by Moira Rogers
As if she wasn’t one of them. The animal inside stirred, filling her with a fierce, uncontrollable yearning. She had to avert her gaze, and even that wasn’t enough to completely eliminate the husky undertone when she spoke. “I just needed a few moments to collect my thoughts.”
“Would you like me to go?” he rasped.
She told him the truth because she didn’t know what else to do. “I don’t know. Would you like to stay?”
He didn’t answer right away. He nudged at the rocks underfoot with his boot. “Are you holding it together?”
“I’m not screaming.” Yet. And that was the seductive danger of his presence. It had been so much easier to hold things together when she knew she had no choice. The wind picked up again, slicing under her blanket and cutting through the bulky layers of her clothing until she shivered and gripped the blanket tighter. “I want to, though.”
“We could run for a while.”
Yes yes yes. Her wolf, and more a feeling than an actual thought, but she pushed it back ruthlessly. “I shouldn’t. I need to stay close.”
“Ah.” Seamus squinted at her. “Victor can handle things for a while. And your friend—what’s her name?”
“Simone.” Who had blushed when mentioning Seamus’s men. “I know it may seem foolish to you, but I’d feel better if I was nearby.”
“Not foolish,” he countered. “If that’s what you want.”
“Foolish because that’s not what I want.” Bitterness welled up inside her, and she closed her eyes as the words spilled out, low and laced with her guilt and shame. “I’ve put on a magnificent act, don’t you think? Fooled everyone into believing I’m a leader? All I want to do is run away.”
His hand fell to her shoulder, heavy and solid. “If you didn’t want to run, I’d think you were touched in the head. You’re not running, and that’s the trick. Staying to lead even when you want to hide away.”
“Is that it?” He was so warm, and her wolf wouldn’t be denied that comfort, not if they were trapped in human form and bound to stay close to their people. Her arm crept out without permission, holding the blanket open in shy invitation. “Would you like to sit?”
He sat. After a slight hesitation, he pulled the blanket around his body. “Thank you, Joan.”
“You’re welcome.” He was warm…but he wasn’t touching her. Mere inches felt like a boundless chasm she could never cross, even if she desperately wanted to. It wasn’t what she’d expected at all, not from the man who’d had no problem taking her mouth while others watched.
Of course, she could hardly be surprised he wasn’t interested in doing so again. She didn’t know how to kiss, and a man like him wouldn’t have missed such a detail. In her ignorance, she’d proved herself every bit the frigid, prudish spinster Edwin had once sworn she’d become.
Seamus watched her, his gaze an almost tangible weight. “I know this must seem like cold comfort, but you’re doing well.”
It seemed a tiny bit condescending, but for all she knew he was twice or even thrice her age. Picking a fight with the only ally she had seemed petty and childish, so she accepted the words as she imagined he meant them. “Thank you. This…is not the life I expected to lead.”
“Does anyone?” He blew out a breath. “I’m upsetting you.”
“A little.” She looked away, back out toward the ocean with its dark, frothy waves and untamed expanses. “But it isn’t personal. Being upset with you is easier than thinking about the choices I’ve made.”
He laughed softly, though the sound held no mirth. “Be as angry with me as you want, then. As long as it serves a useful purpose, I can take it.”
“Are you sure? I’m told I’m impossibly tedious when I’m whipped into a frenzy of moral outrage.”
“Nothing about you is tedious.”
Her kiss certainly had been. She’d agonized over it plenty in the intervening time, fighting to convince herself she’d made a logical decision for the good of her people. Embarrassment made it easier to rationalize—obviously she’d been sacrificing herself for the greater good. If she’d truly wanted to kiss him, she wouldn’t have done such a terrible job.
It amused her that she could still cling to pride when she had nothing else. Or maybe that was why she clung so fiercely, as if she could rewrite history if she replayed the events enough times in her head.
A pointless diversion. She’d kissed him.
She’d wanted to.
She still wanted to, and it had nothing to do with saving her people or herself. Even now just turning to look at him stoked that hunger, primal and oddly confident considering her sad lack of experience.
Something dark flashed in his eyes, and Seamus lifted one warm hand to her cheek. “You’re looking at me like you want me to kiss you.”
“Am I?” The words came out sounding breathless and foolish. Hungry, and she was—so, so hungry for his touch. Enough that she leaned into his hand to feel the rough texture of his fingers against her cheek.
“You are.” He bent his head closer to hers. “Do you?”
Years of self-denial stretched out behind her, and her future held the same grim certainty. Inside, her wolf whined in protest, and for the first time in her life Joan didn’t fight it. Here under the stars, with the ocean as her only witness, she could have one moment of selfishness.
So she didn’t answer in words. Perhaps her clumsy kiss would inspire as little interest this time as it had last time, but she’d know she’d had the courage to try. She closed her eyes and found his lips with her own, savored the soft warmth that filled her at even the gentlest contact.
But it didn’t stay gentle. Seamus groaned, pulled her closer and licked her mouth. “Let me in, Joan.”
It became impossible to separate the gentle noise of waves breaking on the sand from the roaring in her ears. She grasped his shoulder, twisted her fingers in his vest as she let her head fall back. “I don’t know what to do. Tell me.”
“Open.” His thumb brushed her lips and applied the barest pressure to her chin. “Open your mouth.”
She did, and moaned when his tongue swept inside. She’d never allowed herself to consider the parts of sex that came between chaste kisses and the act itself, an act her wolf found appealing. Left to her own devices, the animal would have her on her stomach already, hips raised in offering for a joining that had always struck Joan as unappealingly savage.
Seamus’s kiss wasn’t savage, but it was demanding. His tongue slicked against hers, twisting pleasure and need into a tense ball that tugged at her with every stroke.
Too soon, he broke away, panting. “Sorry. That was…”
“A real kiss?” Oh, how breathless she sounded. Dazed, too, which would have stung her pride more if she could have dragged her gaze from his mouth.
He smiled suddenly. “A real kiss, that’s for goddamn certain.”
She wasn’t ready to face the depressing realities of the world again. Not yet. This time she knew what he wanted and gave it to him, her lips on his, her mouth open and eager. The taste of him enchanted her, as did the rough scratch of stubble against her skin.
His hand slid around to the back of her head and held her still while his tongue tangled with hers. Then his mouth skimmed her cheek. “Joan.”
If she kept her eyes closed, she could pretend the world began and ended with their tiny little cove. “Yes?”
His next words broke the spell. “Someone’s coming.”
Seamus heard only one person, on foot, moving quickly and quietly but not sneaking. He rose and put Joan behind him as Victor ducked around the wide trunk of a precariously leaning tree. “We got trouble. A mile out and making a lot of noise. Don’t think they’re expecting much of a fight here.”
“Damn it. Get everyone who can’t fight into the big cave, the one with the narrow passage through the back.”
“Already on it.” Victor’s gaze flicked to Joan and back almost too fast to mark. “I sent all of her people there. A
few of the men are mostly healed up, but I figured they’d make a better last line of defense.”
Joan stepped around him, her back stiff and her shoulders set in a stubborn line Seamus was already beginning to recognize. “How many?”
Victor glanced at him, clearly unsure if he should answer. Seamus stared him down. “They’re her people. Answer the lady.”
That earned him a tiny frown, and a slightly disapproving one for Joan. “Guy thinks there’s only a few of ’em, based on the noise, but he’s gone back out to try and get a closer look in case there’re more coming in.”
“Did he describe them?”
“Wolves, Miss Fuller. They were wolves.”
If Joan heard the undercurrent of exasperation in his voice, she gave no sign as she pivoted to look up at Seamus. “Do you have enough men to deal with the threat?”
He nodded, already gathering the blanket into his arms. “Unless they’re armed with something more mystical than guns or teeth.”
She hesitated, her indecision obvious in the tight set of her jaw and the uncertainty in her eyes.
He gestured to Victor. “Put them all in the small chamber. We’ll block it, and if the fight gets to be too much, they can come out and help us.”
Victor nodded and spun sharply. “I’ll get it moving.”
Seamus tucked the blanket over his arm and grasped Joan’s shoulders. “It’s just to be safe. If we can’t handle it…”
“I can fight as a wolf,” Joan whispered, clutching at his arms. “I’ve won challenges. I had to, to survive. If you need me, if you need help at all…” Her fingers tightened, and he knew how much the next words meant to her. “Protect my people.”
He kissed her one last time, a quick promise more than anything else. “Can you run like this?”
A wild heat rose in her eyes before she pulled it back with obvious effort. “As fast as I need to.”
“Then come on.”
The run back was quick, but it took long enough for Seamus to go over the possibilities in his head. Most of them weren’t good—they could be outnumbered, easily overwhelmed—but he forced himself to stay as calm as possible. Joan would be able to sense roiling power, and it would needlessly scare her.
She was already scared enough.
To her credit she didn’t show it. Not a hint of her fear upset the serene, confident expression she fixed in place when they reached the caves. He could almost see her power twisting in as she gathered reserves from God knew where and squared her shoulders. “If you need help…”
“Go, Joan.” A very personal sense of urgency compelled him to guide her toward the narrow opening in the back of the cavern. “Try to keep everyone calm and quiet.”
“I will.”
As soon as Joan was out of easy earshot Victor appeared at his side, eyes narrowed. “She’s trouble. You’ve got that look.”
Seamus avoided his gaze as he stripped out of his vest and shirt. “What look?”
“The one you always get when you see some sweet little society dish.” Victor’s vest hit the ground. “Believe me, Whelan, she’s not worth the trouble. I know her type.”
“That so? Enlighten me, Victor.”
“Alpha bitches are all the same underneath. Don’t know how to give an inch even if their damn fool lives depend on it.”
As if Victor would do anything differently. “So she’s got plenty in common with both of us, then.”
Dark brown eyes glinted angrily in the thin light from the moon. “It’s our job to protect them. Women like her spit on everything that’s good about who and what we are.”
Women like her were doing the best they could. Seamus wrapped one hand in the front of Victor’s shirt. “I know you mean well and you’re a good man, but if you don’t shut your face, I’m going to pummel you.”
Victor outweighed him by twenty pounds of muscle, but the angry power roiling inside the other man couldn’t eclipse his own. Victor’s mouth tightened as he held up both hands in clear defeat. “She’s all yours.”
“No, these people are all hers, and she wants to keep them safe. Surely you can respect that.” Seamus turned to where Norman stood, watching the beach and woods beyond from the mouth of the cave. “Anything yet?”
“No sign of Guy,” the man drawled, “but he’s keepin’ watch.”
“There might have been time to—” A piercing howl rent the night. Warning. “Get ready.”
Victor cursed and shucked his pants. Norman undressed just as fast, and magic swelled as both called on their wolves, the change flowing over them in a ripple of fur.
His wolf senses were far keener than his human ones, and Seamus could hear the snarls and snaps of the approaching attackers. There could be no more than a handful, few enough not to pose a problem.
Guy burst out of the trees first, a large white wolf with gray markings who darted past the cave just slowly enough to be seen before cutting back around to come up from the intruders’ left flank. Norman shot in the opposite direction, paws silent on the rock-strewn ground as he disappeared into the trees.
The strong black wolf who was Victor stayed at Seamus’s shoulder, tense and ready. This close, the trampling through the woods sounded like even fewer paws, and he wondered if they planned to attack in waves, one after the other.
Then the wolves broke out of the trees. There were only three of them, a large wolf flanked by two smaller ones. Seamus dug into the rocky sand and headed for the middle wolf.
It wasn’t much of a fight. The largest wolf stumbled when they got close enough to feel the angry roil of Victor’s power, and one of the smaller ones skidded to a stop and turned tail, bolting back into the woods. Seamus didn’t spare him another thought; Norman and Guy would head him off.
The remaining interlopers didn’t run. The larger lunged at Seamus, jaws snapping, but desperation and fear hung heavy enough in the air to choke them both.
Seamus fought only long enough to drive the wolf to the ground, then backed away, trusting that Victor would guard him. When he was far enough away, he dropped to his haunches and resumed his human form. “Who sent you?” he rasped.
The large wolf snarled at him. The smaller one whimpered from his spot on the ground in front of Victor. He was the one who changed, magic responding sluggishly and so slowly that his transformation looked agonizing. When it was done a young blond man knelt on the ground, eyes wide and terrified. “We were just supposed to get the girl.”
Joan. “It’s only the three of you?”
The boy shivered as a cold wind cut through the trees. “It was just supposed to be a bunch of women. They told us—”
Another snarl, and the large wolf lurched to his feet, gathered to pounce on his companion. Victor barreled into the wolf’s side, knocking him back to the ground, and bared his teeth.
Seamus had to push down his own rage in order to ask, “They told you what?”
A choked noise ripped free of the blond boy, and he lowered himself closer to the ground. “I didn’t have a choice. Lancaster told us not to touch the leader, b-but he said we could…”
He looked sick, which matched how Seamus felt. They had orders not to touch Joan, but watching them assault those in her care would hurt her in ways that far exceeded any physical threat. “What about Samuel, the alpha in Boston?”
The boy didn’t answer. Joan did, her voice soft but carrying easily through the still night air. “He’s in debt to Lancaster. As long as Edwin holds the purse strings, he makes the decisions.”
Her presence in the face of danger sent a shaft of protective rage splintering through Seamus. “You were to stay in the cave,” he growled.
“William is no danger to me.”
Seamus could mark her approach by the soothing rush of magic as she stopped just behind him, leaving him between her and potential attack in spite of her calm words. “The one on the ground, however, is. He’s one of Edwin’s lackeys. A man with a taste for terrified girls.”
Victor sn
arled. Soon, there would be no holding him back, not with that knowledge burning in his gut. “Take the boy and clean him up, Vic.”
The young man—William—flinched, fear in his scent and in his eyes. “I don’t know anything else. I swear.”
Joan stepped forward again, her arm brushing Seamus’s. “He’s not going to torture you, William. No one here blames wolves for doing what they must to survive their alphas.”
Victor wouldn’t hurt him, though probably not for lack of motivation. “Vic?”
Magic ripped through the clearing as Victor shifted forms, his change flowing over him with a speed only one born a werewolf enjoyed. He stayed crouched on the ground, his gaze fixed on the remaining wolf. “This one doesn’t deserve mercy.”
He didn’t, but he also didn’t deserve the death Victor would give him, either. “The boy?” Seamus prompted.
Victor rose. “On your feet, puppy.”
William looked like he might piss himself, but he obeyed. Then he looked at Joan. “I—I remembered one other thing.”
She started forward, but Seamus held her back with one arm. “What is it?”
His gaze shot from Joan, who was bristling, to Seamus, and apparently judged Joan to be the less intimidating party. “There’s a compass. It’s with our clothes, a few miles back. Lancaster had it enchanted so it always leads to you.”
More magic, and it lifted the hair on the back of Seamus’s neck. He looked at Victor. “Maybe the wizard Guy knows can do something with that, if we can get in touch with him.”
Victor curled a hand around the boy’s arm. “Take me to where you left the compass.”
The remaining wolf snarled and lunged for Joan, teeth bared and ready to snap. Years of fighting, of honing reflexes already sharpened by the wolf inside, spurred Seamus’s reaction. He grabbed the wolf’s head, unmindful of those snapping teeth, and twisted quickly, cracking his neck.
William staggered, and might have hit the ground if Victor hadn’t dragged him bodily toward the woods. Joan simply stared at the prone wolf body, face impassive in the silvery moonlight. “Are you injured?” she asked Seamus finally.
