The Heart of the Lone Wolf (11 page)

“How can you be so naïve, Wanderer?” she said, scowling at him. “If I accept, the only thing ahead of me is death, and a humiliating one at that.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“I would be arrested, thrown into prison, and then hung.”

The Wanderer remembered the Lawmen who had come to their camp. He could

still see them prowling around their tents, their bloodless faces, and their weapons shaking in their hands. His hollow ached when he realized Ella Bandita was right.

“Can you picture the spectacle it would be, Wanderer?”

Her voice was soft, yet she still pierced through the chaos of stolen hearts. With his heart in one hand, Ella Bandita stretched her arms out and turned in wide circles as she continued.

“A mob of ladies and gentlemen dressed in their finest, all of them gloating as I walk to the gallows. Can you see their faces, Wanderer? See them throwing their rot at me? Do you hear the shouts of jubilation when the hangman slips the noose around my neck and kicks away the chair? Do you think any would look away, much less leave before I’ve twitched my last?”

The cadence of her speech was mesmerizing. The Wanderer stood motionless, staring at his heart beating in the hand of Ella Bandita while those in the tower pulsed at his back. She stopped spinning and dropped her arms.

“So Wanderer, is that what you call redemption?”

Before he could answer, the Shepherd spoke up behind him.

“You have to atone for the evil you’ve done.”

“The evil I’ve done?” she retorted, nodding to the tower. “Are you trying to be funny, Shepherd? Perhaps I was their divine comeuppance.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“Stop speaking nonsense and I won’t. Just listen to that racket. Do you think any of those came from a decent human being?”

In response, the Shepherd looked pointedly to the heart in her hand. Ella Bandita rolled her eyes and sighed.

“I’ll admit the Wanderer isn’t the worst sort of man. But he’s not the best either.”

“You’re right,” the Wanderer interrupted. “But if you give me a chance, I will be.”

Both Ella Bandita and the Shepherd started and turned his way, their eyes wide with surprise. They’d forgotten the Wanderer was there. He suddenly realized his friend and his nemesis must know each other very well. Their bickering held the rhythm of familiarity. Before he continued, he prayed silently for the Shepherd’s forgiveness for what he was about to do.

“If you were to live with me as…” the Wanderer paused. “If you were to be my wife, then the law would never find you.”

Ella Bandita froze, her eyes wide and staring, her mouth dropped slightly open.

Then she shook her head and blinked. Her face cleared, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“Your impulse is generous, Wanderer,” she said. “But I’m going to decline.”

Her tone was not unpleasant. But she sounded amused and rage surged in his hollow again. Ella Bandita peered into his face and raised her brows.

“Spare me your wounded pride, Wanderer. Did you really think I would say yes?”

“I don’t know what I expected, but I think I deserve better than ridicule.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” she replied. “I think you’re very kind and I hope you don’t find insult in that.”

Ella Bandita had her arms folded across her breasts, her eyes as cold and blank as ever when she met his gaze. The Wanderer looked at the Shepherd again. But he found neither jealousy nor censure in the clear green eyes, only a deep sorrow and understanding. The Wanderer turned back to Ella Bandita and shook his head.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. “You have nothing to lose.”

“No, I don’t,” she said. “But you do, Wanderer.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You can’t know the law wouldn’t find me in the guise of your wife. And if they did, you’d hang right beside me.”

“I believe that risk is my choice.”

“But it isn’t mine,” she said. “Besides, what if you fall in love? How would you feel if you couldn’t be with the woman you want because you’d be burdened with the woman you don’t?”

“I don’t think…” he trailed off, and flushed. “It’s not that I don’t care about you.”

“Exactly,” she said, grinning with mischief gleaming in her eyes.

The Wanderer started to protest but she held up her hand. Her gaze shifted to the Shepherd, and her expression grew tender as she looked on him for a long moment. Then Ella Bandita glanced at the black velvet bag and reached inside. Closing her eyes, she stroked her heart before resting her hand there.

Suddenly, the air was perfumed with the aroma of lilies and the call of mourning rang from a soprano with the clarity of a silver bell. The Wanderer held his breath, recognizing the voice from his dreams. But Ella Bandita’s brows knit together and she dropped her head, hiding her face from view. When she looked up again, remnants of tears were in her eyes.

“I’d like to thank you, Wanderer, for bringing my heart back to life. But I made my choice a long time ago.”

Her voice was choked and she looked away from him. The fragrance of lilies drifted off and the lilting soprano faded away as her fingers slipped off the heart in the bag, her hand falling to her side. The Wanderer looked at her other hand, then to Ella Bandita.

“Do you really want to eat my heart?”

“No. Of course, I don’t.”

Her voice was soft, but the Wanderer knew she still had the craving. He could see it in the controlled set of her mouth, in the muscle twitching in her jaw. He reached out to comfort her, but she glanced at the hand on her shoulder and pulled away. Then Ella Bandita turned to him with a pleading in her eyes that tore him apart, the same vulnerability she had as a child looking at her father desperate for him to see her.

“There must be something you need,” he said. “Just tell me what it is.”

“If you must know, Wanderer, I want you to take my heart as your own. But if you prefer to have yours instead, I’ll give it back to you.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” she retorted. “I sold my heart for a change of destiny and I will continue to live that destiny, just in a different way.”

“Please don’t do this,” he murmured. “Just take back your heart. We’ll find a way

—”

But Ella Bandita shook her head and held up her hand. The Wanderer glanced at the Shepherd, but the anguish in his friend’s face made him turn away. He couldn’t stop staring at his heart in the hand of Ella Bandita. Even over the cacophony of angry pulses, the Wanderer could still distinguish its unique timing and its deep tone. He thought about all he went through to get it back.

Boom-boom…boom-boom…boom-boom…

He felt the heart beating inside the black velvet bag, his awareness reaching out to those in the tower, begging him to not make the worst mistake of his life. But he shut them out and listened to the one in his hands. The pitch was higher than his, but the tone was pleasing to hear.

Boom-boom…boom-boom…boom-boom…

Then the Wanderer listened to them beat together. He liked the rhythm his heart made with hers and their sound was harmonious, their pulses playing off each other. The music they made flowed through him and soothed his hollow.

Boom-boom-boom…boom-boom-boom...boom-boom-boom…boom-boom-boom…

The Wanderer listened. The eternity of life was in their song, celebrating the wonders and perils of love and lust, friendship and loss, joy and sorrow, rage and grief.

Together, his heart and the heart of Ella Bandita told the story about giving into temptation, the intoxication of power and the grace that can only come through forgiveness.

Boom-boom-boom…boom-boom-boom...boom-boom-boom…boom-boom-boom…

When he looked at her again, Ella Bandita was impassive, waiting for him to decide. He wondered if she heard the siren song of their hearts, but he would never know.

Her eyes were still the coldest he’d ever seen.

Boom-boom-boom…boom-boom-boom...boom-boom-boom…boom-boom-boom…

The Wanderer nodded. Ella Bandita turned to the Shepherd and gestured for him to give back her crystal stargaze. After the Shepherd dropped the necklace in her hand, she stepped close to the Wanderer, pressing the black velvet bag over the hollow where her heart would reside.

The composed detachment finally slipped from her expression. Ella Bandita was pale, her eyes glistening when she looked at the Wanderer. He glanced to the crystal stargaze in her palm, its facets already glinting. The sun was a hand’s width into the sky, its light diffuse through a thin veil of clouds.

“Wanderer, are you ready?”

He saw fear in her gaze, and knew his decision was everything to her.

“Yes, I’m ready.”

“Good,” she whispered. “All you have to do is breathe.”

Ella Bandita turned her palm over and freed the crystal stargaze. Its kaleidoscope of colors twinkled and spun around the Wanderer. The ground wavered beneath his feet, as the hearts in the tower shrieked. The Wanderer ignored their protest, breathing in the rhythm of Ella Bandita. His inhale was slow, taking in the air she pushed from her lungs, and he allowed himself to be swept away, floating in a swirl of dazzling lights. The Wanderer could feel himself dissolving and was not afraid; the lightness was like nothing he’d ever experienced. He surrendered and became nothing, while the harmony of his heart and hers echoed inside his hollow. He didn’t know the exact moment it happened.

But the screaming tower suddenly fell silent and the whirlwind of colors went out. The earth was solid again and the Wanderer was full where he had been empty. He closed his eyes to listen to the heart beating inside.

Boom-boom…boom-boom…boom-boom…

He opened his eyes and saw his heart lying motionless in the hand of Ella Bandita, as quiet as those in the tower. The black velvet bag had slipped between his fingers and fallen empty at his feet. Ella Bandita picked it up and dropped his heart inside, averting her eyes while she pulled the gathers and looped the bag around her holster. Her expression was guarded when she finally looked at him.

“I can bury it if you like.”

“That’s fine with me,” he said. “But tell me, has your craving gone?”

Ella Bandita appeared startled at the question. She stepped back and observed the Wanderer for a few minutes. Her brows furrowed until her face cleared. She smiled at him.

“Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, it has.”

She stepped closer, tentative when she reached her hand out. The Wanderer glimpsed the young girl she must have been before her heart died. The girl who had loved the Horse Trainer who had come as a vagabond and the woman who had tried to spare the Wanderer from the predator she had become. Softness pulsed inside him as he looked at her, flooding him with an affection and tenderness he’d never had for anybody. He took her hand and brought it to his chest. Her features softened and her fingers pressed where she felt his heartbeat.

“Good,” she whispered. “That’s very good.”

Then the Wanderer reached for Ella Bandita, pulling her close and wrapping his arms around her. She resisted, but he held on. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, and, brushing the loose strands from her brow, kissed her there. Ella Bandita melted, turning her head to rest her ear against his chest. Her breath warm when she sighed, her fingers tracing where his pulse was strongest.

“Thank you, Wanderer,” she whispered.

Their parting was languorous, hands caressing limbs falling to their sides. The Wanderer rejoiced to see her eyes sparkling. With affection in her smile, she stepped away from the Wanderer and turned towards the Shepherd. The Wanderer had forgotten his friend was with him.

Ella Bandita was swift to act. Dangling her crystal stargaze, she set the colors whirling around her one last time. Then without warning, Ella Bandita threw her stargaze to the air. Its essence exploded and colors catapulted in all directions, a storm threatening to engulf those who stood within its center. The Wanderer dared not breathe within the tornado of lights blinking and swirling. The maelstrom was more dazzling than as it spun around him and his friend. Somehow, the Shepherd caught the crystal in its fall. But the Wanderer saw he was disoriented. The Shepherd weaved in place until he shook his head and looked around, searching for Ella Bandita.

But she was gone. The Wanderer already knew from the searing pain in his breast.

The tide of grief was sudden and urgent, making his knees buckle. Sobs wrenched from deep inside him dropped the Wanderer to the ground. The earth rumbled beneath him from the running of a giant stallion and its rider leaving them behind. His heart squeezed.

The ache made it dif ficult to breathe and the Wanderer shook so hard, he thought he must break apart. Closing his eyes, he put one hand over his chest. But the heart inside him beat on.

Boom-boom…boom-boom…boom-boom…

This heart was different. He tried to remember the one he gave up, but no images came to mind. All he could feel was the beat of the heart inside him. It was burdened with a sadness he’d never known, but also carried a purity he’d never possessed. Breathing slowly, the Wanderer surrendered to his new rhythm.

Boom-boom…boom-boom…boom-boom…

He opened his eyes to the tower abandoned by Ella Bandita. The structure loomed above him, its tawny pink hues glimmering in the light of early morning. The Wanderer dug his fingers deeper into the canal of his throat. The pulse was reassuring. His heartbeat was gentle against the tips of his fingers while silence echoed from the tower.

THE END