A Safe Harbor: Building Sanctuary, Book 1

by Moira Rogers

  “Shh. I’ve got you.” Gentle hands skimmed her back, grasped her shoulders. “I’ve got you.”

  “I can’t—” The air burned as she gasped in a breath. It was too cold to be naked on the forest floor, and numbness followed pain. “I can’t feel anything.”

  Seamus rubbed a hand over her leg, carefully skirting her wound. “Whatever he did worked. You tore your stitches, but you’re healing.”

  He didn’t understand. Joan clutched at the leaves and dirt as her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed. “I can’t feel anything.”

  “The broken bonds?” His hand stroked her skin again. “It’s for the best, Joan. It’s like you told Dubois.”

  “I have to go back.” Pain shredded through her as she pushed to her knees. “We have to leave.”

  “Joan.” He watched her with knowing blue eyes. “You did the right thing.”

  Her own words drifted up. You have to cut her loose. Opal was probably dead now—a quick, merciful death instead of one prolonged by energy that wasn’t her own. It was too easy to call to mind the girl’s round, cheerful face and her bright green eyes. Nineteen years old and in love with life, if a little too fond of men for her own good.

  And now she was dead.

  If Joan thought about it, she’d scream until her throat bled. “I need to change back. I can’t run fast enough like this.”

  Seamus released her and moved back. “Take it slow.”

  She didn’t have a choice. That spark of magic inside was barely a flicker, and no matter how many times she grasped for it, the change eluded her. Tiny discomforts began to intrude—the knowledge that she was naked in front of a man, that the ground was cold and her body had begun to shake. Each one made it harder to concentrate until tears flowed and her fingers scraped helplessly against the ground.

  In the end, she could only climb to her feet and ignore the biting chill of the wind against bare skin as she started back toward the farmhouse on unsteady human legs.

  Magic flared behind her, and Seamus trotted past her, once again wearing his wolf form. He didn’t look back, and he didn’t run ahead. Instead he gave her company without sacrificing the tiny shreds of her dignity, and through the pain and the weariness, something warm unfurled in her chest. Gratitude, or even hope.

  An impossibly long road lay ahead of her, too many challenges before she’d know she’d found sanctuary for the people in her care. But maybe—maybe—she didn’t have to do it alone.

  Seamus tucked one last duffel into the trunk of his car and glanced at Adam and Gavin. “This it?”

  Adam nodded, but his gaze was fixed on the window. In the encroaching darkness it was hard to make out the outline of all the people squeezed into the back of the car, but Joan’s profile was clear. Her hand stroked soothingly over the hair of the woman next to her, a pregnant young wolf fairly trembling with nerves.

  The wolves had grown stronger, but Adam’s presence seemed to be fading. Seamus could hardly sense any magic at all as the vampire turned his back on the car, his expression bleak. “Help her. She’s strong, but she’s so damn young.”

  There was no reason to argue. “They all are.”

  “I know.” Adam’s voice dropped to a rumbling whisper. “If you hurt her, I’ll find you and tear you apart.”

  It was to be expected, the warning before Seamus drove off with a handful of Adam’s charges. That the vampire would focus on warning him off Joan made sense. “I don’t plan to hurt anyone, and that’s the best you’re going to get.”

  Oddly, Adam smiled. “That’s all I want. Joan doesn’t need me to drive away romantic suitors. I could never do it as ruthlessly as she does. Stay in the caves until nightfall tomorrow. If Gavin and I don’t show up by then…”

  “We’ll head straight for Philadelphia,” Seamus reassured him. “Though I’d rather you didn’t get my friend killed.”

  “I’ll do my best not to.” Adam pivoted and strode along the side of the car to tap softly on the window next to Joan’s head. She rolled it down, and their soft whispers drifted back to Seamus’s ears.

  “Got everything?” Gavin asked him, drowning out the low, tired sound of Joan’s voice.

  “I think so. Shouldn’t take us long to reach the caves, and we have the supplies we need.” Food, water…and weapons. Just in case.

  Gavin clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Be careful.”

  “You be careful, old man.” It was an old joke that had found its genesis in their younger years, when no one had believed Seamus was five years Gavin’s senior. “Crazed alpha wolves and vampires?”

  “We’ll be fine.” His friend’s smile was steady, even. It belied the angry roil of power beneath his calm facade.

  Seamus punched him on the shoulder. “Give ’em hell.”

  The soft slam of a car door cut through the silence. Seamus followed the noise and found Joan ushering a curvy little blonde and a thin, tired-looking man into the backseat. They squeezed in somehow, but it left Joan with nowhere to sit. She closed the door and met Seamus’s eyes for the briefest second before circling the car to the front passenger side.

  Seamus nodded to Adam as he moved to the driver’s door. “Remember what I said.”

  Adam patted the top of the car. “We’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  Seamus climbed behind the wheel. “Everybody settled?”

  Joan sat in the middle of the bench seat, a sleepy young woman leaning against her right side. After slipping an arm around her companion, Joan glanced at the wolves in the backseat. “I think we’re ready.”

  Seamus turned the key in the starter, and the engine rumbled to life. “We’ll be on the road for a couple of hours. Everybody just speak up if you need to stop.”

  No one replied, not even Joan, whose arm brushed his as she arranged the already dozing woman more comfortably against her shoulder.

  They all seemed drained. He made it no more than five miles before the first quiet snore rose in the back of the car. The tense press of magic began to ease over the next few miles, until even the men had calmed somewhat.

  Only Joan refused to relax. She sat stiffly next to him, her body held carefully, as if to keep all contact to an absolute minimum. As the moon brightened, he noted that a gentle blush crept up her cheeks every time she accidentally touched him.

  “Forget about the kiss,” he urged her quietly. “You were helping me, that’s all. I don’t expect—well. I understand.”

  It shouldn’t have been possible for her to stiffen further, but she made a good attempt. “I’d already forgotten. It was hardly memorable, was it?”

  It was too defensive to be an honest reaction. “You’ll have to forgive me, darling. I wasn’t at my best.”

  “If you say so.” She kept her voice as soft as his, and no one in the back moved or made a sound. Judging by the steady, even breaths, he and Joan were the only ones awake—or the only ones willing to acknowledge they were.

  The question needed answering. “What have you all been doing with yourselves out here? Hiding away from the world?”

  “Hiding away from other werewolves,” she countered. “Most of the people here weren’t safe in the Boston pack.”

  “But they were safe with Dubois?”

  “Don’t be insulting.”

  Seamus sighed. “I’m not being insulting, lady. I’m asking.”

  “We weren’t just safe. We were happy.” She shifted positions, clearly restless, and the movement pressed her hip against his. This time she didn’t jerk away, though she didn’t move closer, either. “There were some…unusual arrangements between some of the men and women, but no one did anything he or she didn’t want.”

  “Unusual arrangements?” He fought a smile.

  The color was back in her cheeks, brighter than ever. “Nothing as unusual as the gossips would have you believe. I’ve heard some of the rumors. They’re absurd.”

  “Are they?” He would never let on that he’d heard them, not to her. “Do I wa
nt to know?”

  Joan stared straight ahead. “I suppose that depends on what sort of man you are.”

  She’d already convinced herself he was the worst sort, and there would be no changing her mind. “Relax. I don’t listen to idle gossip.”

  It seemed to relax her a little. “Thank you. The girls are…” Her voice dropped, barely a whisper. “Before they came here, many were coerced into indiscretions. Some were even forced. It’s hard to listen to callous judgment of them, knowing what I do of their former situations.”

  “I also don’t judge women for surviving.”

  “Then you’re a rare man.”

  “Maybe I am.” He didn’t really think he was, but the belief had obviously made it easy for her to fall into Dubois’ arms.

  A distressed whimper pierced the tense silence, and Joan turned away to soothe the girl beside her with quiet murmurs and a gentle rush of power.

  It didn’t matter how young Joan was; even the older girls looked to her for guidance. “If anyone needs anything, you’ll have to let me know. I doubt they’ll tell me themselves.”

  “Probably not. It’s not personal. It’s just…” She trailed into uncomfortable silence, then sighed. “Adam only told me you’re a friend of Gavin’s, and Gavin is a friend of his. I don’t know anything about you, or what you know about the Boston pack and how things are there.”

  And there was no way to put her at ease with the truth. “I tend to stay clear of Boston these days.”

  She tilted her head to study him, the weight of her gaze tangible. “Trouble with the pack?”

  “Trouble with the law.”

  “Caves.” It was barely a whisper, and more a thought given voice than a question. “Of course. I’m quite a little fool, aren’t I?”

  “How’s that?”

  That cool, disapproving tone was back. “It explains why Adam always had the very best liquor at his disposal. One of his more prominent vices.”

  Seamus grinned. “And you don’t approve of drink, I gather.”

  “Not particularly. It turns men into fools and werewolves into animals.”

  He’d always been of the opinion that lack of self-control did both. “I see.”

  She slanted another of those long, searching looks at him. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful,” she said finally, the words almost tentative. “I appreciate your help, and the help of your associates. I don’t need to approve of your…career.”

  “You certainly don’t,” he agreed. “I hate to disappoint a lady, the truth is that Gavin and I used to be involved in such activities. Not anymore.”

  “So what do you do now?” She sounded honestly curious.

  “This and that. Investing, mostly. I didn’t lose much when the market went belly-up.”

  “Then you’re fortunate. I heard my family lost everything.”

  But she didn’t know. He filed that away. “How did you wind up with Adam?”

  “One of the wolves from Boston. She had a—a friend. A witch. The witch knew Adam.” Her crisp, proper words had begun to slur a little, fatigue softening her voice and lending it a husky undertone. “Maggie had it hard in the pack, and I had…troubles. A lot of us did.”

  She was so exhausted she was about to fall asleep. “So you left them behind and made your own way.”

  “Mmm. Astrid had a plan. Astrid’s our witch.” Her head tilted to the side, bit by bit, until her temple rested atop the girl’s head. It was a vulnerable position, one that left the smooth column of her neck bared to him, her throat unprotected.

  Her skin looked pale, soft. The urge to taste her took him by surprise, and he dragged his gaze back to the winding road in front of the car. “Rest, Joan.”

  “It’s okay. I’m awake.”

  He swallowed a chuckle. “You’re sleeping.”

  “I’m tired.” It escaped as a whisper, a confession. “I’m so very, very tired.”

  She could have been speaking of her physical exhaustion, but Seamus doubted it. Not with those shadows darkening her eyes as much as the hollows beneath them. He tightened his hands around the steering wheel. “I know, honey. I told you. I’ll help.”

  She didn’t reply, but she didn’t need to. Her breathing evened out and the last of her restless power settled as she fell asleep. She either trusted him, at least a little, or she was too damn exhausted to care.

  As much as he wished for the former, he’d bet on the latter.

  Chapter Three

  Something about the vastness of the ocean had the power to heal.

  Joan cradled a battered tin cup in her hands more for the lingering heat than out of any desire to taste its contents. It barely qualified as coffee, though she couldn’t complain. Having coffee at all was something of a miracle, considering the rugged conditions in which they’d found themselves.

  The wind whipped over the water, bringing with it a sharp bite and the overpowering scent of brine. Everything smelled different this far from civilization. Sharper. Cleaner.

  Wilder.

  “It’s beautiful, especially at night.” Simone’s lilting voice drifted from behind her, carried on the breeze. “Nothing like the city.”

  “No, I suppose it isn’t.” Joan turned and studied her friend in the glowing moonlight. “Is there trouble?”

  “No, not at all.” Simone dropped to the sand beside her, looking more like a tomboy than the once-celebrated debutante Joan knew her to be. “Everyone is settling in. Your friend has stocked the caves well. We shouldn’t want for anything, except perhaps a bath.”

  They had almost a day before they could expect to hear from Adam or Gavin. Endless hours of tense, unsettled waiting. “What about the men? No challenges?”

  A hint of color crept over Simone’s pale cheeks, and she shook her head. “It’s been very calm. Quiet.”

  Joan was hardly in a position to ask probing questions, not when she’d fled the confines of the cave to escape the electric shock of magic that trembled through her every time Seamus stood too close. “Quiet is good, I suppose. Everyone needs their rest.”

  “Mmm.” Simone hunched down into the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “It’s chilly. Do you want to share this?”

  It made her smile. “Of course. Scoot on over.”

  The blanket was large and coarsely woven, and Simone settled it around both of them. “How long until we hear from Adam?”

  In her darkest moments, Joan thought they never would. It was suicide, sending two men into the midst of the Boston pack, but it would have been even more reckless to drag a group of timid, traumatized subordinate wolves with them.

  If it had been anyone else, Joan would have come up with a soothing lie, but Simone was the closest thing she had to a contemporary, a confidante, now. “I don’t know. If we don’t hear anything by tomorrow night, we’re going south. Far enough to find someplace safe to go to ground.”

  The girl nodded. “Seems like they’ve got it all planned out.”

  “For now.” Until they ended up in a strange city with no friends and hardly any resources. The small stash of cash she had on hand would secure them food and shelter for a month or two, but not even the tiny hoard of gold or the depressingly meager stack of mature bonds hidden away in her suitcase would sustain them for long. They had too many mouths to feed in a time when so many were already going hungry…

  If she thought about it too much she’d scream, and it wasn’t even the most immediate problem. She’d seen the wariness in Seamus’s eyes as he set his men to guard the perimeter. He didn’t believe they’d escaped cleanly any more than Joan did, and that, at least, was a consolation. The criminal element might make her uncomfortable, but if anyone could keep them hidden, it would be men whose lives consisted of hiding.

  Simone grasped her hand. “It will be fine, Joan. It will.”

  Strong as she was, even Simone needed reassurance. Joan forced a smile and curled her fingers tight around her friend’s hand. “I know it will. It’s just been a long
few days, hasn’t it?”

  The redhead turned her face toward the sea. “With everything that’s happened, even before the attack, that is one way to put it.”

  Joan judged a change in subject would do them both good. “How’s Elise? Did they manage to make her comfortable?”

  “I don’t think anything short of delivering the baby is going to help at this point.”

  Another worry to add to the considerable list. Joan felt the weight pressing on her more acutely than ever, and this time not even the soothing repetition of waves lapping against the shore could still the panic in her heart. “We’ll deal with that when we have to. How closely did you pay attention when Mary had her son?”

  A hint of Simone’s normally cheerful smile curved her lips. “Closely enough to know the process mostly takes care of itself.”

  The girl’s unfailing optimism was simultaneously exhausting and endearing. This time Joan didn’t have to struggle so hard to find an answering smile. “Well, then, I suppose there are some advantages to being werewolves. You’ll keep an eye on her for me, won’t you?”

  “Of course I will. Will you—”

  The crunch of boots on the rocks behind them interrupted Simone’s words. Seamus stood there, his hands in his pockets. “I don’t mean to intrude.”

  Joan hadn’t sensed his approach, which signified either a frightening level of inattention or something more insidious—the possibility that her wolf had already judged him as safe as Simone. “You’re not intruding. Is something the matter?”

  “No, I…” He cleared his throat. “Just wanted to make sure you were doing all right.”

  Simone slid out from under the blanket and rose. “I’ll check on Elise.”

  Traitor. Hard as she tried, Joan couldn’t catch Simone’s eyes before she made her escape, leaving Joan alone with a handsome werewolf and fiercely embarrassed that her own thoughts betrayed her by affording him such a telling adjective.

  There were plenty more where that came from. Strong. Dangerous. Enticing. The silvery light of the moon slanted across the strong lines of Seamus’s face, giving him a rakish look. Turning him into the sort of darkly romantic hero that would likely have all the girls aflutter.