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pulse resonating inside him. Finally he understood what it meant to surrender to his heart. He trusted it would lead him well and followed the path set for him.
    Boom-boom…boom-boom…boom-boom…
    The Wolf ran all night without rest. The next morning, thin beams of light filtered through the woods of an ancient forest, but he didn’t slow down. He sprinted through the trees, following the sound of water rushing nearby. He knew he’d come to the end of the grove from the bright streaks of light through the trees. After the cold of the high hills, this valley was much warmer from a late Indian summer. The sudden change of light blinded him when he leaped from the trees. The Wolf stopped and found he ached everywhere. Once his vision adjusted, he became numb to the soreness in his limbs. He wasn’t alone. Beside the river sat Ella Bandita.
    The Wolf searched for her giant stallion, but he was nowhere to be seen. His mistress had her back to the woods, her fingers skimming the surface of water. For the first time, Ella Bandita appeared vulnerable. There was a slump to her shoulders while she stared at her re flection in the moving water.
    But seeing her again did away with the peace he had found during his night run, making him deaf to the beat of his heart. He could hardly suppress the growl rumbling in the back of his throat, rage pounding again in his hollow. The Wolf lowered his head almost to the ground and breathed in. Her honey musk was unmistakable.
    He was surprised she didn’t turn around. Ella Bandita must have been deep inside her thoughts, for she was utterly unaware of his presence. The Wolf found himself stalking her before he knew what he was doing, but he didn’t stop. Nothing could have been more natural for him. His hatred as a man united with his instincts as a wolf. His gaze fixed on the back of her neck and his mouth watered, anticipating his jaws around her throat. It would be such a pleasure to kill her; the Wolf was but a few steps away when a steady thudding in the ground grew stronger. Cursing the unknown rider, he fled, reaching the trees before she discovered him. He had been so close to vengeance. But now Ella Bandita stood, her eyes narrowed on the horseman coming from the other side of the valley. With no hesitation, the rider crossed the river at the low point, where the current was most gentle.
    The horseman was the kind of man the Wolf despised most. He was a dandy,
    sitting in his saddle in the posture of a peacock and completely dressed in dark purple.
    Even his boots and gloves were dyed to match his riding suit. The only relief was the white from his lacy blouse and the long feather fluttering from his oversized hat. His horse was a thoroughbred mare with a coat like polished onyx, which he reined in before Ella Bandita. Then he swept his hat with a flourish and bowed to her. She cocked one brow and smiled slowly, her large teeth gleaming.
    The Dandy was also a foreigner. Yet Ella Bandita answered him in his tongue, and beckoned him off his horse. Although he couldn’t understand the language, the Wolf recognized the hypnotic cadence of her speech and realized what she was up to.
    During the week he had followed Ella Bandita, the Wolf had never seen her rob a man of his heart. Watching the Dandy dismount with a theatrical sweep of his leg high over the horse’s rump, he snarled in disgust. Ella Bandita was ready for him. Her stargaze dangled from her fingers, the colors swirling around her. The Dandy would be lost the moment he turned around, but the Wolf’s first instinct was to do nothing. The Dandy was repugnant to him with his jacket and breeches fitting him with the intimacy of a corset.
    “If Ella Bandita steals his heart,” the Wolf muttered. “Then it will be one more away from mine.”
    Then the memory of the day he lost his best friend came to him, the moment when their disagreement reached a pitch that made his attack inevitable.
    “Wolf,” the Shepherd had said.