Lightning split the sky overhead, and Victor pulled away, leaving her to tussle with the tiller as he swooped down and snatched up something that looked like it had started life as a tin bucket. Holes had been drilled in the bottom, and a cord attached to the handle. It hit the water with a faint splash, and Victor let a few hundred feet of rope slide through his hands before securing the end. Then he set to work on the sails, his movements hard to follow with freezing rain driving into her face and dripping into her eyes.
The tiller jumped and jerked in her grip. Victor had angled the sailboat toward the wind and into the waves, but the closer they got to the shore, the choppier the ocean became. Water slopped over the sides and covered the deck, and she could only imagine the damage to the supplies below deck.
She wouldn’t think what could happen if Victor lost his footing and went overboard. She’d have to abandon the boat, jump after him, and even then she’d be lucky to find him at all in the roiling water—
No.
The sickening swells gave way to rough, breaking waves, but they weren’t quite as tall as they’d been a few minutes ago. The sea was calmer on the windward side of the island. A small sand cove beckoned, edged in wide sharp rocks but offering an oasis of relative calm.
Close. So close.
Victor paused in his work—just for a moment—and smiled at her through the rain. “We’re going to be—”
A sharp gust of wind swallowed the words and tore the rope from his hands. The edge of a sail snapped out of his grip, and he swore and lunged just as the tiller lurched under her hand. She tensed instinctively, clutching it with all her strength.
Too much strength. Wood splintered as the handle snapped off in her hands. The boat heaved and rolled beneath her as it gave in to the demands of the wind, blowing away from the beckoning sand, straight toward the jagged rocks barely visible above the crashing waves.
“Simone!” Victor staggered, crashing into her as the deck tilted. He bore her to the wet wood, sheltering her under his body as he curled one hand around the side of the boat to hold them steady.
Even the wind couldn’t drown out the sound of the hull being gutted.
It was over in three of her frantic heartbeats. The boat went eerily still beneath them, though waves still crashed against the side and washed over, icy brine mixing with the rain.
Victor lifted up, just enough to give her space to breathe. “We’re not so far from shore. Can you swim?”
“I can make it.” Her hair hung in her eyes, heavy and wet, and she dashed it away. “We’ll help each other.”
He shook his head and rose to his knees. “Once you’re far enough away, I need to try to pull the boat free and get it beached. God knows how long we’ll be here, and we may need the supplies to survive.”
She wanted to argue, but he was right. Their survival could depend on salvaging the supplies, and that would be impossible if they lost the boat. “Be careful.”
He dragged her to her feet, kissed her once, roughly, and stabbed a finger toward the water. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.”
Simone dove in, grateful she wasn’t wearing a skirt that would tangle around her legs. It was difficult enough to navigate the cold water, even for a strong swimmer like her, and Victor would no doubt have a hard time wrestling with the crippled boat.
When she neared the shore, she turned to check on his progress. If he needed her help, then she’d give it, and he could yell at her later.
He’d tied no fewer than three lengths of rope to the front of the boat, and he swam with them crisscrossed around his body. He twisted and struggled with the load, and Simone almost started back in.
Before she could, he must have put feet on the rocky bottom, because he heaved toward the shore with a roar. Just like her swim, a human never would have been able to do it. Even with the strength of a werewolf, he fought and strained until the ropes had to have cut into his skin.
Finally, she trudged out to help him guide the boat, remaining carefully outside the snarl of ropes in case he slipped or the waves began to drag the boat back out to sea. Together, they hauled it onto the stony beach.
Simone stumbled back, panting. “What do we do now?”
He knelt and slid free of the ropes, his chest heaving. In answer, he gestured wordlessly toward a small boathouse down the shore.
It sat at the head of a short dock in bad repair, but the boathouse itself looked sound. The windows were intact, and a solid-looking door was securely latched on the side facing the shore.
Simone shoved her sopping hair from her face again. “Can we fit ourselves and the supplies in there?”
“If there’s a boathouse, there’s probably an actual house too.” Victor straightened too carefully, every movement slow and precise. “The tide’s still on its way in. We need to get everything we might need off the boat.”
He was hurt, but pointing that out would be useless. It would invite argument and accomplish nothing. He would never let her move all the supplies herself, much less go in search of a dwelling while she did. “Let’s hurry.”
They worked quickly in spite of Victor’s injuries, and Simone took pains to reserve the most cumbersome crates and packages for herself. The first one earned her a sharp look and a grumble, but he was clearly too exhausted to argue. By the time they had unloaded half of their cargo, the howling rumble of the storm had grown loud enough to drown out conversation, and he couldn’t complain.
Victor stashed the last bolt of fabric onto the top of the growing pile of packages in the sturdy little boathouse and nodded to the tiny space left, just large enough for a person to squeeze in out of the storm. “I’ll see if I can find a house. It’d be a help if you could fill a crate with things we might be able to use. Food, blankets, whatever you think best.”
“All right.” Moving and possibly having to unpack and repack supplies would be more of a strain on him than searching the island, and she was glad to do it. “I’ll listen out for you.”
“Good.” Lightning split the sky overhead, and thunder made the ground rumble beneath them as Victor leaned in and kissed her once, hard. “Stay safe.”
Simone latched the door to keep it from banging open in the wind and began gathering supplies as best she could. She packed two crates, including a lighter one for Victor, and scrambled about to find his box, the one he’d already had stowed in his cabin.
He’d left it behind.
She cursed and shoved open the door. It wasn’t as though they couldn’t save a picture and a few books, not if they were precious enough for him to keep in the first place.
The rain had worsened, and Simone dashed her hands across her eyes more than once to clear them. They’d left the cabin door open in their haste, and she splashed through ankle-deep water to retrieve Victor’s personal effects.
Whatever lay in the bottom of the box was ruined, but some of it could still be saved. She hoisted it in her arms and shivered her way through the rain, back to the boathouse.
He emerged from the tree line, moving a little faster, as she reached the door. He waved an arm and called something, but the wind stole the words.
In a few seconds, she managed to consolidate the two packed crates and balance Victor’s on top of it. Her muscles burned, but she didn’t have far to go, and she kept even footing all the way up the small hill. “Did you find something?”
He reached for the small crate on top with a frown. “You shouldn’t have risked going back for this. None of it will make life easier for us.”
Only a few days before, his severe tone would have hurt her feelings. Now, she shot back, “This is important to you, and that makes it important to me. Besides, you can’t replace it.”
A noise escaped him, something between a snarl and a laugh. “You’re irresistible when you’re snapping at me.”
Her cheeks heated. “You must be a glutton for punishment.”
He just smiled and urged her along the narrow path as the wind whipped through t
he pine trees around them. “Up ahead. I broke in and lit a lantern—can you see the light from the window?”
She could see it, a small but steady glow through the gale. By the time they reached the cabin, she was drenched anew and trembling from the cold.
Simone dropped her burden on a dusty table, her teeth chattering. “Would a summer home like this have laid in a supply of firewood or coal?”
“There’s some firewood here.” Victor crossed to a wide, flat hearth and knelt. “I’m not sure how long it will last, though. I think we need to shift instead.”
Simone studied the room for a moment—including the lone bed. “We can make a den, of sorts. If we draw that bench over and turn it on its side beside the bed, then mostly block the space under the foot there… With the two of us together, it should keep us warm.”
Victor glanced over his shoulder to study the bed, then nodded and set aside the log he held. “If we lay out our clothes and blankets, they’ll dry well enough on their own. We’ll save the firewood for later, then, in case we need it.”
“Good idea.” She kept her silence as she unfolded several blankets.
The only problem with their plan was the fact that she’d have to strip out of her clothes in front of Victor. If the change had ever come easily to her, her nakedness would last a matter of moments. But she wasn’t strong, never had been, and might end up grasping for that primal flicker of magic for long minutes.
With sufficient bedding spread out to dry, Simone bit her lip and hesitated with her fingers on the top button of her shirt. “How do you… I mean…”
His lips curved into a gentle smile as he turned his back on her. “I won’t peek.”
“Well, I figured you wouldn’t—” The words hung in her throat as Victor’s shirt slid from his shoulders to reveal dark, angry lines, a patchwork of bruises covering his back and sides.
She stepped closer without thinking, lifting her hand to hover over his battered skin. “Are you all right?”
“They’ll be gone by tomorrow,” he whispered. “But perhaps dragging a sailboat bodily to shore is a task even a werewolf shouldn’t undertake.”
“But you saved me.” She touched him once and pulled her hand away. “Saved us both.”
“And a few bruises are well worth keeping you safe, darling.”
His voice had dropped to a low rasp. Simone knew she could touch him again, mold her palms to his flesh and shake his self-control. They could spend the day in bed, warming each other even under the scant covers.
Exactly what he’d told her he couldn’t do.
She turned away. “Do you want to go first? I can hang your clothes and mine to dry.”
“If you like.” The soft slide of fabric followed, and the thump of his boots hitting the ground. Magic swelled, a dizzy rush of power that filled the cabin.
He’d accused her of being drawn to that strength out of necessity and instinct, like so many of the other women on the island. If it were true, perhaps she could have contented herself with a number of Seamus’s other friends instead of wanting Victor so desperately.
The magic had the potential to make her feel safer, but it couldn’t make her feel needed. It couldn’t do what his hoarse voice and covetous stares did.
Simone swallowed hard and tugged the buttons on her shirt free, one after another, and spoke while she undressed. “We can rest and warm up. Our clothes may not dry quickly but, if we get hungry, we can wrap up in the blankets that were already here and make something to eat. And then—”
Then, they could pass the rest of the day and the night curled together in the tiny den under the bed. It would be a torment all its own, not sexual in the strictest sense, but something even deeper—the trust that came with pack, mingled with the emotional attachment she’d already formed.
Emotional attachment. She shook her head as she gathered their clothes. It was just a harmless, pretty way to say she was falling in love with him, and there was nothing harmless about that.
By midday, rain had changed to sleet. Before dusk, it became a blizzard.
Victor ventured out as a wolf, braving the fat snowflakes coming down so hard they seemed to blow sideways, even through the sparse pines. He ran to the beach first, eying the wreckage of his sailboat with a sense of loss that seemed out of place in its depth. It was just a boat, after all, but it had been his home for the past month, his little scrap of privacy on an island bristling with too many wolves.
The rising tide had rushed through the gash in the hull and filled it with water. It lay mostly on its side, sail flapping in the stiff wind where one of the ropes had snapped. Even with supplies, it would take a skill he didn’t possess to repair the damage.
Which meant they were well and truly stranded.
He circled wide on his way back to the cabin, scouting the area for signs of danger or intruders. The island was too small to hold a community, though he did find a second cabin. Rising on his back legs gave him a glimpse through the darkened window, but the building was even smaller than the one in which they’d taken up residence.
Still, the cabins meant that rescue would come, even if Seamus couldn’t use magic or wits to find them before spring. Humans would return to check on their summer cottages. He and Simone simply had to make do until then.
He trotted back to the cabin and scratched at the door until Simone eased it open for him.
She closed the door quickly, clutching her blanket more tightly around her bare shoulders. “I found a kettle in that cupboard over there and started…something.” She knelt by the hearth. “How’s your boat?”
It was almost a relief to still be a wolf. He didn’t have to answer the difficult question right away. Instead he walked to the far side of the room and did his best to shake off without getting anything important wet. Then he crouched low and started the painful process of shifting.
This close to the full moon, it wasn’t easy. Embracing his wolf became effortless as the moon grew heavy in the sky, but reclaiming humanity turned into a battle. He rode out the pain as his bones realigned and fur vanished. Minutes later found him kneeling naked on the cold wooden floor, panting for breath as the fire lingered in his bruised body.
“All right?” she asked quietly, her gaze still focused on the contents of the iron kettle.
“I’ll manage.” Moving slowly, he wrapped up in the other blanket she’d laid out. It was dry, at least, through meager protection against the cold. “What are you cooking?”
“Soup?” A shy smile curved her lips. “If I sound uncertain, it’s because I am.”
The firelight cast intriguing shadows on her features, turning her beauty into something haunting, and not touching her was a trial. “We’ll learn to make do. I know a few things about rough cooking. No fancy kitchens where I grew up.”
Finally, she turned her head and looked at him. “Rose has been teaching me to cook. I need a considerable amount of instruction, I admit.”
“So that’s why the two of you spend so much time together.” He grinned to cover the way her voice stirred his body. “Perhaps she should be teaching all of us.”
“You could attend her lessons, if you cared to learn.”
“Maybe I will, once we get back to the island.”
“You never answered my question.” She tilted her head. “The boat?”
The answer probably showed in his eyes, but he shook his head anyway. “I think I’ll be buying a new one in the spring.”
She sighed and sat back. “We’ll be fine here, but I worry about the others. Not knowing what happened to us, I mean.”
There was nothing to be done about it, unless the wizard could work a spell to conjure them out of thin air—or, more likely, one to find them. “Maybe James will have a way of knowing.”
“I had thought of it,” she admitted, “but I don’t believe he’s acquainted with spells of the sort.”
Of course not. The one useful thing the wizard could have provided, and he was incapable. Pe
rhaps not a fair thought, but the man was a rival.
A rival with a distinct disadvantage. Victor had Simone to himself for the foreseeable future, after all. “Well, we’ll do our best, and so will they. Seamus and Joan will take care of everyone.”
“I know.” She rose slowly. “What about you, stuck here with me? Do you think you’ll make it?”
Her voice was light, teasing, but he couldn’t summon an equal levity when she was so close. Days stretched out before him, just the two of them trapped in forced intimacy, and he knew his resolve would break. He could already feel it cracking.
“Now, that isn’t fair,” she murmured. “There should be a rule, you know. You aren’t allowed to look at me like that if I’m not allowed to be encouraged by it.”
He made himself look away. God only knew how much longer he’d have that much will power. “I think the rules are changing.”
“So you’ve decided I’m not fragile and misled after all?”
Frustration rose as fast as desire had, a common enough occurrence around her. “I never thought you were either. I think you’re reeling. I think we’re all reeling. Or maybe you can’t imagine the hell my instincts have been in with a dozen bruised girls looking at me like they might be considering fucking their way to safety.”
“I’m sure I can, now that you mention it.” She crossed the room to test some hanging clothes for lingering dampness.
“Is that so? What, exactly, do you imagine it’s like?”
“I imagine you want to take what they’re offering.” Simone propped her hands on her hips. “Not because you want to fuck them, but because you know it will make them feel better, at least in the short run.”
Undertow: Building Sanctuary, Book Two Page 5
