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
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
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