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,
“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,
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