Undertow: Building Sanctuary, Book Two

by Rogers, Moira

“I’m not an enigma.” She shrugged. “I’m a simple woman, really.”

  “Then perhaps I’m a dense man.”

  “Never.” He was lovely, and another swell of guilt rose in Simone. Even if he claimed to have hopes for the future, not expectations, it would be cruel to let those hopes linger. “James…”

  He changed the subject again, this time with a forced smile. “I received a message from England in the last batch of correspondence from the mainland. I’ve been waiting for a good time to tell you, but I suppose I had to think about it first. It’s shocking, really. Do you know the wizards and wolves in England have reached a tentative truce?”

  She was glad she’d already lowered her cup, or she might have dropped it. “They’ve been at war for centuries.”

  “I know.” A smile played about the corners of his lips. “A fondness for werewolves must run in my family. My uncle is heavily involved in the negotiations, and one of my cousins as well. They’ve been asking me to join them, as I have some understanding of the benefits of an alliance.”

  Her chair fell back as she rose to round the table and throw her arms around his neck. “James, that’s wonderful!”

  His arms came around her, steady and warm. “I’ve already told Joan and Seamus. I’m leaving in the spring. I hadn’t mentioned it before because…I want you to go with me.”

  She’d suspected that, if their relationship deepened, he would want her with him when he left, but she’d never imagined it would be for such a reason. To accomplish such things.

  Then Victor’s face flashed through her mind, his lips set in a firm frown. “I don’t know if I can. They might need me here.”

  “They’ll need you this winter.” James’s hand settled at the small of her back. “You make them feel safe, make them believe that the hard times will pass. And the hard times will pass, here.”

  “But not magically, once winter lifts. Spring will be harder, in some ways.”

  “Perhaps,” he acknowledged quietly. “Though I asked you for reasons not entirely selfish.”

  What could those possibly be? She bit back the question. “Why, then?”

  He leaned back. “Things are dire in Europe. They’re building a sort of…refugee community. Wizards and wolves who can’t fight anymore. Who want to try to live together.”

  Simone pulled her chair around the edge of the table and sat. “To set an example?”

  “To prove it can be done.” James nodded to her. “You’re proof. We’re proof.”

  “Breckenridge Island, you mean?”

  “And what you were doing out at Adam’s,” he murmured. “Wolves, a vampire…and a witch.”

  Realization dawned. “You’re talking about Astrid.”

  “Yes.” He brushed her hair back from her face with gentle fingers. “Her father is the senior wizard involved. While he didn’t exactly approve of what she was doing here, they corresponded. She often wrote to him, telling him about her friends and her activities.”

  Astrid had been a dear friend, a cheerful girl whose ready smile had hidden a core of strength on which they’d often relied. “She told him about me?”

  “About your gift.”

  “Astrid told him I had a gift?”

  His hand grazed the side of her neck and withdrew. “The way you make people feel at ease. It’s not a trait Gunnar—Astrid’s father—had ever associated with wolves, and it intrigues him.”

  “It’s not magic, James. Not like what you do. It’s just about…talking to people.”

  “Sometimes that’s a magic all its own.”

  Even if the wizard had only asked for her because of her connection to his dead daughter, her treasured friend, there was still much she could do. “I don’t know.”

  “It isn’t important that you decide now. Think about it. And if your people still need you in the spring…” He shook his head. “I couldn’t have come to care for you so quickly if you were the sort of woman who would abandon those depending on her.”

  The complimentary words were enough to make her squirm with conscience. He looked as if he knew her reasons went beyond those she was willing to share, but he didn’t push.

  Perhaps he’s afraid of what you might say. It made sense—too much sense. After all, wasn’t that exactly why she had yet to press the issue with Victor?

  Suspecting that you were unwanted was not quite the same as knowing for certain.

  The only thing Victor hated more than lobsters were the meetings.

  The alphas had instituted them as a way to bring everyone together in the one building large enough to hold them all, a sturdy but unadorned structure filled with rough tables and benches that managed to be less comfortable than sitting on the ground. Gathered together, their pack numbered nearly sixty, five times the number they’d planned for when Seamus had originally proposed laying low on the island. The weight of so many wolves crammed into such a small space was enough to make magic crackle through the air in damn near visible arcs.

  Sixty werewolves, and over half of them were women. Girls, in some cases, wide-eyed and frightened and totally out of their depth in the uncivilized wilds of Maine. Some of them had been abused, some brutalized. Some were just city girls who’d never known life without electricity and the creature comforts it provided. Victor supposed that made the evening gatherings important. None of these refugees knew about pack and protection, and their new alpha had every intention of teaching them that safety came with submission—and responsibility with dominance.

  The knowledge that it was important didn’t make the battering press of their terror any easier on Victor’s nerves.

  Simone was the bright spot. As an alpha, Joan did all right, but Seamus’s mate was steely determination and reassuring strength, not warmth and comfort. Simone was the one who drifted through the crowd as the meeting broke up, knowing somehow when to hug and when to smile, knowing who needed an encouraging pep talk or a scolding or just a few friendly words. Joan and Seamus might be building a sanctuary, but Simone was the heart.

  “Simone asked Guy to take her to Searsport.” Seamus spoke casually, and a quick glance at his alpha’s face told Victor he’d been caught staring.

  He shouldn’t be jealous. The last thing he needed was to be trapped with her in close quarters for the long ride to the mainland, not while she was another man’s woman. “Good. Guy likes her just fine.”

  “Guy can’t spare two or three days.” Seamus sighed. “If it’s such a problem, tell her she can’t go. Tell her I said to give you a list, and you’ll take care of it.”

  That was cowardice. Defeated by a woman’s disregard, or admitting himself the sort of monster who couldn’t be trusted to keep his wants and needs to himself. Brooding about it had been more enjoyable before Seamus offered an out that made him feel like a boy. “I’ll get it done. We’re all doing what we have to, this winter, and I have to deal with my instincts.”

  Seamus nodded. “Then I trust you’ll handle the situation as best you can.”

  Victor watched as the last of the wolves filed toward the door, trailed by Simone, arm in arm with curly-haired little Rose. Only Joan remained, but she seemed fixated on the jumble of papers spread out on the table in front of her, more of her damnable lists. Victor considered lowering his voice, but it would be pointless—anything Joan wanted to know, Seamus would tell her. “Nothing will help but time. For both of us. Her instincts aren’t settled yet either, but for all I know she doesn’t know how.”

  The alpha shook his head. “Simone’s been a wolf for long enough. Almost ten years.”

  “Instinct can be warped. You know that as well as anyone. She may not be damaged, but she’s still…” Hurt. His wolf raged at the thought, but it didn’t make it less the truth.

  Seamus turned away from Joan and pitched his voice low enough to keep his words from his mate’s ears. “Do you need to talk about it?”

  “No. They’ll realize they’re safe here, and they’ll get better.”

&nb
sp; “You’re right.” Seamus handed him an envelope. “You remember what time to meet Slim?”

  “Don’t be insulting.” Victor tucked the envelope into his vest pocket and grinned. “Old bastard is making a fine living off of us.”

  “With the number of times his brother hid us from the police over the years, he deserves it.”

  “Can’t argue with that. I was planning on leaving tomorrow, just in case I needed an extra day. Don’t want to stay long after meeting up with Slim—I don’t like cutting the full moon too close.”

  “Understood.” Seamus clapped a hand on his back. “If I don’t see you before you leave, have a safe trip.”

  “I will.” Victor raised his voice. “You can stop pretending you’re not listening, Joan.”

  Joan flipped over a page without looking up. “You’re not nearly as enthralling as you think, Mr. Bowen. Your manly posturing was amusing for a time, but the pouting is less interesting.”

  Seamus choked on a laugh. “Not very subtle, love.”

  “He’s not a subtle man.”

  Victor couldn’t even muster up a reasonable level of outrage—Joan wasn’t a woman whose company he enjoyed, but her pointed comments occasionally struck home. “No, I’m not a subtle man. I’ve been a werewolf all of my fifty-three years. In five decades, you won’t be so damnably refined either.”

  Joan actually laughed, and it made him dislike her a little less. “You may be right. I feel at least ten percent less refined already. Seamus? Are you almost ready to leave?”

  “In a moment.” He shoved both hands in his pockets. “I’d like to tell Simone about the trip, Victor. If you don’t mind.”

  Victor hadn’t been looking forward to the task, but long familiarity with Seamus made him suspicious. “Don’t fuck around in my affairs, Whelan. I don’t need a nursemaid.”

  “And I don’t fancy myself one.”

  “As long as we understand each other.”

  “Clear as crystal.” Seamus beckoned to Joan. “Come on. We have a few more things to do.”

  Joan shuffled her lists into order and rose, then destroyed any tender feelings she might have engendered in him with a slashing look. “Don’t play games with my friend and her heart. She deserves better than that.” She didn’t have to continue, because her unspoken words hung like ice between them. Better than you.

  The barb struck its mark, as she must have known it would, but Victor refused to let her see just how much. “If you’re worried about the state of your friend’s heart, best check with the wizard she’s given it to.”

  “Joan, stop.” Seamus closed his hand around her elbow and drew her toward the door. “Victor is more of a danger to his own heart than Simone’s.”

  Friend or not, alpha or not, Victor was going to punch Seamus in the face for saying it out loud. Later. “You two tend to your own hearts and leave mine and everyone else’s alone. We have better things to do on this damn island than matchmake. Things like survive.”

  Seamus ushered Joan through the door, then turned and faced Victor. “We will survive, but we also have to consider life beyond that. I don’t want everyone on this island alive but miserable. Especially not my friends.”

  Victor would worry about life beyond survival when he knew survival was assured. “One miserable winter isn’t going to kill anyone. Not even your friends.”

  “Suit yourself.” Seamus ducked his head with a nod. “I’ll see you in the morning. If not, when you return.”

  “Have a good night, Seamus.”

  His old friend followed Joan into the night, leaving Victor to make his way down the path toward the dock and the solitary row back to the privacy of his sailboat. The winter was cold already, even now when it had barely begun. A long, miserable winter indeed, and something told him the cold wouldn’t just come from the outside.

  If he’d been a different sort of bastard, he might have been willing to take advantage of the bevy of young women whose instincts drove them toward the stronger wolves. Plenty looked at him with hungry eyes, and he flattered himself that not all of that hunger was for safety and protection. A selfish man might pick one of those sweet, pretty girls and while away the winter in a less lonely bed.

  Too bad the sharp edge of responsibility cut both ways. Any safety he could offer would be a lie. Taking one of the girls before she’d found her footing would be abusing the instincts he’d been born with, instincts their corrupt Boston alpha had brutalized until none of them knew the power that came with the gift of their trust.

  They’d learn. Even if it meant Victor had to beat every last man on the island to give them the space to do it.

  Every man except the one he longed to test his strength against. Victor’s hands clenched, and he forced himself to relax them as he rose. He might like the idea of chasing the wizard around the island, but James wasn’t using anything against Simone but his too-damn-pretty smile.

  Simone felt pulled to Victor because his wolf could meet hers. Protect hers. No instincts drew her toward James. In fact instinct very likely demanded the opposite, proof enough that she cared for the man in all the human ways that mattered. Human ways Victor would respect, even if it killed him, day by day.

  Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe Victor could give her someone to connect to—show her a man instead of a wolf. Maybe he could try the radical fucking experiment of talking to her.

  It was worth a try. If it didn’t work, there’d be plenty of time for a slow death by honorable retreat.

  Chapter Three

  Simone had never noticed how small Victor’s sloop really was. It looked huge compared to the boat Guy used to fish, but it seemed to shrink with each passing minute as they sailed toward Searsport.

  Victor brushed by her again to adjust a length of sail here, or to secure a rope there. She tried to stay out of his way, but it seemed there was no such thing on a boat. Every time she moved to a new spot, that was where he needed to be.

  Finally, she broke the uneasy silence. “Is there someplace where I can be less of an inconvenience?”

  He hesitated, his gaze flicking to the cabin door, which remained closed. After a brief moment, he nodded to it. “If you’re cold, you can go down below. I should have offered before. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not cold.” She’d worn extra layers in preparation for the trip, but so far the weather had been surprisingly pleasant. “What I am is in the way, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

  For once, Victor smiled, and it lit up his brown eyes. “A little, but not as much as you think. Not unless I’m bothering you.”

  “No.” Certainly not enough to go below deck to his cabin. She already knew he slept there, and envisioning him between the sheets, waiting for— “I’d like to stay up here.”

  “Fair enough.” He eased past her, brushing her arm with his. “We’ve got another two hours of sailing, at least. Maybe we could come up with something to talk about.”

  Simone blinked. “You want to talk to me?”

  He actually winced. “Christ, am I that much of an inadvertent bastard?”

  “No,” she insisted immediately, but she couldn’t think of anything else to reassure him. Instead, she stared up at the clouds overhead and struggled for an inoffensive topic. “We could talk about the weather.”

  “We could. See anything interesting in the clouds? Dragons, monsters…pretty ladies?”

  He was flirting with her. She couldn’t stop the smile that curved her lips any more than she could stop her teasing response. “No. I do see a handsome but forbidding man, though.”

  “Well that rules out Guy. The man couldn’t forbid water from running uphill.”

  “He does carry a certain ease about him,” she agreed. It was an ease Victor lacked, but it hadn’t kept her from being drawn to him. “Forbidding doesn’t always mean bad things. The sea is as forbidding as it is beautiful.”

  “I love the sea.” It sounded like an admission, quiet and a little self-conscious. “I grew up in
the west. On the plains. The prairie goes on for miles.”

  “Really?” This tiny glimpse was more than he’d ever willingly shared before. “I traveled through once. On the train, going to California. With all that grass, it felt like being out in the middle of the Atlantic.”

  “Mmm.” He did something with one of the ropes that inched the sail to the side, and the canvas snapped under the strong wind. “I was a cowboy for a while. Not the best job for a werewolf, but at least I healed fast.”

  The urge to close her eyes and imagine him roping calves, covered in dirt and sweat, was almost overwhelming. “Did you like it?”

  “Wasn’t quite as glamorous as the stories make it sound, but it was a job. My nephew still owns the ranch, though it’s not much to see right now.”

  She wondered if the ranch was like the rest of the drought-plagued land she’d heard about, dust-dry and overworked and blowing away in the wind. Maybe it was whole, dead but still rooted together and waiting for rain. “Bad times come and go,” she whispered. “They can’t last forever.”

  “No, they can’t.” His voice held sorrow. Exhaustion. “Werewolves have long memories, though…and times are pretty bad.”

  What had happened to put that look in his eyes? What had driven him from his home, all the way to New England? Maybe he would share it, in time. For now, Simone felt as though the slightest push too hard could shatter the fragile truce they shared.

  So instead of questioning him, she smiled gently. “You’ve been a cowboy and a bootlegger. What else have you been, Victor Bowen?”

  “Farmer. Smuggler.” He returned her smile, a hint of mischief sparking in his eyes. “Gambler. That was fun. More fun than lobster fisherman.”

  He had a beautiful smile, one that shocked the truth out of her. “I’ve never been anything.”

  Both of his eyebrows crawled toward his forehead in an expression of polite disbelief. “You and Joan have done quite a bit.”

  “Joan has.” She hadn’t meant to sound so lost. Ashamed. “I just follow along after her.”

  “That’s what makes them alpha,” Victor replied, tone firm. “She and Seamus both. Being strong or dominant or just stubborn, none of it matters compared to that spark. They want to lead. No shame in following someone like that.”