Code of the Wolf

“You’ve worked as hard as any two men combined. You need to keep up your strength.”

And why should he care about her strength? Why bother with such compliments when she had never shown the slightest indication that she had any use for them?

“You’re the one who’s been hurt,” she said.

“I can wait.”

He wasn’t going to back down, and she was too exhausted to argue. She hung the other rabbit on the spit and began to eat. She was far too hungry to be dainty about it, but Constantine didn’t pay the least attention.

He accepted the second rabbit and ate with remarkable tidiness. When he’d finished, he picked up the battered tin plates.

“We don’t want any coyotes bothering us,” he said with a slight, wry smile and walked out into the dark to wipe them clean in the sand. His words and that smile made it seem almost as if he was keeping some secret joke she wasn’t meant to understand.

Her temper flared again, and she was forced to acknowledge that her emotions were out of control. All the feelings she had tried to master over the past six years were bubbling to the surface, and Jacob Constantine was the one who’d set them to boiling.

But blaming him for her upset wouldn’t help her. She knew that her anger was a sign of her own weakness, a dangerous vulnerability, a painful reminder that she had yet to erase the brand Lafe Renier and his gang had left on her soul. As long as she carried that brand, she would be a prisoner to her past. And her pain.

She had always known there was only one way to conquer that pain squarely: stare it in the face and spit in its eye. Unfortunately, she hadn’t yet found the means to put that plan into action.

But there was something else she could do, here and now: refuse to give Jacob Constantine the satisfaction of knowing just how thoroughly he disturbed her. And she could learn as much about him as possible. If she understood him even a little bit, she would know how to deal with him, how to react, how to ignore him when it suited her. She would be able to defend herself.

From what? she thought. But she shoved the thought aside and considered what question to ask first.

“How did you become a bounty hunter?” she asked abruptly when he returned.

She’d asked him a similar question before, and he’d rebuffed her. She was prepared for the same reaction this time, but he surprised her.

“You’ve heard of the Texas Rangers?” he asked.

“I lived in Texas as a—” She broke off, took a deep breath and started again. “I have heard of them.”

Constantine pulled his hat over his eyes and stretched out on his back, supporting himself on his elbows. “I was a Ranger for ten years,” he said.

Most people would have considered that something to admire, but there hadn’t been Rangers around when the Reniers had attacked Serenity’s home, killed Levi and her parents, burned the house and taken her away.

She picked up a small stick and idly poked at the ashes. “What made you stop?” she asked.

“It was good work, but the time came when it just didn’t suit me anymore.”

“Why not?”

He turned his head to look at her, his eyes glittering red in the firelight like a coyote’s. “Everyone changes,” he said.

He returned his attention to the darkness beyond the fire, but Serenity had the feeling that he was listening intently to every breath she took. Gooseflesh crept up her arms.

“Are you good at what you do, Mr. Constantine?” she asked. “When you’re not being ambushed, I mean?”

“Jacob.”

The suddenness of his reply startled her. She’d deliberately provoked him, but instead of reacting with annoyance or anger, he’d offered her his Christian name.

Once she would have found such informality natural, as it had been among her kinfolk. But she knew she and Constantine could never be friends, let alone intimates. He must know that as well as she did.

And yet to refuse his request would be surrendering to the very fear she rejected. She had no obligation to reciprocate with a similar invitation.

“Jacob,” she said.

He nodded briefly without looking at her. “Yes, Miss Campbell,” he said. “I am good.”

It wasn’t just arrogance on his part. He was confident with good reason. She had seen how supremely competent he was, how at home in his own body, graceful and powerful at the same time. Never a wasted motion, like a wolf in pursuit of its prey.

“How many criminals have you caught?” she asked.

“As a Ranger, or a bounty hunter?”

“Both.”

“Maybe fifty or so.”

It seemed an incredible number, but she didn’t doubt him. “How many did you kill?”

His jaw set. “I don’t kill unless I have no choice.”

“Even when someone tries to kill you?”

“I defend myself like any man.”

“You would have killed Leroy, wouldn’t you?”

He gave her another of those long, flat stares. “If I had to. My aim is to take them in alive.”

“What happens when you deliver a wanted man to the authorities?”

“He’s tried by a judge and jury.”

“Have you ever arrested an innocent man?”

He looked away again. “Not that I know of, ma’am.”

Ma’am. It was a safe word, a respectful word, but suddenly she hated it.

“Serenity,” she said.

Constantine—Jacob—was silent for a time. “It don’t seem right, Miss Campbell.”

“You asked me to call you Jacob.”

“It’s not the same.”