Free Enchanted by Nora Roberts

glass of wine first, but decided that would be weak.
    She took off her reading glasses, set them aside. Slipped a bookmark into the pages, closed the book. And stared at the phone.
    It was terrible to dread calling people you loved.
    She put it off just a little longer by neatly stacking the books she’d bought. There were more than a dozen, and she was still amused at herself for picking up several on myths and legends.
    They’d be entertaining, she thought, and wasted a little more time selecting the one she wanted for bedtime reading.
    Then there was wood to be brought in for the evening fire, the soup bowl to wash and carefully dry. Her nightly scan of the woods for the wolf she hadn’t seen all day.
    When she couldn’t find anything else to engage her time, she picked up the phone and dialed.
    Twenty minutes later, she was sitting on the back steps, the backwash of light from the kitchen spilling over her. And she was weeping.
    She’d nearly buckled under the benign pressure, nearly crumbled beneath the puzzled, injured tone of her mother’s voice. Yes, yes, of course, she’d come home. She’d go back to teaching, get her doctorate, marry Alan, start a family. She’d live in a pretty house in a safe neighborhood. She’d be anything they wanted her to be as long as it made them happy.
    Not saying all of those things, not doing them, was so hard. And so necessary.
    Her tears were hot and from the heart. She wished she understood why she was always, always pulled in a different direction, why she needed so desperately to see what was blurred at the edges of her mind.
    Something was there, waiting for her. Something she was or needed to be. It was all she was sure of.
    When the wolf nudged his head under her hand, she simply wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face to his throat.
    “Oh, I hate hurting anyone. I can’t bear it, and I can’t stop it. What’s wrong with me?”
    Her tears dampened his neck. And touched his heart. To comfort her, he nuzzled her cheek, let her cling. Then he slipped a quiet thought into her mind.
    Betray yourself, and you betray all they’ve given you. Love opens doors. It doesn’t close them. When you go through it and find yourself, they’ll still be there.
    She let out a shuddering breath, rubbed her face against his fur. “I can’t go back, even though part of me wants to. If I did, I know something inside me would just … stop.” She leaned back, holding his head in her hands. “If I went back, I’d never find anything like you again. Even if it were there, I wouldn’t really see it. I’d never follow a white doe or talk to an eagle.”
    Sighing, she stroked his head, his powerful shoulders. “I’d never let some gorgeous Irishman with a bad attitude kiss me, or do something as fun and foolish as eat cookies for breakfast.”
    Comforted, she rested her head against his. “I need to do those things, to be the kind of person who does them. That’s what they can’t understand, you know? And it hurts and frightens them because they love me.”
    She sighed again, leaned back, stroking his head absently as she studied the woods with their deep shadows, their whispering secrets. “So I have to make this all work, so they stop being hurt and stop being frightened. Part of me is scared that I will make it work—and part of me is scared I won’t.” Her lips curved ruefully. “I’m such a coward.”
    His eyes narrowed, glinted, and a low growl sounded in his throat, making her blink. Their faces were close, and she could see those strong, deadly white teeth. Swallowing hard, she stroked his head with fingers that trembled.
    “There, now. Easy. Are you hungry? I have cookies.” Heart hammering, she got slowly to her feet as he continued to growl. She kept her eyes on him, walking backward as he came up the steps toward her.
    As she reached the door, one part of her mind screamed for her to slam it, lock it. He was a wild thing, feral, not to be trusted. But