flashed imperious warning as he halted within inches of her.

“Don’t you
ever
try that again.”

A shudder slithered down her spine.

With a sneer, he turned and stalked to the room where his trunk full of clothing was stored.

Alanna turned to Old Chinese and met his accusing eyes. He stood inches from her, his head held rigid. “If you want to truly destroy an enemy, you do not kill him.” His carefully spoken words came low and guttural. “I have taught you this, have I not?”

Alanna nodded.

Old Chinese regarded her with contempt. “Instead, you remove his power. You demean him. You destroy all that he stands for within himself, and then you leave him to walk the earth in misery for the rest of his days.”

His voice was now of a deeper, more powerful timbre. “Why is it, Alanna Malone, that I invited a guest into my dojo and you, one of my finest students, turned on him? Treated him as the enemy?”

Alanna’s mouth dropped open.

“You fool. You shame me.”

Bewilderment dizzied her. “But he . . . he was afraid to act on your orders. You did that to me once, when I was afraid.”

“He was not fearful.” Old Chinese’s deep voice rattled through her. “He displayed his virtue.”

Alanna’s cheeks grew hotter. She waited, for he had not dismissed her. A door slammed behind her, followed by loud footsteps. She turned as Wolf strode past her and on to Old Chinese without a glance her way.

Gone was the gi. Wolf was sheathed in buckskins and wore an old pair of boots. He carried a heavy jacket. His demeanor was one of self-containment and resolute strength.

He faced Old Chinese. “And as for you, you can kiss my royal ass, you sorry little prick!” He strode past Alanna and Winston without a word, and disappeared down the stairs.

“What are you going to do about
that
?” Alanna demanded when Wolf was out of earshot.

“Do about what?” Old Chinese turned to her, his voice flat, hard.

Winston inclined his head to Old Chinese and backed out of the room.

She grew confused. “He can’t speak to a sensei like that.” Had Old Chinese turned on her?

“I am not his sensei,” he growled. “Wolf has not chosen me. I chose him.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “And he is right, Alanna. You had better
never
do that again. But you wouldn’t get the chance to repeat the act if you wanted to, so why do I waste words?”

Alanna sucked in her breath. “He’s leaving?” Tears filled her eyes.

“No. He will not leave. But you will never have a second chance to offend him because Wolf has something you do not yet possess—something that will not allow you to repeat your mistake.”

Alanna’s heart, taking on the burden of more confusion, wrenched in her chest. She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head.

“You have studied hard all these years. But that is all you have ever done. It is easy to be a student. You can only learn whether or not you are truly a master out there.” Old Chinese pointed to the window. “On your own, not here in my dojo.”

“But—”

Old Chinese raised his hand. “You have lived a very soft life. One filled with every convenience and comfort the world has to offer; you have never had to give a thought to expense. Wolf has not lived such a life as yours. He has learned to survive without so much as a single coin to call his own, let alone the knowledge of where one might come from. While you dressed in the finest clothing money could buy, with a servant to close every delicate button for you, Wolf was alone, searching for food to fill his hungry belly, content with enough clothing and shelter to keep from freezing. He has faced death and survived. You have yet to face life. You haven’t even proven whether you can survive your own stupidity.”

How could Old Chinese know all this about Wolf? From Thompson? Hot tears cascaded over her cheeks. “I don’t—”

“Do you honestly think you impressed Wolf with that aggressive male act you performed? Do you think he admires your expertise? Do you think he is awed by your disrespect and insensitivity?”

Alanna’s hand slid to her throat. She didn’t think she could manage to stand much longer.

Old Chinese’s eyes narrowed. “Wolf has lived and breathed Budo without knowing it.”

“How can you say that?” she sputtered. “He openly curses. He is rebellious. He flagrantly does whatever he chooses without a care for anyone else. And . . . and he is not virtuous.”

“Not virtuous? How do you figure that? Because
you
invited
his
hand up your dress?”

“I should never have told you about that incident.” His words smarted worse than a bee’s sting. “And as far as his lack of virtue is concerned, I base it on what I heard you tell him today regarding his intimacy with other women.”

“And he became your enemy because of that?”

Alanna’s confused emotions rolled through her like waves on a beach, swallowing reason.

“You reacted to your own fears of inadequacy, Alanna. There is a word for the emotion that prodded you into acting the way you did—it’s called jealousy.”

Old Chinese raised a hand, halting her words once again. “And don’t speak. I’ve grown weary of listening to you. Kenseido is the only place where you allowed yourself to go into the depths of your own senses. And then Wolf came along. He opened up a whole new world for you—of sensuality, of ecstasy. This new world frightens you, does it not?”

Alanna’s eyes found the floor in front of her toes. “I don’t think I want to experience ecstasy with a man who has experienced it with so many others.”

“Ha!” Old Chinese strode away, but then he paused and turned. “Your little world was shaken to its core today, wasn’t it? From the very first time you laid eyes on Wolf, you felt superior, as if you possessed a secret knowledge he did not. And your intention to amaze and impress him today was punctured like an inflated balloon when you found out you are not superior after all. Good. You needed that mighty lesson.”

More tears scalded Alanna’s flaming cheeks. The crumbling of her confidence was the greatest pain she had ever endured.

“What makes you think Wolf has experienced true ecstasy with a woman?” he demanded.

She swiped tears from her eyes and tried to see through her tangled, wet lashes.

“There is a vast difference between experiencing something sensual with a woman and experiencing ecstasy. The latter means to surrender completely,” he said. “Which is something Wolf has never allowed, because in order to do so, he would have to go to a level of intimacy that threatens his very life blood.”

“I don’t understand. You told him that he’d achieved the female energy with women when he . . . that—”

“Hush!” Old Chinese scolded. “His having a go with a near stranger is not an intimate act at all. That kind of sex has energy, but it is low-grade. Bedding women like that has been just enough to keep him going, to keep his spirit from suffocating from loneliness. Why would you deny him the touch of a female under such circumstances, little fool?”

Alanna began to pace. “How can you say such a thing? Having the kind of intimacy he’s experienced . . . with other women . . . in his bed—”

Old Chinese crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not intimacy. Wolf is far more likely to take off his clothes in front of a stranger than he would be willing to let down his defenses with someone he loves.”

Alanna didn’t care that her tears wouldn’t cease. Her shoulders rose in a gesture of question. She thought she saw compassion leak through Old Chinese’s harsh regard. She hoped so.

He studied her before he spoke. “Our friend is ill at ease with human contact. It is difficult for him to be intimate—he has too much to lose.”

“But why?”

“Because—” His voice softened. “He has suffered a great loss. And whatever his loss was, it was profound and still vivid. If you will get out of your own way and watch him closely, you will see for yourself what I know to be true. Today I was beginning the slow process of taking him back to where he needs to be, to help him heal, to learn to trust again.”

Her chin trembled. “And I destroyed all that?”

“There are two lessons you had better learn, Alanna. One of them is that he hasn’t given you the power to destroy him. The other is the trust you destroyed by kicking him across the room when he allowed himself to be fully vulnerable to you.”

Old Chinese walked to the window and peered for a long while into the woods. “If you
ever
expect a man to truly love you, then you had better learn there is only one woman in the world he will ever want to show his soft underbelly to, and that is a woman he can trust.” Old Chinese whirled, seizing her gaze with his. “And by God, Alanna, if a man is willing to be vulnerable to you, to trust you enough to show his underbelly to you, then you had better
never
go at it with a sword!”

Alanna caught her breath. Devastation was fast consuming her. All the years of study, all the levels she had worked so hard to reach, and he was telling her she knew nothing.

“You said he has something that I do not possess.” Her words quivered in her throat. “What would that be?”

“He has a sense of humor. You have none. That, Miss Alanna Mary Malone, is another of his virtues. Humor helps him survive.”

She winced as Old Chinese continued. “You heard the man call me a derogatory term on his way out the door. He has made a connection with me—with this place.” His hand swept the room. “If he never intended to return, he’d have left without a word and never looked back.”

Alanna’s hands shot to her mouth, covering her gasp. She threw her arms around Old Chinese and hugged him tight, her cheek to his chest. She laughed and sobbed simultaneously.

“Wolf is in the woods,” he whispered. “Go before the Thompson carriage is ready for you.”

 

 

A raw wind bit at Wolf’s cheeks. He leaned his back into a tree and gathered its energy the way the Dakota had taught him. He moved into a place of nothingness. No thought. No action. Just the simple act of watching puffs of mist escape his lips.

Brown grass. Stark trees. There was a kind of nothingness to the fall season that made it special in its own way—nothing to obstruct his thinking—nothing to stand in his way. Soon, this blank landscape would give way to an entirely new world—one blanketed in white. He liked the way snow insulated the earth from noise.

He still had not dared to go beneath the surface of himself, to examine his feelings for Alanna. He couldn’t even go deep enough to try to figure out the why of things. What he did know was that in spite of what had happened, there remained an inescapable, underlying gentleness in his feelings toward her.

A crush of leaves—a roar in the silent wood—resounded in his ears. How did he know it was her? Was it the length of her stride? The soft crunch beneath her feet—too heavy for a child, too light for a man? Or was it that he seemed to be able to feel her presence no matter what?

The rough bark dug harshly against the back of his head. Somehow, its jagged hardness soothed him. He could sense her. He knew what the look on her face would be. And he knew she observed him, watched his unmoving stance.

Suddenly, he wanted her to come to him. More than he wanted to breathe, he desired her presence. Yet, he wondered why the wisest part of him would send such an unproductive message. He thought of leaving before she could reach him, but he could not bring himself to move. A wild shaft of pain tore through him, but it did not obliterate his wanting her.