Undertow: Building Sanctuary, Book Two (2 page)

He slipped his hand from hers and sat back. “I can’t tell as easily as a wolf could.”

Simone couldn’t blame him for assuming his humanity to be the cause for the lingering distance between them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be flippant. Your only concern is for my happiness.”

“Be flippant if it pleases you. We’re friends, first and foremost. Always.” His hair spilled over his forehead, and he didn’t push it back. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes.” A smile curved her lips. “And I’m glad to have a friend like you.”

The smile he offered her in return was gentle and warm, but it evoked nothing more than easy companionship. Her heart didn’t pound, and her breath didn’t catch. “You know I hope to be more someday,” he said, “but we have time. I’m happy to be your friend for now.”

For now. She’d already begun to suspect that no amount of time would stir her heart beyond friendship—or her body to desire his. Not when a single look from Victor already did both.

Don’t you dare, Simone.
It was unforgivable to think of another while she sat with James, especially a man like Victor, quiet and severe, who took pains to avoid her at every opportunity and couldn’t hide his discomfort at her attention.

A smart woman would have taken the hint already, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from seeking him out. At first, she’d thought perhaps he only needed time to get to know her—but, if anything, time had served only to increase his dislike of her.

“Simone.” Worry laced James’s voice. “I didn’t mean I wouldn’t still be your friend if that’s all you want from me. It came out wrong.”

“I understood what you meant.” And, since there was nothing more to say, she changed the subject. “I’m going to Searsport. Tomorrow, or perhaps Thursday.”

This time there was no mistaking the tension in his eyes. “With Victor.”

“Yes, despite his best efforts.” She lifted her cup with a surprisingly steady hand. “Rest easy, James. He’s done everything but forbid me to accompany him.”

He blew out an exasperated breath. “And why should it make me rest easy to know that he’s treating you unkindly? If this is a wolf thing, it’s beyond my understanding.”

“He isn’t—” Simone bit her lip. Most of the time, Victor treated her with polite distance. Even when he lost his patience and snapped at her, he was careful to apologize. “He isn’t unkind.”

“If bringing you to the mainland is such a trial for Victor, why don’t you wait until Guy has a free day? He can’t haul lobsters
every
day.”

So far, that hadn’t been the case. Guy had been out on his boat every morning at dawn, hauling and resetting traps. “I can ask, see if he has some time.”

Awkward silence filled the space between them, until James picked up his spoon. “The soup is very good. One of Rose’s recipes?”

“Rose doesn’t use recipes, much to my chagrin. She just
cooks
.”

“She’s good at it.” He took another taste, then deftly steered the conversation toward safer ground. “How are the reading lessons going?”

James was one of the few people who knew exactly why she’d been spending so much time with Rose. “Very well. All she needed was for someone to acquaint her with the basics.”

“I’m sure. She seems like a smart girl.”

“She is.” Just another of Edwin’s later conquests, when he’d moved beyond concerning himself with the illusion of propriety. When he’d developed a taste for desperation.

Simone had seen dozens of them come through Edwin’s bedroom, poor girls with no prospects. Some had been dazzled by his wealth in the face of the Depression gripping the rest of the country, or even dazzled by
him
, by his smooth charm and pleasant looks. But others, like Rose, had known exactly what they’d get out of serving Edwin in bed. All things considered, she was one of the lucky ones. She hadn’t had her heart broken.

James slid his hand over hers, comforting this time, and proved he knew her well enough to guess the path of her thoughts. “He’s gone.”

His words startled her. “I’m not—I was never scared of Edwin. Not for myself.”

“Isn’t that almost worse? Being scared for others?”

Simone smiled over her teacup. “Perhaps you understand wolves better than you think.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Just you. As much as I can, in any case.”

“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.”

“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.