ASafeHarbor:BuildingSanctuary,Book1

Chapter One

“Doesn’t look much like a vampire’s lair.” Victor’s voice held a steely thread of tension.

And it was no wonder—the man loathed vampires as much as most wolves despised wizards. “This must be the place,” Seamus told him. “Not another house for miles.”

“How desperate would you have to be to leave a pack for this?”

“Fairly damn desperate.” That easily described most people these days. Relief rolls were jam-packed and hundreds of thousands had taken to the roads, traveling in search of work. “Gavin didn’t say what the circumstances were, but he did say he trusted the vampire. That’s odd for him.”

“Gavin Hamilton’s always made odd friends.” Victor’s eyes narrowed as they neared the house. “The place is damn big. You sure we brought enough cars?”

Gavin’s words came back to him. You’ll need three cars, maybe four. It’s a fucking mess, Seamus. I—I can’t explain right now. “We’ll muddle through.”

“We always do.”

“We’re driving a handful of people, that’s all. No cargo, no risk.” A lie, and they both knew it.

The drive consisted of two dirt ruts worn through the grass, and Seamus navigated it slowly. “Maybe you should all wait for me out here. Less chance of trouble.”

“Don’t like the idea of you facing off with a vampire with no one at your back.”

“Gavin didn’t mention Adam Dubois being the problem here.”

“Vampires are always the problem, when you get down to it.” Victor turned, presenting a hard profile as he stared out the window at the untamed mess of a front yard. “But it ain’t these girls’ fault that no wolves stepped up to do their duty and protect them. I don’t care how hard times are, every wolf in Boston deserves a thrashing.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.” Seamus parked the car. “We’ll soon see what’s going on, though.”

The porch steps creaked as he climbed them, and he bypassed the plain brass knocker in favor of pounding his fist on the door. Paint flaked off, and he watched it drift to the boards underfoot.

A woman opened the door, her skirt hiked halfway to her hips and blood drying into a sticky mess in her dark hair. She also had a rifle pointed at his chest.

Pulling his own piece seemed like a bad idea, so he murmured an apology, raised both hands and stepped back. “Hope I’ve got the right place. Gavin’s expecting me.”

Her gaze raked over him. She might be disheveled, but there was no mistaking the prissy superiority in her eyes as she tightened her grip on the weapon. “He said he was expecting a friend.”

“Aye, that’d be me.” He arched an eyebrow. “Is he around?”

“He’s out back.” The barrel of the rifle wavered and dipped toward the ground. “Are you Mr. Hamilton’s business associate?”

The truth would horrify someone like her. For that reason alone, he took great pleasure in giving it to her. “We used to run the streets together, back in the day.”

Her lips pressed into a severe line, disapproval etched in every line of her stiff body. “Of course you did.”

“Joan, if that’s Whelan, let him in.” The masculine voice drifted in from the other room, not Gavin’s familiar brogue but a thick New England accent edged with dark power. The vampire. Joan’s expression tightened, but she pivoted abruptly and stalked deeper into the farmhouse, clearly expecting him to follow.

“You boys stay on the porch,” Seamus called back. His companions didn’t need to be told again, but it might put the skittish woman more at ease. “I’ll talk to Gavin, see what’s what.”

The house was dark, even in the afternoon sunlight, but it wasn’t quiet. Soft moans of distress drifted down the halls and through the walls. Joan’s footsteps thumped unevenly, and the scent of fresh, hot blood trailed after her. “You’re hurt. Who else is?”

“I’m fine,” she said, the words brittle enough to break. “There are twelve others. Seven are hurt, two badly.”

“Wolves?”

“All of us. Except for Adam, obviously.”

“When?”

The answer was too long coming, which meant she knew just how bad it sounded. “A few hours before dawn.”

Unless she’d had her leg damn near ripped off, she should have been well on her way to fine already. “What in hell did you people tangle with?”

She turned again, holding her ground in spite of injury and obvious exhaustion. “What did Mr. Hamilton tell you?”

Not enough, not yet. “Where is he?”

Joan took a step back and nodded toward the door. “Out back. One of the new wolves panicked and can’t shift back. I’m too drained to help her.”

The back door hung slightly ajar, and Seamus pushed through it. He spotted Gavin immediately, a large gray wolf standing, alert, while a smaller wolf paced anxiously around him. He didn’t yield, but he didn’t push, either. As soon as Seamus stepped into the yard the female yipped and sidled away, darting to put the bulk of Gavin’s body in front of her.

Fear hung in the air, thick enough to choke a human, and underneath it the smells of blood and lead and powder, evidence of a vicious battle. The wind shifted, bringing with it the whisper of shoes on the grass behind him—and the scent of the vampire.

He stepped up next to Seamus and watched Gavin begin the careful process of soothing the agitated wolf. “That’s Ingrid. She’s sixteen and three months changed.”

Too young. Seamus could still remember the first few bewildering months after his own transformation. “And not by choice?”

“Choice.” Adam made the word sound bitter. “She was a poor girl seduced into a life she couldn’t understand. And after he’d had her enough times for the shine to wear off…”

No one who hadn’t experienced the change could understand, and hearing the vampire speak as though he had the authority to do so raised Seamus’s hackles. “Who are you to decide what people understand and what they don’t?”

The vampire had a laugh like sandpaper against stone. “Didn’t Hamilton tell you? I’m their alpha.”

Seamus snorted and lit a cigarette. “He said something to that effect, but you don’t smell like a wolf to me.”

“Doesn’t matter. What matters now is that these people need to get to safety, and Gavin says you and your boys can make it happen.”

He sounded defensive but worried. As quickly as that, Seamus’s ire died. “We can. It depends, some.”

“On?”

“On who you’ve got after you and your pack.”

The vampire sighed, and Seamus knew he wouldn’t like the answer. “Edwin Lancaster.”

Even living under a rock wouldn’t save a man from knowing the name. Wealthy and influential, both in human and wolf society, Edwin Lancaster was heir to a textile fortune…and a spoiled ass who got everything he wanted.

“What’d you—” He bit off the words with a curse, suddenly sure what Adam Dubois had done to anger Lancaster. “Who is it? The girl inside, the one with the limp?”

Adam didn’t answer at first. He watched Gavin, who had gotten the anxious, confused wolf calmed enough to drop to the ground. Her small body trembled as a soft, tentative tendril of power uncurled, gentle enough to mark her as a weaker wolf.

At that first tug of magic, Adam and Seamus both turned their backs. “A lot of the women here are Lancaster’s discarded playmates. He likes them young, impressionable and submissive.”

It was the last way Seamus would have described the woman who’d stuck the business end of a rifle in his face. “If he tossed them, what does he care? You gather them up and…what? It makes him jealous?”

“I’m a vampire,” Adam replied, his voice weary. “I’m told it’s instinct. I suppose that’s one of those things I won’t ever understand.”

“Also wrapped up in the fact that he’s a self-centered asshole, I’m guessing.” Seamus tossed his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. “You don’t throw away things you care about. And if you don’t care about them, you don’t deserve to have them.”

He could feel the heavy weight of the man’s blatant appraisal, but before he could respond a shaky female voice rose behind them. “A-Adam?”

Adam pulled his shirt over his head without hesitation. “It’s okay, Ingrid. You’re safe now.”

Silence, except for the soft slide of fabric against skin and the girl’s nervous, too-quick breaths. Then, “Are the others back?”

“Soon,” Adam murmured. The girl seemed reassured, but Seamus could hear the lie.

Gavin stepped close and laid a hand on Seamus’s shoulder. “Can we speak?”

They walked away from Dubois and the girl, and Seamus took a deep breath. “What was she talking about, Gavin? The others? Are there more wounded?”

He hesitated. “Captured.”

“Shit.” Seamus shoved both hands through his hair. “You’re going after them.”

“Yes, me and Adam.”

“Don’t you need me and the boys? We can find someone else to—”

“No.” Gavin spoke sharply. “You take Joan and the others, and you get them to safety. They need a chance to heal.”

“Why aren’t they now?” Frustration colored his voice, but he couldn’t help it. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Blood bonds,” his oldest friend whispered hoarsely. “Adam has them, after a fashion, with all his followers. Some of them are in trouble, others need to get to safety, and you need to not ask so damn many questions.”

He’d known Gavin Hamilton for years, had run with him in the streets of New York. Somehow, they’d avoided the gangs and the trouble that came with them, and always managed to stay a step ahead of whatever law they were breaking.

He trusted Gavin.

Seamus clapped a hand to his friend’s back. “Tell me what I need to do.”

There was no time for a proper bath, though the polished tub stood empty with its shiny new pipes gleaming and a freshly washed stack of towels beside it. For some of the girls, the ability to twist a knob and fill the tub with hot water had been a luxury more magical than the fact that they changed to wolves with every full moon.

Those were mostly Edwin’s girls. Girls so poor they’d never known anything but heating pot after pot of water to fill a tub a bit at a time, if they were even that lucky. She had to credit the man with some cunning—he’d been very sure to pick girls unlikely to be missed. Orphans and farmers’ daughters and maids who would be assumed to have abandoned their drudgery in favor of running off with a man. Oh yes, Edwin chose well.

Most of the time.

Joan sighed and did her best to ignore the tub as she stripped the torn, bloodstained dress from her body quickly but carefully. Even if there had been time to immerse herself in hot, clean water, she couldn’t have. Simone had just changed the bandage wrapped around the wound on her calf, and it still hadn’t healed. Instead Joan had stitches holding her skin together while sluggish power stirred inside her.

Not enough. Not nearly enough, and fear clawed inside her as she tried not to imagine what it could mean. The bond with Adam would take what it needed to keep their people strong, but it had never drawn so much from her before, never felt like a noose around her neck. She was the most powerful wolf. Her magic fed the pack, fed everyone.

Including the wolves left to Edwin’s surely untender mercies.

Every heartbeat increased her weariness, until exhaustion weighed so heavy that even simple chores seemed insurmountable obstacles. She fumbled with the knob for the hot water, then hesitated. Their supply wasn’t endless, and it might be needed for more important things before the day was done. Gritting her teeth, she twisted on the cold water instead.

Autumn had come early to Massachusetts, and washing the blood from her hair wasn’t as easy as she’d hoped. It had dried into a tacky, sticky mess, tangling around her fingers until she wanted to scream with frustration.

By the time the water ran clear, she was shivering in just her undergarments. She tucked one of the thick towels around her body and used another to rub at her hair, bracing herself for the fact she still had to wash her face, arms and neck in the icy water.

“You need some help.”

Joan barely bit down in time to hold back a startled noise as she spun and found herself looking into gentle blue eyes. It was the new man, the one who’d come to speak to Adam’s friend. Nothing should have made her so oblivious that she disregarded the sound of footsteps in the hallway, which meant she had left weary behind and careened into recklessly exhausted.

But not so exhausted as to tolerate a man staring at her with such blatant appraisal. She gripped the towel and tried to summon her fiercest glare as she pretended his words had been a question instead of an arrogant, presumptuous statement. “I’m fine. Please close the door behind you.”

“We’re going to be working together.” He stepped into the bathroom and, indeed, shut the door behind him. “That means we need to talk.”

She’d seen women sporting dresses that bared more skin than her towel, but it didn’t make her feel less naked. The press of his power didn’t help—he was clearly a strong wolf, one full of rough, edgy dominance that stirred the wolf inside her with unrestrained curiosity.

She had to get rid of him. “I’ll be out in a few minutes. If you or the men you brought need anything, you can ask Simone. She’s in the kitchen.”

“We had a lovely conversation.” He smiled suddenly, not a grin or a smirk, and it transformed his face from hard to boyishly handsome. “She told me to come talk to you.”

Of course she had. Humans might judge authority by gender or age or social standing or money, but wolves only cared for power. It didn’t matter that she was twenty-four and female, that she’d lost her inheritance and any hope of being accepted or respected by polite society. She had raw power, so she was in charge.

The heaviness of her responsibility settled over her. Soon she’d slide to the floor under the weight of it, crushed beyond repair.

His smile slipped away. “Are you ill?”

“No.” She didn’t have the luxury of giving up, not until they were safe. And if the man refused to leave, she’d just wash in front of him. Modesty seemed foolish when they could all be dead before seeing another dawn.

So she turned on the water again, just enough to wet a washcloth, then set to work on the blood smeared on her forearm. “I don’t believe Mr. Hamilton told me your name.”

“Seamus.” She could see him in the mirror, his brown hair falling over his forehead as he leaned against the wall. “Gavin told me there’s some sort of spell draining magic and keeping the wolves here from healing. You said earlier some are hurt worse than you?”

“A few. Mostly the men.” And though both of the survivors had fought hard, they’d been weaker wolves. Wolves who had come to Adam afraid they wouldn’t be able to protect their mates from the roving eyes and covetous urges of the Boston alpha and his inner circle. Adam had given them safety…for a time. “The attackers weren’t trying to kill the women, just capture them.”

If it shocked him, he didn’t show it. “Everyone has to be moved. We’re loading up in cars and heading closer to the coast.”

“To hide.” She rinsed the washcloth and stepped closer to the mirror to wipe away the blood streaking her face. There were scratches too, and at least one shallow cut on her shoulder that had healed to a thin pink line. “Adam’s trying to break the bonds we have with him. As soon as he figures out how, the others should begin healing again.”

“Not a moment too soon.”

No. Probably too late, but Astrid had cast the spells, and without her, Adam struggled against a lack of knowledge and a deficit of power. “He’s doing his best. We all are.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Seamus stepped toward her. “Now it’s partly my responsibility too.”

The bathroom was too small to make the press of his power anything but too intimate, especially in her current state of undress. She met his gaze in the mirror and put the punch of her remaining energy into it. “How much have Adam and Mr. Hamilton explained to you?”

“Enough.” He reached over her shoulder. “Let me.”

“No!” The word escaped on a surge of panic, and exhaustion had clearly made a fool of her because she didn’t realize he wasn’t reaching for the towel or her body until his fingers closed around the washcloth.

She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see his face in the mirror as she let him take the cloth. “As you might imagine, we’re all unusually high strung.”

“I’m sorry. I thought I was being careful.” The water ran, and he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Joan drew in a steadying breath and wished she hadn’t. With him so close, his scent overwhelmed everything. It was masculine, uncompromising, smells she associated with the type of men she’d never had much to do with before Adam. Sweat and dirt and liquor and the lead and gunpowder that meant he had a weapon on him, and underneath all that the indefinable something that said wolf.

Or maybe that wasn’t a scent at all, but the brush of magic. It was more primal than smell, an instinctive prompting that told her another wolf was near. And more than that—a strong wolf. A male. An alpha, dominant whether he led a pack or not, a wolf she didn’t have to protect. Someone who could help her protect those in her care.

Or someone who could hurt you. The voice of experience, not instinct, but a valid concern and one he’d have to be well prepared to deal with if he planned to help them. “My people will be nervous around you, and it can’t be helped. No wolf looks to a witch and vampire for protection if she’s known kindness from her alphas.”

Again, he didn’t seem surprised. “Indeed.” He eased the cloth over the back of her neck. “You got clawed back here, but it’s mostly healed.”

Memories of the frantic, vicious fight threatened to surface, and she shoved them back ruthlessly. “They weren’t going to kill me. I rather imagine they were all under very strict orders to ensure they didn’t, in fact.”

“Because of Lancaster.”

If only Edwin Lancaster were their sole concern. “He’s not happy with me, but it’s worse than that. I defied the Boston alpha.”

His touch faltered for a moment. “Jesus Christ.”

Yes, Seamus would understand what that meant in a way Adam never could. She opened her eyes and met his gaze in the mirror. “I did what I had to. I couldn’t watch them suffer.”

He watched her in the mirror, his expression thoughtful. “I can handle getting your people to safety, but I’ll need your help.”

“My help?” She turned and stared at him as anger bubbled up. “They’re my people. I will give everything for them, up to and including my life. But I’ll appreciate your help.”

“Calm down, Joan. I know this is your burden.” His voice gentled. “Let me take it, just for a little while.”

If she gave him an inch there’d be nothing left of her. “Men don’t take power for a little while.”

After a moment, he nodded and draped the bloodstained cloth over the edge of the sink. “I’ll wait downstairs.”

Every instinct inside her screamed in warning, and she thought it was the wolf clamoring for her to apologize, to do anything to keep Seamus from leaving and taking that aura of strength and safety with him.

She turned, braced to ignore her wolf’s angry demands, but what splintered through her was pain, blinding physical agony so sharp she screamed before she could stop herself. Digging her teeth into her lower lip didn’t help because she wasn’t the only one screaming, and the screams from the rest of the house were high and pained and so afraid…

Joan didn’t realize her knees had given out until strong arms locked around her waist. Pain made the room swim, but she held back another cry of pain, locked it inside until her voice only trembled a little. “Adam. I need to get to Adam.”

Seamus had already slipped one arm under her knees. He lifted her with ease and shouldered through the bathroom door. “Just hang on, Joan. You’ll be all right.”

How could she tell him she wasn’t afraid for herself? She had felt pain through the bonds before, the agony of someone connected to them dying a hard death. But it had been over in a heartbeat. It hadn’t twisted inside her until the world constricted to nothing but agony.

Somewhere out there, one of her people was dying. Slowly.

Chapter Two

The situation had taken an even sharper turn for the worse than Seamus expected. He leaned against the parlor wall beside Gavin and watched as Adam clutched at Joan’s arm until she’d surely bear bruises in the shape of his hand.

Joan seemed oblivious, at least to his grip. Steely, unwavering stubbornness filled her hazel eyes as she stared up at the vampire. “Do it.”

Adam shook his head. “You’re hurt. You’re not strong enough.”

“I’m always strong enough. Do it.”

Uneasy, Seamus glanced at Gavin. His friend raised one shoulder in a shrug.

Adam closed his eyes, and Joan swayed on her knees as the flickering strength inside her flared. Magic twisted in the room, prickling over Seamus’s skin, and he swore he saw it as power flowed from Joan to Adam. She seemed to wilt as he grew stronger, pulsing with energy that tasted more like a wolf than a vampire.

Silence stretched between them for ten of Joan’s too-quick heartbeats, and Adam swore. “I found them. They’re far, probably fifty miles northwest. It’s Opal. They’re hurting her.” Frustration and rage colored his voice.

Joan, by contrast, sounded calm. Almost numb. “Cut her loose.”

“No.”

Power pulsed, and a hoarse, gasping sob echoed down the hallway. Pain etched lines in Joan’s face, and Seamus saw tears in her eyes before she squeezed them shut. “Cut her loose, Adam. She’s drawing too much power.”

“She’ll die without it.”

“The rest of us will die if you don’t.”

They were talking about the bonds. Seamus’s blood chilled, and he stood straighter as Adam snarled. The vampire’s fingers tightened around Joan’s arm until she hissed in a pained breath, but he released her a heartbeat later.

The whimpers and sobs from upstairs cut off abruptly. Adam slumped forward, and Joan braced both hands on his shoulders. “Don’t stop. Use my power to release the people here. You can feed if you need to.”

Adam knocked her hands away. “I’m not taking anything else from you. I’m not helping you commit slow suicide.”

Gavin stepped forward, but Seamus held out an arm to stop him. “You’re running into a fight, Hamilton. I’m running from one.”

“Seamus—”

He ignored Gavin. “I’ll do it.”

Joan inched back, making room in front of Adam. Someone had wrapped a blanket around her when they’d arrived in the parlor, but the fabric had slipped to her waist. She eased it back up around her shoulders, her fingers trembling, and spoke as Seamus knelt beside her. “Thank you.”

Looking at her, weak and injured, stirred a dangerous, protective rage. Even darker was the possessiveness her wide, grateful gaze elicited. “You’re welcome.”

“Have you ever had a vampire feed from you before?” Adam asked.

Seamus couldn’t tear his gaze away from Joan’s. “No.”

Joan wet her lips and spoke without looking away. “His forearm, Adam. He’ll be like me. Not very comfortable with the idea of a strange man marking his neck.”

The thought of Adam Dubois marking her anywhere drew a growl from Seamus’s throat. “Do whatever you need to do.”

“His forearm,” Joan repeated, and this time it was an order. She scooted closer, until her blanket-covered knees brushed his, and reached out to touch his hand. “Vampires don’t gain power from the quantity of blood. It’s the quality—the willingness of the gift or the emotional charge behind it. If you’re uncomfortable or fighting him, even instinctively, it will take more.”

Which told him nothing about how to handle it. “Don’t think I can avoid being uncomfortable. How do I do this?”

Joan shifted her gaze over his shoulder, to where Adam had to be. She didn’t say anything, but her lips pressed together and a slow, pink flush rose in her cheeks. When she looked back at Seamus, self-consciousness and an odd anticipation clashed in her eyes. “Hold out your arm.”

His shirtsleeve was half-rolled anyway, so he tugged it up and stretched out his arm. Joan lifted her hand and pushed it up another few inches, her fingertips brushing his skin in tiny, glancing touches that awakened his body.

When she had his sleeve arranged to her satisfaction, she moved her hand to his shoulder. “Watch me,” she whispered as Adam’s fingers closed around his wrist. “If your wolf needs distraction, use me.”

Any more distraction, and he’d have to chase her through the backyard and take her where he caught her. Fiery pain shot up his arm as Adam’s teeth closed on his skin, but he stood his ground, determined not to let anyone, least of all Joan, see his discomfort. “I’m plenty tough, honey.”

The worry didn’t fade from her eyes. She lifted her hand to his cheek, her touch feather-light. “It shouldn’t take long. If he has enough power he can concentrate and break the bonds one at a time instead of just severing them all. He needs to stay connected to the ones who’ve been captured so he can use that to find them.”

“Right.” Seamus forced himself to breathe. He understood what Adam needed to do, but that didn’t help the trapped feeling. The wolf inside him had been bitten, subdued, and he didn’t like it. “Damn it all.”

“Shh.” Small, delicate fingers curled around the back of his neck, and she leaned in until a hairsbreadth separated their mouths. “He won’t hurt you. Can’t dominate you. You’re giving a gift.”

Now that she’d cleaned away the blood, he could smell her under the soap. Her skin was smooth and pale, her hair shiny and curling the tiniest bit as it dried. He wanted to kiss her, so he held himself still. “I can’t—”

Her lips touched his. Soft, so soft it was hardly a kiss. It could have been an accident, considering how quickly she pulled away, but a moment later she was back again, her head tilted and her lips pressing more firmly, albeit off-center.

She didn’t know how to kiss, but she tasted as good as she smelled. He opened his mouth a little, just to see if she’d deepen the gentle caress. Tension trembled in her body, but she parted her lips as if following his lead.

The burn of panic subsided, replaced by an entirely different kind of heat. Seamus tore his mouth from hers and gritted his teeth again. “How much longer?”

“Not much,” she whispered, her voice shaking with helplessness. “I’d do it if I could. I’m sorry.”

It was far from a mere apology or excuse. She meant the words with an intensity that drew him, until all he could think of was kissing her again. Her mouth was pliant under his, willing, though she clearly had no idea what to do.

He stroked his thumb over the curve of her cheek. She made a quiet noise that turned into a gasp as he traced his tongue over her lips. Magic flared between them, power tinged with feral need.

She needed this.

He slid his fingers into her dark hair, and the cool, damp strands clung to his skin. “Joan.”

A soft, hungry growl tickled his ears. Her nails pricked the back of his neck. The tip of her tongue darted out, dragged along his lip as if she was tasting him.

The pain vanished, though it took his addled mind a few seconds to register that fact. Seamus lifted his head and found Adam watching them, gaze slightly unfocused. “It’s over, Joan.”

She started at the sound of Adam’s voice and jerked back, scrambling to pull the blanket tight around her shoulders. The flush in her cheeks deepened from pink to red as she tugged at the cloth until it covered everything up to and including her chin. “Is it enough?”

“It’s enough,” Adam replied without looking away from Seamus. “Gavin, can you go upstairs to the room where the injured are and make sure they all stay calm? This may disorient some of them.”

“Got it.” Gavin took off down the hall.

Seamus watched absently as the holes in his inner arm closed. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“Joan.” It sounded like the answer to his question until Adam knelt in front of the young woman. He reached out and touched her cheek, and a tired smile curved his lips. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s going to hurt. You were the first.”

Joan didn’t flinch. “I know.”

Adam rocked to his feet. “Watch her.”

It was going to hurt her, and Seamus wanted to take her away, protect her from it. His hands shook, and he closed them into fists.

Whatever the vampire was doing, it was subtle—at first. Aside from a faint stirring of energy, Adam could have been sitting quietly, staring at nothing. The first real indication of something happening was Joan’s tiny, pained gasp. Her body went stiff, and magic lashed through the room, rising ferociously as one piercing, heartbreaking scream tore free of her throat.

In the next moment, she went wild. Everything human faded from her eyes as she jumped to her feet, deadly graceful and inhumanly fast. She clawed at her undergarments, tearing her panties and bra. Most of the fabric fell to the floor, but Adam didn’t notice. He was intent on something else, something Seamus could neither see nor sense.

“Joan?” Seamus held out a hand. “Joan, honey, calm down.”

A snarl was the only response he got before she hit the floor on her knees, fur already flowing over her body. She changed too fast, the magic ripping her apart, and the small brown wolf who took her place howled once in outraged pain before bolting for the back door.

“Shit.” Adam didn’t move, and there was no one else. Seamus tugged off his boots and ripped at his vest and shirt. He had to chase her down, calm her down…and bring her back.

Someone had closed the door, a small mercy. It gave him time to tear at his pants as the rhythmic thud of Joan throwing herself against the door drifted in from the kitchen. Something crashed to the floor as he dropped his pants, dishes followed by the metallic clink of silverware. Then glass shattered.

He stalked through the house, tossing aside the rest of his clothes. By the time he opened the back door, he saw her, streaking across the lawn at full speed.

“God damn it.” It took him a moment to call the spark of magic inside him. When he had it, the change flowed over him, easy and familiar.

He ran after her.

Joan would have stopped running before she hit the edge of the clearing if Seamus hadn’t chased her.

Her paws dug deep into the dirt as she bolted between two trees. Pain had forced her to run, but it was her wolf who made her continue. With the sun hanging low in the west the woods would be dark, and she knew them intimately. Seamus would have to work to catch her…and she wanted him to work.

He yipped and snarled but kept pace with her despite his disadvantage, the sounds growing closer as he gained. Her wolf was ready to be caught, but Joan had reclaimed just enough sense to know what often followed a challenge and a chase between male and female wolves.

Nerves gave her speed. She darted between two bushes and leapt over a fallen log, but her paws slipped on the damp leaves on the opposite side.

Seamus didn’t stumble. He sailed past her, large but fast, and rounded, cutting her off.

With her path blocked, Joan panted for breath and studied her adversary. The black wolf in front of her outweighed her by a fair margin and seemed more intimidating than his human counterpart. As loudly as her wolf had clamored before, now she’d fallen suspiciously silent.

He sat and watched her, tensed and poised to move again. Backing down would bring the confrontation to an end, but she’d never submitted to anyone in her short existence as a werewolf. So she bared her teeth and lunged to the side, ready to slide to the ground and twist out of the way if he pounced.

He matched her movements, close enough to block but not crowd her. She snarled and dodged the opposite way, but he moved just as fast, cutting off her escape.

Joan was preparing to turn and charge back the way she’d come when the pain hit her, twice as hard as the wave of agony that had caused her to shift and riding on a swell of power so intense it stole her breath. Her legs collapsed, spilling her onto the damp leaves as magic tore through her. She didn’t realize she’d shifted again until she heard her own pained whimpers, and even that didn’t matter when the bonds tying her to Adam and the rest of her people finally snapped.

Nothing had ever felt so wrong. The pain ceased almost at once but left behind a gaping hole, abject emptiness in the place that had held life and a subtle awareness of the wolves tied to her. She choked on a sob and dug her fingers into the dirt, grasping for something, anything to take the place of what she’d lost.

“Shh. I’ve got you.” Gentle hands skimmed her back, grasped her shoulders. “I’ve got you.”

“I can’t—” The air burned as she gasped in a breath. It was too cold to be naked on the forest floor, and numbness followed pain. “I can’t feel anything.”

Seamus rubbed a hand over her leg, carefully skirting her wound. “Whatever he did worked. You tore your stitches, but you’re healing.”

He didn’t understand. Joan clutched at the leaves and dirt as her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed. “I can’t feel anything.”

“The broken bonds?” His hand stroked her skin again. “It’s for the best, Joan. It’s like you told Dubois.”

“I have to go back.” Pain shredded through her as she pushed to her knees. “We have to leave.”

“Joan.” He watched her with knowing blue eyes. “You did the right thing.”

Her own words drifted up. You have to cut her loose. Opal was probably dead now—a quick, merciful death instead of one prolonged by energy that wasn’t her own. It was too easy to call to mind the girl’s round, cheerful face and her bright green eyes. Nineteen years old and in love with life, if a little too fond of men for her own good.

And now she was dead.

If Joan thought about it, she’d scream until her throat bled. “I need to change back. I can’t run fast enough like this.”

Seamus released her and moved back. “Take it slow.”

She didn’t have a choice. That spark of magic inside was barely a flicker, and no matter how many times she grasped for it, the change eluded her. Tiny discomforts began to intrude—the knowledge that she was naked in front of a man, that the ground was cold and her body had begun to shake. Each one made it harder to concentrate until tears flowed and her fingers scraped helplessly against the ground.

In the end, she could only climb to her feet and ignore the biting chill of the wind against bare skin as she started back toward the farmhouse on unsteady human legs.

Magic flared behind her, and Seamus trotted past her, once again wearing his wolf form. He didn’t look back, and he didn’t run ahead. Instead he gave her company without sacrificing the tiny shreds of her dignity, and through the pain and the weariness, something warm unfurled in her chest. Gratitude, or even hope.

An impossibly long road lay ahead of her, too many challenges before she’d know she’d found sanctuary for the people in her care. But maybe—maybe—she didn’t have to do it alone.

Seamus tucked one last duffel into the trunk of his car and glanced at Adam and Gavin. “This it?”

Adam nodded, but his gaze was fixed on the window. In the encroaching darkness it was hard to make out the outline of all the people squeezed into the back of the car, but Joan’s profile was clear. Her hand stroked soothingly over the hair of the woman next to her, a pregnant young wolf fairly trembling with nerves.

The wolves had grown stronger, but Adam’s presence seemed to be fading. Seamus could hardly sense any magic at all as the vampire turned his back on the car, his expression bleak. “Help her. She’s strong, but she’s so damn young.”

There was no reason to argue. “They all are.”

“I know.” Adam’s voice dropped to a rumbling whisper. “If you hurt her, I’ll find you and tear you apart.”

It was to be expected, the warning before Seamus drove off with a handful of Adam’s charges. That the vampire would focus on warning him off Joan made sense. “I don’t plan to hurt anyone, and that’s the best you’re going to get.”

Oddly, Adam smiled. “That’s all I want. Joan doesn’t need me to drive away romantic suitors. I could never do it as ruthlessly as she does. Stay in the caves until nightfall tomorrow. If Gavin and I don’t show up by then…”

“We’ll head straight for Philadelphia,” Seamus reassured him. “Though I’d rather you didn’t get my friend killed.”

“I’ll do my best not to.” Adam pivoted and strode along the side of the car to tap softly on the window next to Joan’s head. She rolled it down, and their soft whispers drifted back to Seamus’s ears.

“Got everything?” Gavin asked him, drowning out the low, tired sound of Joan’s voice.

“I think so. Shouldn’t take us long to reach the caves, and we have the supplies we need.” Food, water…and weapons. Just in case.

Gavin clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Be careful.”

“You be careful, old man.” It was an old joke that had found its genesis in their younger years, when no one had believed Seamus was five years Gavin’s senior. “Crazed alpha wolves and vampires?”

“We’ll be fine.” His friend’s smile was steady, even. It belied the angry roil of power beneath his calm facade.

Seamus punched him on the shoulder. “Give ’em hell.”

The soft slam of a car door cut through the silence. Seamus followed the noise and found Joan ushering a curvy little blonde and a thin, tired-looking man into the backseat. They squeezed in somehow, but it left Joan with nowhere to sit. She closed the door and met Seamus’s eyes for the briefest second before circling the car to the front passenger side.

Seamus nodded to Adam as he moved to the driver’s door. “Remember what I said.”

Adam patted the top of the car. “We’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Seamus climbed behind the wheel. “Everybody settled?”

Joan sat in the middle of the bench seat, a sleepy young woman leaning against her right side. After slipping an arm around her companion, Joan glanced at the wolves in the backseat. “I think we’re ready.”

Seamus turned the key in the starter, and the engine rumbled to life. “We’ll be on the road for a couple of hours. Everybody just speak up if you need to stop.”

No one replied, not even Joan, whose arm brushed his as she arranged the already dozing woman more comfortably against her shoulder.

They all seemed drained. He made it no more than five miles before the first quiet snore rose in the back of the car. The tense press of magic began to ease over the next few miles, until even the men had calmed somewhat.

Only Joan refused to relax. She sat stiffly next to him, her body held carefully, as if to keep all contact to an absolute minimum. As the moon brightened, he noted that a gentle blush crept up her cheeks every time she accidentally touched him.

“Forget about the kiss,” he urged her quietly. “You were helping me, that’s all. I don’t expect—well. I understand.”

It shouldn’t have been possible for her to stiffen further, but she made a good attempt. “I’d already forgotten. It was hardly memorable, was it?”

It was too defensive to be an honest reaction. “You’ll have to forgive me, darling. I wasn’t at my best.”

“If you say so.” She kept her voice as soft as his, and no one in the back moved or made a sound. Judging by the steady, even breaths, he and Joan were the only ones awake—or the only ones willing to acknowledge they were.

The question needed answering. “What have you all been doing with yourselves out here? Hiding away from the world?”

“Hiding away from other werewolves,” she countered. “Most of the people here weren’t safe in the Boston pack.”

“But they were safe with Dubois?”

“Don’t be insulting.”

Seamus sighed. “I’m not being insulting, lady. I’m asking.”

“We weren’t just safe. We were happy.” She shifted positions, clearly restless, and the movement pressed her hip against his. This time she didn’t jerk away, though she didn’t move closer, either. “There were some…unusual arrangements between some of the men and women, but no one did anything he or she didn’t want.”

“Unusual arrangements?” He fought a smile.

The color was back in her cheeks, brighter than ever. “Nothing as unusual as the gossips would have you believe. I’ve heard some of the rumors. They’re absurd.”

“Are they?” He would never let on that he’d heard them, not to her. “Do I want to know?”

Joan stared straight ahead. “I suppose that depends on what sort of man you are.”

She’d already convinced herself he was the worst sort, and there would be no changing her mind. “Relax. I don’t listen to idle gossip.”

It seemed to relax her a little. “Thank you. The girls are…” Her voice dropped, barely a whisper. “Before they came here, many were coerced into indiscretions. Some were even forced. It’s hard to listen to callous judgment of them, knowing what I do of their former situations.”

“I also don’t judge women for surviving.”

“Then you’re a rare man.”

“Maybe I am.” He didn’t really think he was, but the belief had obviously made it easy for her to fall into Dubois’ arms.

A distressed whimper pierced the tense silence, and Joan turned away to soothe the girl beside her with quiet murmurs and a gentle rush of power.

It didn’t matter how young Joan was; even the older girls looked to her for guidance. “If anyone needs anything, you’ll have to let me know. I doubt they’ll tell me themselves.”

“Probably not. It’s not personal. It’s just…” She trailed into uncomfortable silence, then sighed. “Adam only told me you’re a friend of Gavin’s, and Gavin is a friend of his. I don’t know anything about you, or what you know about the Boston pack and how things are there.”

And there was no way to put her at ease with the truth. “I tend to stay clear of Boston these days.”

She tilted her head to study him, the weight of her gaze tangible. “Trouble with the pack?”

“Trouble with the law.”

“Caves.” It was barely a whisper, and more a thought given voice than a question. “Of course. I’m quite a little fool, aren’t I?”

“How’s that?”

That cool, disapproving tone was back. “It explains why Adam always had the very best liquor at his disposal. One of his more prominent vices.”

Seamus grinned. “And you don’t approve of drink, I gather.”

“Not particularly. It turns men into fools and werewolves into animals.”

He’d always been of the opinion that lack of self-control did both. “I see.”

She slanted another of those long, searching looks at him. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful,” she said finally, the words almost tentative. “I appreciate your help, and the help of your associates. I don’t need to approve of your…career.”

“You certainly don’t,” he agreed. “I hate to disappoint a lady, the truth is that Gavin and I used to be involved in such activities. Not anymore.”

“So what do you do now?” She sounded honestly curious.

“This and that. Investing, mostly. I didn’t lose much when the market went belly-up.”

“Then you’re fortunate. I heard my family lost everything.”

But she didn’t know. He filed that away. “How did you wind up with Adam?”

“One of the wolves from Boston. She had a—a friend. A witch. The witch knew Adam.” Her crisp, proper words had begun to slur a little, fatigue softening her voice and lending it a husky undertone. “Maggie had it hard in the pack, and I had…troubles. A lot of us did.”

She was so exhausted she was about to fall asleep. “So you left them behind and made your own way.”

“Mmm. Astrid had a plan. Astrid’s our witch.” Her head tilted to the side, bit by bit, until her temple rested atop the girl’s head. It was a vulnerable position, one that left the smooth column of her neck bared to him, her throat unprotected.

Her skin looked pale, soft. The urge to taste her took him by surprise, and he dragged his gaze back to the winding road in front of the car. “Rest, Joan.”

“It’s okay. I’m awake.”

He swallowed a chuckle. “You’re sleeping.”

“I’m tired.” It escaped as a whisper, a confession. “I’m so very, very tired.”

She could have been speaking of her physical exhaustion, but Seamus doubted it. Not with those shadows darkening her eyes as much as the hollows beneath them. He tightened his hands around the steering wheel. “I know, honey. I told you. I’ll help.”

She didn’t reply, but she didn’t need to. Her breathing evened out and the last of her restless power settled as she fell asleep. She either trusted him, at least a little, or she was too damn exhausted to care.

As much as he wished for the former, he’d bet on the latter.

Chapter Three

Something about the vastness of the ocean had the power to heal.

Joan cradled a battered tin cup in her hands more for the lingering heat than out of any desire to taste its contents. It barely qualified as coffee, though she couldn’t complain. Having coffee at all was something of a miracle, considering the rugged conditions in which they’d found themselves.

The wind whipped over the water, bringing with it a sharp bite and the overpowering scent of brine. Everything smelled different this far from civilization. Sharper. Cleaner.

Wilder.

“It’s beautiful, especially at night.” Simone’s lilting voice drifted from behind her, carried on the breeze. “Nothing like the city.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t.” Joan turned and studied her friend in the glowing moonlight. “Is there trouble?”

“No, not at all.” Simone dropped to the sand beside her, looking more like a tomboy than the once-celebrated debutante Joan knew her to be. “Everyone is settling in. Your friend has stocked the caves well. We shouldn’t want for anything, except perhaps a bath.”

They had almost a day before they could expect to hear from Adam or Gavin. Endless hours of tense, unsettled waiting. “What about the men? No challenges?”

A hint of color crept over Simone’s pale cheeks, and she shook her head. “It’s been very calm. Quiet.”

Joan was hardly in a position to ask probing questions, not when she’d fled the confines of the cave to escape the electric shock of magic that trembled through her every time Seamus stood too close. “Quiet is good, I suppose. Everyone needs their rest.”

“Mmm.” Simone hunched down into the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “It’s chilly. Do you want to share this?”

It made her smile. “Of course. Scoot on over.”

The blanket was large and coarsely woven, and Simone settled it around both of them. “How long until we hear from Adam?”

In her darkest moments, Joan thought they never would. It was suicide, sending two men into the midst of the Boston pack, but it would have been even more reckless to drag a group of timid, traumatized subordinate wolves with them.

If it had been anyone else, Joan would have come up with a soothing lie, but Simone was the closest thing she had to a contemporary, a confidante, now. “I don’t know. If we don’t hear anything by tomorrow night, we’re going south. Far enough to find someplace safe to go to ground.”

The girl nodded. “Seems like they’ve got it all planned out.”

“For now.” Until they ended up in a strange city with no friends and hardly any resources. The small stash of cash she had on hand would secure them food and shelter for a month or two, but not even the tiny hoard of gold or the depressingly meager stack of mature bonds hidden away in her suitcase would sustain them for long. They had too many mouths to feed in a time when so many were already going hungry…

If she thought about it too much she’d scream, and it wasn’t even the most immediate problem. She’d seen the wariness in Seamus’s eyes as he set his men to guard the perimeter. He didn’t believe they’d escaped cleanly any more than Joan did, and that, at least, was a consolation. The criminal element might make her uncomfortable, but if anyone could keep them hidden, it would be men whose lives consisted of hiding.

Simone grasped her hand. “It will be fine, Joan. It will.”

Strong as she was, even Simone needed reassurance. Joan forced a smile and curled her fingers tight around her friend’s hand. “I know it will. It’s just been a long few days, hasn’t it?”

The redhead turned her face toward the sea. “With everything that’s happened, even before the attack, that is one way to put it.”

Joan judged a change in subject would do them both good. “How’s Elise? Did they manage to make her comfortable?”

“I don’t think anything short of delivering the baby is going to help at this point.”

Another worry to add to the considerable list. Joan felt the weight pressing on her more acutely than ever, and this time not even the soothing repetition of waves lapping against the shore could still the panic in her heart. “We’ll deal with that when we have to. How closely did you pay attention when Mary had her son?”

A hint of Simone’s normally cheerful smile curved her lips. “Closely enough to know the process mostly takes care of itself.”

The girl’s unfailing optimism was simultaneously exhausting and endearing. This time Joan didn’t have to struggle so hard to find an answering smile. “Well, then, I suppose there are some advantages to being werewolves. You’ll keep an eye on her for me, won’t you?”

“Of course I will. Will you—”

The crunch of boots on the rocks behind them interrupted Simone’s words. Seamus stood there, his hands in his pockets. “I don’t mean to intrude.”

Joan hadn’t sensed his approach, which signified either a frightening level of inattention or something more insidious—the possibility that her wolf had already judged him as safe as Simone. “You’re not intruding. Is something the matter?”

“No, I…” He cleared his throat. “Just wanted to make sure you were doing all right.”

Simone slid out from under the blanket and rose. “I’ll check on Elise.”

Traitor. Hard as she tried, Joan couldn’t catch Simone’s eyes before she made her escape, leaving Joan alone with a handsome werewolf and fiercely embarrassed that her own thoughts betrayed her by affording him such a telling adjective.

There were plenty more where that came from. Strong. Dangerous. Enticing. The silvery light of the moon slanted across the strong lines of Seamus’s face, giving him a rakish look. Turning him into the sort of darkly romantic hero that would likely have all the girls aflutter.

As if she wasn’t one of them. The animal inside stirred, filling her with a fierce, uncontrollable yearning. She had to avert her gaze, and even that wasn’t enough to completely eliminate the husky undertone when she spoke. “I just needed a few moments to collect my thoughts.”

“Would you like me to go?” he rasped.

She told him the truth because she didn’t know what else to do. “I don’t know. Would you like to stay?”

He didn’t answer right away. He nudged at the rocks underfoot with his boot. “Are you holding it together?”

“I’m not screaming.” Yet. And that was the seductive danger of his presence. It had been so much easier to hold things together when she knew she had no choice. The wind picked up again, slicing under her blanket and cutting through the bulky layers of her clothing until she shivered and gripped the blanket tighter. “I want to, though.”

“We could run for a while.”

Yes yes yes. Her wolf, and more a feeling than an actual thought, but she pushed it back ruthlessly. “I shouldn’t. I need to stay close.”

“Ah.” Seamus squinted at her. “Victor can handle things for a while. And your friend—what’s her name?”

“Simone.” Who had blushed when mentioning Seamus’s men. “I know it may seem foolish to you, but I’d feel better if I was nearby.”

“Not foolish,” he countered. “If that’s what you want.”

“Foolish because that’s not what I want.” Bitterness welled up inside her, and she closed her eyes as the words spilled out, low and laced with her guilt and shame. “I’ve put on a magnificent act, don’t you think? Fooled everyone into believing I’m a leader? All I want to do is run away.”

His hand fell to her shoulder, heavy and solid. “If you didn’t want to run, I’d think you were touched in the head. You’re not running, and that’s the trick. Staying to lead even when you want to hide away.”

“Is that it?” He was so warm, and her wolf wouldn’t be denied that comfort, not if they were trapped in human form and bound to stay close to their people. Her arm crept out without permission, holding the blanket open in shy invitation. “Would you like to sit?”

He sat. After a slight hesitation, he pulled the blanket around his body. “Thank you, Joan.”

“You’re welcome.” He was warm…but he wasn’t touching her. Mere inches felt like a boundless chasm she could never cross, even if she desperately wanted to. It wasn’t what she’d expected at all, not from the man who’d had no problem taking her mouth while others watched.

Of course, she could hardly be surprised he wasn’t interested in doing so again. She didn’t know how to kiss, and a man like him wouldn’t have missed such a detail. In her ignorance, she’d proved herself every bit the frigid, prudish spinster Edwin had once sworn she’d become.

Seamus watched her, his gaze an almost tangible weight. “I know this must seem like cold comfort, but you’re doing well.”

It seemed a tiny bit condescending, but for all she knew he was twice or even thrice her age. Picking a fight with the only ally she had seemed petty and childish, so she accepted the words as she imagined he meant them. “Thank you. This…is not the life I expected to lead.”

“Does anyone?” He blew out a breath. “I’m upsetting you.”

“A little.” She looked away, back out toward the ocean with its dark, frothy waves and untamed expanses. “But it isn’t personal. Being upset with you is easier than thinking about the choices I’ve made.”

He laughed softly, though the sound held no mirth. “Be as angry with me as you want, then. As long as it serves a useful purpose, I can take it.”

“Are you sure? I’m told I’m impossibly tedious when I’m whipped into a frenzy of moral outrage.”

“Nothing about you is tedious.”

Her kiss certainly had been. She’d agonized over it plenty in the intervening time, fighting to convince herself she’d made a logical decision for the good of her people. Embarrassment made it easier to rationalize—obviously she’d been sacrificing herself for the greater good. If she’d truly wanted to kiss him, she wouldn’t have done such a terrible job.

It amused her that she could still cling to pride when she had nothing else. Or maybe that was why she clung so fiercely, as if she could rewrite history if she replayed the events enough times in her head.

A pointless diversion. She’d kissed him.

She’d wanted to.

She still wanted to, and it had nothing to do with saving her people or herself. Even now just turning to look at him stoked that hunger, primal and oddly confident considering her sad lack of experience.

Something dark flashed in his eyes, and Seamus lifted one warm hand to her cheek. “You’re looking at me like you want me to kiss you.”

“Am I?” The words came out sounding breathless and foolish. Hungry, and she was—so, so hungry for his touch. Enough that she leaned into his hand to feel the rough texture of his fingers against her cheek.

“You are.” He bent his head closer to hers. “Do you?”

Years of self-denial stretched out behind her, and her future held the same grim certainty. Inside, her wolf whined in protest, and for the first time in her life Joan didn’t fight it. Here under the stars, with the ocean as her only witness, she could have one moment of selfishness.

So she didn’t answer in words. Perhaps her clumsy kiss would inspire as little interest this time as it had last time, but she’d know she’d had the courage to try. She closed her eyes and found his lips with her own, savored the soft warmth that filled her at even the gentlest contact.

But it didn’t stay gentle. Seamus groaned, pulled her closer and licked her mouth. “Let me in, Joan.”

It became impossible to separate the gentle noise of waves breaking on the sand from the roaring in her ears. She grasped his shoulder, twisted her fingers in his vest as she let her head fall back. “I don’t know what to do. Tell me.”

“Open.” His thumb brushed her lips and applied the barest pressure to her chin. “Open your mouth.”

She did, and moaned when his tongue swept inside. She’d never allowed herself to consider the parts of sex that came between chaste kisses and the act itself, an act her wolf found appealing. Left to her own devices, the animal would have her on her stomach already, hips raised in offering for a joining that had always struck Joan as unappealingly savage.

Seamus’s kiss wasn’t savage, but it was demanding. His tongue slicked against hers, twisting pleasure and need into a tense ball that tugged at her with every stroke.

Too soon, he broke away, panting. “Sorry. That was…”

“A real kiss?” Oh, how breathless she sounded. Dazed, too, which would have stung her pride more if she could have dragged her gaze from his mouth.

He smiled suddenly. “A real kiss, that’s for goddamn certain.”

She wasn’t ready to face the depressing realities of the world again. Not yet. This time she knew what he wanted and gave it to him, her lips on his, her mouth open and eager. The taste of him enchanted her, as did the rough scratch of stubble against her skin.

His hand slid around to the back of her head and held her still while his tongue tangled with hers. Then his mouth skimmed her cheek. “Joan.”

If she kept her eyes closed, she could pretend the world began and ended with their tiny little cove. “Yes?”

His next words broke the spell. “Someone’s coming.”

Seamus heard only one person, on foot, moving quickly and quietly but not sneaking. He rose and put Joan behind him as Victor ducked around the wide trunk of a precariously leaning tree. “We got trouble. A mile out and making a lot of noise. Don’t think they’re expecting much of a fight here.”

“Damn it. Get everyone who can’t fight into the big cave, the one with the narrow passage through the back.”

“Already on it.” Victor’s gaze flicked to Joan and back almost too fast to mark. “I sent all of her people there. A few of the men are mostly healed up, but I figured they’d make a better last line of defense.”

Joan stepped around him, her back stiff and her shoulders set in a stubborn line Seamus was already beginning to recognize. “How many?”

Victor glanced at him, clearly unsure if he should answer. Seamus stared him down. “They’re her people. Answer the lady.”

That earned him a tiny frown, and a slightly disapproving one for Joan. “Guy thinks there’s only a few of ’em, based on the noise, but he’s gone back out to try and get a closer look in case there’re more coming in.”

“Did he describe them?”

“Wolves, Miss Fuller. They were wolves.”

If Joan heard the undercurrent of exasperation in his voice, she gave no sign as she pivoted to look up at Seamus. “Do you have enough men to deal with the threat?”

He nodded, already gathering the blanket into his arms. “Unless they’re armed with something more mystical than guns or teeth.”

She hesitated, her indecision obvious in the tight set of her jaw and the uncertainty in her eyes.

He gestured to Victor. “Put them all in the small chamber. We’ll block it, and if the fight gets to be too much, they can come out and help us.”

Victor nodded and spun sharply. “I’ll get it moving.”

Seamus tucked the blanket over his arm and grasped Joan’s shoulders. “It’s just to be safe. If we can’t handle it…”

“I can fight as a wolf,” Joan whispered, clutching at his arms. “I’ve won challenges. I had to, to survive. If you need me, if you need help at all…” Her fingers tightened, and he knew how much the next words meant to her. “Protect my people.”

He kissed her one last time, a quick promise more than anything else. “Can you run like this?”

A wild heat rose in her eyes before she pulled it back with obvious effort. “As fast as I need to.”

“Then come on.”

The run back was quick, but it took long enough for Seamus to go over the possibilities in his head. Most of them weren’t good—they could be outnumbered, easily overwhelmed—but he forced himself to stay as calm as possible. Joan would be able to sense roiling power, and it would needlessly scare her.

She was already scared enough.

To her credit she didn’t show it. Not a hint of her fear upset the serene, confident expression she fixed in place when they reached the caves. He could almost see her power twisting in as she gathered reserves from God knew where and squared her shoulders. “If you need help…”

“Go, Joan.” A very personal sense of urgency compelled him to guide her toward the narrow opening in the back of the cavern. “Try to keep everyone calm and quiet.”

“I will.”

As soon as Joan was out of easy earshot Victor appeared at his side, eyes narrowed. “She’s trouble. You’ve got that look.”

Seamus avoided his gaze as he stripped out of his vest and shirt. “What look?”

“The one you always get when you see some sweet little society dish.” Victor’s vest hit the ground. “Believe me, Whelan, she’s not worth the trouble. I know her type.”

“That so? Enlighten me, Victor.”

“Alpha bitches are all the same underneath. Don’t know how to give an inch even if their damn fool lives depend on it.”

As if Victor would do anything differently. “So she’s got plenty in common with both of us, then.”

Dark brown eyes glinted angrily in the thin light from the moon. “It’s our job to protect them. Women like her spit on everything that’s good about who and what we are.”

Women like her were doing the best they could. Seamus wrapped one hand in the front of Victor’s shirt. “I know you mean well and you’re a good man, but if you don’t shut your face, I’m going to pummel you.”

Victor outweighed him by twenty pounds of muscle, but the angry power roiling inside the other man couldn’t eclipse his own. Victor’s mouth tightened as he held up both hands in clear defeat. “She’s all yours.”

“No, these people are all hers, and she wants to keep them safe. Surely you can respect that.” Seamus turned to where Norman stood, watching the beach and woods beyond from the mouth of the cave. “Anything yet?”

“No sign of Guy,” the man drawled, “but he’s keepin’ watch.”

“There might have been time to—” A piercing howl rent the night. Warning. “Get ready.”

Victor cursed and shucked his pants. Norman undressed just as fast, and magic swelled as both called on their wolves, the change flowing over them in a ripple of fur.

His wolf senses were far keener than his human ones, and Seamus could hear the snarls and snaps of the approaching attackers. There could be no more than a handful, few enough not to pose a problem.

Guy burst out of the trees first, a large white wolf with gray markings who darted past the cave just slowly enough to be seen before cutting back around to come up from the intruders’ left flank. Norman shot in the opposite direction, paws silent on the rock-strewn ground as he disappeared into the trees.

The strong black wolf who was Victor stayed at Seamus’s shoulder, tense and ready. This close, the trampling through the woods sounded like even fewer paws, and he wondered if they planned to attack in waves, one after the other.

Then the wolves broke out of the trees. There were only three of them, a large wolf flanked by two smaller ones. Seamus dug into the rocky sand and headed for the middle wolf.

It wasn’t much of a fight. The largest wolf stumbled when they got close enough to feel the angry roil of Victor’s power, and one of the smaller ones skidded to a stop and turned tail, bolting back into the woods. Seamus didn’t spare him another thought; Norman and Guy would head him off.

The remaining interlopers didn’t run. The larger lunged at Seamus, jaws snapping, but desperation and fear hung heavy enough in the air to choke them both.

Seamus fought only long enough to drive the wolf to the ground, then backed away, trusting that Victor would guard him. When he was far enough away, he dropped to his haunches and resumed his human form. “Who sent you?” he rasped.

The large wolf snarled at him. The smaller one whimpered from his spot on the ground in front of Victor. He was the one who changed, magic responding sluggishly and so slowly that his transformation looked agonizing. When it was done a young blond man knelt on the ground, eyes wide and terrified. “We were just supposed to get the girl.”

Joan. “It’s only the three of you?”

The boy shivered as a cold wind cut through the trees. “It was just supposed to be a bunch of women. They told us—”

Another snarl, and the large wolf lurched to his feet, gathered to pounce on his companion. Victor barreled into the wolf’s side, knocking him back to the ground, and bared his teeth.

Seamus had to push down his own rage in order to ask, “They told you what?”

A choked noise ripped free of the blond boy, and he lowered himself closer to the ground. “I didn’t have a choice. Lancaster told us not to touch the leader, b-but he said we could…”

He looked sick, which matched how Seamus felt. They had orders not to touch Joan, but watching them assault those in her care would hurt her in ways that far exceeded any physical threat. “What about Samuel, the alpha in Boston?”

The boy didn’t answer. Joan did, her voice soft but carrying easily through the still night air. “He’s in debt to Lancaster. As long as Edwin holds the purse strings, he makes the decisions.”

Her presence in the face of danger sent a shaft of protective rage splintering through Seamus. “You were to stay in the cave,” he growled.

“William is no danger to me.”

Seamus could mark her approach by the soothing rush of magic as she stopped just behind him, leaving him between her and potential attack in spite of her calm words. “The one on the ground, however, is. He’s one of Edwin’s lackeys. A man with a taste for terrified girls.”

Victor snarled. Soon, there would be no holding him back, not with that knowledge burning in his gut. “Take the boy and clean him up, Vic.”

The young man—William—flinched, fear in his scent and in his eyes. “I don’t know anything else. I swear.”

Joan stepped forward again, her arm brushing Seamus’s. “He’s not going to torture you, William. No one here blames wolves for doing what they must to survive their alphas.”

Victor wouldn’t hurt him, though probably not for lack of motivation. “Vic?”

Magic ripped through the clearing as Victor shifted forms, his change flowing over him with a speed only one born a werewolf enjoyed. He stayed crouched on the ground, his gaze fixed on the remaining wolf. “This one doesn’t deserve mercy.”

He didn’t, but he also didn’t deserve the death Victor would give him, either. “The boy?” Seamus prompted.

Victor rose. “On your feet, puppy.”

William looked like he might piss himself, but he obeyed. Then he looked at Joan. “I—I remembered one other thing.”

She started forward, but Seamus held her back with one arm. “What is it?”

His gaze shot from Joan, who was bristling, to Seamus, and apparently judged Joan to be the less intimidating party. “There’s a compass. It’s with our clothes, a few miles back. Lancaster had it enchanted so it always leads to you.”

More magic, and it lifted the hair on the back of Seamus’s neck. He looked at Victor. “Maybe the wizard Guy knows can do something with that, if we can get in touch with him.”

Victor curled a hand around the boy’s arm. “Take me to where you left the compass.”

The remaining wolf snarled and lunged for Joan, teeth bared and ready to snap. Years of fighting, of honing reflexes already sharpened by the wolf inside, spurred Seamus’s reaction. He grabbed the wolf’s head, unmindful of those snapping teeth, and twisted quickly, cracking his neck.

William staggered, and might have hit the ground if Victor hadn’t dragged him bodily toward the woods. Joan simply stared at the prone wolf body, face impassive in the silvery moonlight. “Are you injured?” she asked Seamus finally.

Her heart pounded, but it wasn’t fear that bridged the space between them. He fought to keep his own body from reacting. “I’m fine.”

“I’m relieved to hear it.” The words held a slight tremor, and he could feel the hunger of her wolf and her own rejection of it. “I should check on the others.”

He wanted to stop her. He wanted to chase her again, like he had earlier.

So he stepped back, far enough that he could no longer sense her racing heart or the need that mirrored his own. “We can talk about this threat later.”

“Of course.” Her gaze roamed his face, then slipped lower, quick and furtive, as if she couldn’t quite stop herself. The darkness couldn’t hide the blush that rose in her cheeks as she turned abruptly. “Whatever you think is best. I’ll—I’ll be in the cave.”

He had to turn to keep from following her. His frustration wanted to evidence itself in short, barked orders, but he was alone in the clearing.

Chapter Four

Her skin felt too tight, and inside-out too. Her nerves might as well be on the outside, laid bare to every brush of fabric, every teasing caress of wind. Too much sensation and not nearly enough. Never enough, because it was fabric and air, not rough hands and a hot mouth.

She was in danger. Serious, mortal danger, pursued by a madman who had leveled magic at her, and the twisting in her guts was the unbearable ache of need, not the sharp stab of fear.

On days like this, with her body beyond her control and held hostage to instincts she barely understood, Joan hated being a werewolf.

The cave was abuzz with nervous chatter and movement, the girls repacking their belongings and the men shifting bedrolls and blankets. They’d have to move, of course, though where Seamus intended to lead them next was only of passing interest.

Joan would not be with them.

If that terrifying moment in the clearing had given her anything, it was the peace of absolute trust. Her instincts might have reacted with embarrassing and appalling arousal to the show of brutal strength, but it didn’t detract from the truth of the matter—Seamus would protect her people. He would keep them safe. She believed it with everything inside her, wolf and human alike.

It made leaving easier. Not easy—she couldn’t walk lightly into the hands of the enemy, knowing what likely awaited her in Boston. She’d be a suitable distraction, though, and she was the only one they truly wanted. Once enough time had passed to know her people were free, she’d escape her prison or die trying.

There was an unexpected serenity in that knowledge. Enough to make it easy to move amongst the girls and give comfort where comfort was needed. Few needed it. Edwin’s castoffs all had one thing in common—an appreciation for rakish men. There were certainly plenty of those to be found among Seamus’s associates.

She found Simone shoving clothes into a bag, surprisingly unappreciative of those rakish men. “The tall one is an ass,” she muttered. “I asked him what happened, and he tripped all over himself to reassure me that you were fine, that we’re all fine. He didn’t bother to actually answer my question. Like I need to be protected from the truth.”

The tall one had to be Victor, who’d shown no particular warmth to Joan herself. “I don’t think he has much faith in the sense of women.”

“I have faith in the size of the hole he’ll have in his head if he tries to ‘there there, little lady’ me again.”

Simone was furious, angrier than Joan had ever seen her before, and it offered another whisper of peace. Simone wouldn’t roll over for Seamus’s men just because they were stronger. She’d fight if she had to. The girls would still have a protector.

Of course, that didn’t help Simone in the short term. “Ignore him. The other men seem more amiable. Seamus is almost reasonable, for an alpha.”

That melted some of Simone’s ire. “He likes you.”

Denial would be foolish at this juncture. “I know. Power calls to power. It always does.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, that’s almost certainly it. Except that it isn’t at all, and you know it.”

After everything that had happened, Joan should have grown past blushing. Yet warmth filled her cheeks as she knelt to help Simone store the last of her belongings. “This is neither the time nor place for romance. Keeping us safe is my only concern.”

“The heart will not be contained.” Simone delivered the flowery words in a matter-of-fact tone as she fastened the heavy bag and lifted it.

“Mine will be.” Joan looked up at her closest friend and tried to find words that wouldn’t rouse suspicion. “You need to know, Simone. I’m in more danger than most. They can’t let me get away with the things I’ve done. I need you to promise me that if anything happens—”

Simone cut her off. “You’re not thinking of doing anything foolish, are you, Joanie?”

Answering directly would reveal the lie, but Joan had grown up in the polite society of evasive small talk. “You said yourself that Seamus is interested. Do you honestly think an alpha like him would let me?”

“I think he doesn’t know you like I do.”

Only one distraction left. “I kissed him.”

Simone froze. “You did not.”

“On the beach.” The heat of his fingers still felt branded on the back of her neck, as if that spot held the secrets of everything she needed from him. “It—it was very pleasant. Unexpectedly so, in fact.”

Her friend hesitated. “I’m…not entirely sure what that means. That you want to do it again?”

Admitting the truth didn’t matter now. “Desperately. I know it’s not the place or the time, but when he kissed me, I didn’t care. I always thought I was more sensible than that.”

Simone simply blinked at Joan. “Well.”

It wasn’t quite the reaction Joan had expected. “Well?”

She shrugged. “You like him too. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing. I’m going to finish packing our things, and we’re going to get in the cars and drive. One of the men has an acquaintance who might be able to hide us for a time using magic. I’ll worry about kissing and feelings when we’re safe.”

“That’s a plan, I guess.” But Simone had already been distracted by Victor’s entrance. “Hey! I want to talk to you.”

Joan started to turn, but caught enough bare skin out of the corner of her eye to whip back around. “Simone, anything you have to say can wait until he’s dressed.”

A thoroughly amused, thoroughly male chuckle echoed in the confining space. The impossible man was laughing at her, as if modesty and courtesy were childish trivialities. Annoyance stiffened her spine, and she pivoted again and let him feel the full thrust of her power along with her temper. “You may dislike me as you please, but you will show the ladies respect. And that includes wearing clothing.”

“It doesn’t bother me in the least.” Simone shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest.

Victor’s gaze traveled from Joan to Simone, where it lingered with something approaching amused affection. His dark hair fell over his forehead as he nodded and took a step back, a clear sign of retreat. Then he turned on his heel and strode away, and even Joan had to admit that naked expanse of his well-muscled back was distracting, if you favored large men carved from stone.

Simone watched him, and she seemed to have forgotten altogether that she meant to talk to him. “Did Seamus mention where we’re going?”

“I haven’t had a chance to ask.” Nor would Joan find out, because not knowing would be important later. What she didn’t know she wouldn’t be able to reveal, after all, and she wasn’t foolish enough to believe the Boston alpha couldn’t break her if he set his mind to it.

A chill claimed her at that thought, and a clawing claustrophobia with it. “Do you have the bags? I should check that everything’s arranged.”

“Sure. I’ll look in on Elise too.”

Elise would have a child soon, and Joan might never get to see her. She’d never find out if the tentative flirtation between the two youngest wolves might blossom into love, or if Simone’s frustration with Victor might cover an interest the woman fought to hide.

Worst of all, there would be no goodbyes. But she could say the one thing that mattered, so she threw her arms around Simone and held her friend tight. “I wouldn’t have managed this without you. Not any of it.”

“We’re not there yet,” she answered grimly. “These men are so sure of themselves, but…I don’t know. We have a long way to go.”

They both did.

He’d known she was going to leave and that he’d have to follow.

Seamus stripped off the last of his clothes and called the change. It came easily, testament to the harsh emotions roiling inside him. He snarled and left the stopped caravan behind.

Victor would take care of everything. Seamus had spoken with him briefly, keeping his questions and instructions just vague enough to limit the man’s suspicion. They hadn’t been back on the road for long, and when the rest of them discovered he and Joan had gone, there would be no doubt what had happened.

He wanted to be furious that she would risk herself this way, but understanding tempered his anger. What wouldn’t he do to protect his men or those that belonged to him?

To protect her?

She was heading in the right direction, so he followed at a distance until she stopped in a glade by a small creek to rest and drink. He shifted back and spoke as he approached, his voice hoarse from strain. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t spank your ass.”

The small, exhausted-looking wolf lifted her head and snarled at him.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He sank down beside her. “Gray hair. You’re going to give me gray hair, and I’m far too young for it.”

She circled around him slowly, her paws rustling against the leaves. She stopped somewhere behind him, and power rose tired and sluggish. Her voice sounded every bit as rough as his own when she spoke, edged with sorrow and pain and magic. “You know I’ll run again. Edwin can’t let me make a fool of him like this. If we find one wizard, he’ll find three. It will never end.”

“So we find a way to fix it that doesn’t involve you taking a powder, especially by yourself.”

He felt the first brush of her skin against his bare back as she huddled closer, shivering in the cold night air. “Please, Seamus. Let me go. It may not be pretty, but they probably won’t kill me, and they’ll bore of me eventually. I can survive anything they do if I know you’re keeping my people safe.”

“Not just here to save you, Joan.” He leaned back, just enough to press his skin more fully to hers. “I’m saving myself too. You might survive what happens to you, but I wouldn’t.”

A small hand slid over his shoulder, and her forehead pressed against his neck. “You hardly know me. You can’t care so much.”

But he did, and so did she. Seamus covered her hand with his and laughed a little. “Are you going to argue with me now?”

“Are you going to force me to?”

“Depends, some. You still want to run off by yourself?”

“I never wanted to.” Her lips grazed the spot between his shoulder blades as she talked, each word a teasing kiss. “I know what the alphas in Boston are forgetting. Being dominant isn’t about getting what you want.”

“No, it isn’t.” It was about a hundred little things like comfort and family, as well as the bigger things—like protection. All the things he couldn’t think of with her lips on his skin. “Joan.”

Her lips pressed against him more firmly, no accidental kiss this time. “Tell me there’s another way, and I’ll take it. But I’m not going back to my people. Not until I know Edwin’s done looking.”

She was probably trying to scramble his brain so he’d agree with her, but he didn’t care. “I didn’t say anything about going back, did I?”

“Thank you.” Her fingers tightened around his hand, clinging to him. “I—I don’t have a plan that doesn’t involve getting caught. I was going to wait at the cave until they used their magic to find me. I think Edwin will come with them this time. He’d want to see me taken care of personally.”

It was as good as anything else. “We left some supplies there. Come on. We’ll dress and talk.”

The warmth of her body against his vanished, but he didn’t feel the corresponding swell of magic. After a few tense, silent moments she sighed. “I think I’m too tired to change again so quickly.”

He picked her up and carried her.

There were no women’s clothes at the cave, but Seamus managed to find a set of boys’ trousers and a small shirt. “Put these on while I start a fire.”

She accepted them in silence and slipped away toward the back of the cave. The fire pit was still warm, and it took him only minutes and a few fresh logs to stir it back to life. Outside, dawn was just beginning to break, but it would take hours for the sun’s warmth to penetrate the shadows of the cave.

Joan returned, wearing the odd-fitting clothing and dragging two heavy blankets. “They were folded in the back. I shook them out to make sure nothing had taken up residence.”

“Good idea. We’ll lay them out by the fire.”

Soon enough she’d created a little nest, with one blanket folded to provide padding from the cold stone floor. She wrapped one side of the other around her shoulders, then peered up at him with a look that dared him to comment on what she said next. “I saw some bottles too. I believe I finally understand the allure of applying liquor to a case of nerves.”

A dangerous thing for a teetotaler like her to be thinking. “You want to tie one on, I’m not going to stop you. But maybe we could talk first.”

Something like disappointment flickered across her face, then vanished. “Yes, I suppose that’s the responsible thing to do.”

Sympathy and guilt tugged at him. “I was also hoping to kiss you again, but I make it a point never to kiss drunk women.”

Her eyes widened, and he seemed to have startled her into a smile. “How disappointingly upstanding. And here I thought you were a total scoundrel.”

“Not quite, sweetheart.”

“It would be better if you were. I could resist a scoundrel.”

“No need to resist me.” He offered her his easiest smile. “Just say the word.”

For a heartbeat he thought she would, the longing in her eyes was that sharp. Instead color filled her cheeks and she looked away, suddenly shy. “We need to talk.”

“What would you like to talk about?”

“Our plan. We’ll have an advantage in that Edwin is unlikely to be willing to kill me outright. He needs to punish me in front of the others. To regain control.”

She was saying that Lancaster meant to break her. Seamus clenched his hands into fists as rage splintered through him, and he forced himself to take a deep breath and focus. “That leaves me, and he’ll likely want to dispose of me as soon as possible. Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless he figures it would hurt both of us more if he had me watch him…punish you.”

The words made her clutch more tightly at the blanket. “I think that’s a distinct possibility. Though if he concludes that I’ve developed any affection for you, it’s just as likely that he’ll try to take you apart piece by piece and force me to watch.”

“Either way, it buys us some time.”

“Time to fight?”

She relished the idea, and it sparked something primitive inside him. “That’s right. Time to fight.”

Joan turned her attention to the fire, her expression turning thoughtful. “I can fight…but that’s dangerous. What if the worst happens? Will your people help mine find a safe place to settle?”

He’d left strict instructions that Victor wasn’t to wait for his return before taking Joan’s people to safety. “Guy’s grandfather owns an island. We’ve been buying it up, bit by bit. Hell, we might own it all by this point. There’s nothing there, but it’s small enough to ward and build a colony of sorts.”

Her eyes drifted shut. “Thank you, Seamus. I can’t—after all this time, I can’t tell you how much it means to know… To know—”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Hey.” Seamus rose and circled the fire to sink down beside her. “Hey, it’s all right. They’re going to be okay.”

“I know.” Her voice trembled, but the tone was one of relief, not distress. She leaned into him, curled close and wrapped an arm around his neck. “Adam tried, but he could never understand. He protected them because he wanted to, because he’s a good man under all his vices. He never understood that I didn’t have the same choice.”

“I know.”

“You understand.”

“That protecting them isn’t a choice? That it tears you up inside when you feel like you can’t get it done?” Her skin was soft under his fingers. “I understand, sweetheart.”

“Yes, you do.” She stroked the back of his neck before sliding her hand up to drift through his hair. “Tell me something about yourself. All I know is that you’re a werewolf, and friends with Gavin, and that your associates are all such handsome scoundrels that I imagine I’ll find every last one of my girls in love when I get back to them.”

“Hopefully, the boys know better.” They didn’t, but telling her they were likely to flirt with her charges would make her feel worse.

“Mmm. But you didn’t answer my question.”

He couldn’t sneak anything past her, which meant he’d have to answer. “What do you want to know?”

She didn’t answer at first. Her fingers continued their meandering path up and down his neck as she curled closer, dragging the thick blanket with her. Finally she blew out a breath and tilted her head back. “Do you want to kiss me as desperately as I want to kiss you?”

His body tightened, but he managed to check his groan. “I kept you away from the rum, didn’t I?”

“I suppose you did.” She brushed her lips along the line of his jaw. “How did you become a werewolf?”

If he told her the whole terrible story, it would cool her ardor quickly. “Women aren’t the only ones purposefully changed to suit an alpha. There was one back home who needed more men. More fighters.”

“Back home. Ireland?”

“Dublin.”

“How long ago?”

He’d almost fooled himself into believing he’d lost count of the years, but the date came easily. “1891. November twelfth.”

She wasn’t slow at math. “Forty-two years ago. I suppose I’m still not used to how deceptive aging can be among those not quite human. I thought you were my age.”

“No.” He smiled to distract her. “Quite a bit older, actually.”

“A lecherous old man, then.” Her hand drifted up to cup his cheek. “We have nothing to do but wait. A kiss can’t be that irresponsible, can it? Just a kiss?”

The ultimate irresponsibility, and he hoped he would be the only one to pay the price. “Not at all. Kiss me, sweet Joan.”

She did, brushing her mouth against his in the lightest of caresses and retreating before he could react. Her fingers slid around to the back of his neck before she parted her lips and kissed him again.

This time, with no one but them in the cave, her almost clumsy eagerness barely registered, but heat flared in him with undeniable intensity. Careful, boy. Don’t frighten her.

And the full force of his desire would scare her, no matter how instinctively attracted to him she happened to be.

That she was instinctively attracted was certain. A tense, nervous energy trembled inside her, a quiet battle between woman and wolf. It evinced itself in a dozen tiny clues—her fingernails scraping against his skin before she relaxed her hand, her teeth almost closing on his lower lip with every noise she made.

Seamus took a deep breath and slid his hand into her hair. Gentle force urged her head back, and he pressed careful kisses to her cheeks and jaw. “Relax.”

“I can’t. I want—” She shuddered as his mouth found the spot where her jaw met her throat, fingers clenching almost painfully around his arm. “She wants. She wants more than I’m ready for.”

“Sex?”

“Sex. Mating. Everything.” Her lips brushed his ear. “She’s infatuated.”

Her words made it hard for him to speak his own. “Neither of us is ready for that right now, Joan. But the kissing is good.”

Joan pulled back, a furrow between her eyebrows and a tiny, puzzled smile curling her kiss-swollen lips. “I don’t know what to make of you, Seamus Whelan.”

“Of course you don’t. A true cad of my caliber would have your pants off by now, right?”

“I’m more concerned with what you’ll do when I take leave of my senses and try to remove yours.”

Fantasies were made of stuff like that. “No, you won’t.”

It was a command, and it worked magic on the wolf inside her. She went liquid in his arms, smiling up at him with a sweet, open trust. “Not if you’ll kiss me instead.”

The trust made him ache as much as the soft press of her mouth and body. Her lips parted under his, and he teased her with his tongue, just enough to show her how good it could be.

She was breathless when she finally pulled away and dropped her head to his shoulder. “Do you think we’re safe here until tonight?”

“Depends.” They could come looking for her soon, or it could be days. “Want to get some rest?”

“I think I ought to. But if the others don’t arrive—”

“You’re getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you?”

Joan was implacable. “If we’re going to fight, maybe we should go back home. To the farmhouse, I mean. They’ll find us eventually, but Astrid set warning wards around the property. Even if—even if she’s not alive anymore, I should be able to activate them with a little blood. We’ll know they’re coming before they reach us.”

It would be useful, since he had no idea who—or what—they’d send after them. “After we get some sleep and make sure Gavin and Adam aren’t showing up here.”

She nodded against his shoulder, then pulled back and stared up at him with a wobbly smile. “Thank you for coming after me. For caring enough to want to help.”

He indulged himself by stroking the back of his hand over the curve of her cheek. “Anytime you need me, sweetheart.”

Her eyelids drooped, and her breath came out on a shaky sigh. “Be careful what you offer. I might just take you up on it.”

With a woman like her, a strong alpha, the threat was nothing short of a miracle. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Joan smiled and curled closer to him, but the soft shiver that shook her body didn’t seem to spring from arousal. She confirmed it a moment later with a whisper. “It’s cold.”

It would be easier to warm the smaller, enclosed area at the back of the cavern. Safer too, and perhaps they could both sleep instead of taking turns at watch. The only problem was that the smoke from their fire would give away their position.

Unless they didn’t need the fire. “Do you ever sleep as a wolf?”

“On rare occasions. It might be wise now. If someone does come upon us, I’m not a very effective fighter as a human.”

“I meant more for warmth. We could move into the smaller space. It would hold heat more efficiently, but we’d be safer without the smoke from the fire.”

“Oh.” She nodded and eased back. “It’s a good idea.”

She rose slowly, as if the movement took more effort than she wanted to show. Seamus carefully covered the fire as she eased through the crevice in the cavern wall.

It took only moments to bank the flames, but he waited until magic swelled through the cave before standing to shed his clothes. The change came over him, and he padded back to join her in the smaller space of the secondary cavern.

He considered blocking the opening, but it would be difficult to do from the inside. It would take intruders long enough to spot the crevice, and they’d have time to react. That was really all they needed.

Well, not all. Seamus settled to the ground and curled around Joan, who lifted her head to bump her nose against his muzzle.

It was a purely instinctive gesture, one of deference and submission, and it sent a protective shudder racing through him. He’d promised Dubois he would keep them safe, all of them, but Joan was different. She was his, and she seemed to know it.

As if oblivious to the storm she’d set off inside him, she wiggled closer until she was curled tight against his side, her head tucked under his chin. Sleep claimed her quickly, her sides rising and falling slowly, her breath ruffling his fur.

He could keep her safe. That was all that mattered now.

Chapter Five

The farmhouse was eerily empty, devoid of the chattering of female voices and men calling back and forth. Joan stood in the middle of what had been their dining room and examined the evidence of their hasty departure the day before.

As far as she could tell in the darkness, all was as they’d left it. First aid supplies and ruined towels lay scattered across the long table that Adam had built himself, a solid expanse that had seated twenty. Not everyone had been able to sit there, not in the later years when more and more had fled the Boston pack and taken refuge at the farm, but in the early years they’d shared family dinners, rife with laughter and warmth.

The table had been shoved against the wall, the benches that went with it upended and pushed aside. Joan righted one of them, straining against the heavy weight even with the strength that had come to her with her new life. When it sat upright she let herself sink down, resting her body as her numb gaze swept the room again.

Exactly as they’d left it, and until that moment she hadn’t realized how desperately she’d clung to the hope that they’d find some evidence of Adam or Gavin or the rest of her people. Proof that they’d been here, that they’d escaped and were scrambling to make a late rendezvous at the cave.

Nothing undisturbed. Joan wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, more relieved than she wanted to admit when Seamus returned from his exploration of the house. She knew the answer, but she still asked. “No signs that anyone’s been here?”

He hesitated, regret and worry thinning his lips. “No, I’m sorry.”

Edwin might have them all, then. She hardened her heart against fear and rose. “If no one else is here, we should set the wards.”

“How do we do that?”

“Upstairs.” She started toward the back of the house, trusting him to follow. The stairs creaked as she eased up them, leading him past two dormitory-style rooms and through the narrow doorway that separated the original house from the newest addition.

Only three rooms, but all were spacious and well appointed, mostly with furniture Adam had carved himself. A smaller bedroom for Adam and two larger ones on either side of the modern bathroom, where Joan could run herself a bath for the first time in longer than she cared to consider. She let her fingers brush over her own door, imagining the wide bed she’d shared with Simone and how comfortable it would be to curl up with Seamus and ignore the world for the rest of the night…

No. Common sense pushed her to the end of the hallway and into the neatly organized bedroom Maggie and Astrid had shared. In the corner sat a small table, and on it a clear glass ball surrounded by stubby dark candles. A fortuneteller’s crystal ball, a frivolity Adam had purchased as a joke and that Astrid had turned to practical use. That was Astrid to the core—imminently, ruthlessly practical.

Joan stopped beside the table and picked up the knife sitting next to the candles. No ornate dagger or mystical blade, just one of the knives from the kitchen sharpened to a keen edge. “Blood keys it. But without Astrid here, I don’t think we can turn it off again without breaking the crystal.”

“Can’t see any reason we’d have to.” Seamus laid his hand over hers, over the one holding the knife. “Do you want me to do it?”

“Both of us,” she whispered. “In case we’re not together when they arrive. Whoever bloods it will feel the warning. It’s like a magical shock.”

He nodded, tightened his fingers around her hand and drew the blade quickly across his palm. Blood welled from the wound in a thin, crimson line.

She didn’t hesitate before doing the same. The knife was so sharp that the cut stung more than hurt, or maybe the discomforts of the past weeks had inured her to pain.

Together they pressed their hands against the clear crystal. Joan gasped when hot magic raced through her, tightening her skin until she was painfully aware of the warm press of his fingers over hers and the solid bulk of his body.

He hissed in a breath, his eyes wild. “Is it supposed to feel like this?”

Activating the wards had always brought a little zip of heat, but never anything like this. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s too much magic.” She opened her fingers and the knife clattered to the table as she turned and pressed her body to his. “Or maybe it’s just us.”

He grabbed her, his hands twisting in her too-large clothes as he drew her to him. His mouth descended over hers, open and questing, and the heat exploded in a rush of longing and need strong enough to overcome any polite rules of human society.

She tore her mouth from his and panted for breath as she stepped back, dragging him with her. “My bedroom. We passed it.”

He stumbled after her, his hand shaking. “Yes.”

Before she’d been nervous, too aware of her carefully guarded virtue and how foolish she would seem, fumbling like a young girl who’d never touched a man. Now he seemed just as clumsy, strong hands a short step from wild as they clenched in her borrowed shirt. The fabric ripped as they made it into the hallway and crashed against the opposite wall, and Joan gasped and twined her arms around his neck. “Take me to bed. Please, Seamus.”

He lifted her against him, urging her legs around his hips. Two quick steps took him to the bedroom door, and he kissed her again as he shoved through it and headed for the bed.

He dropped her onto it and ripped open his shirt. “Tell me you’re ready for this.”

This time she could look her fill, trace the hard muscles of his chest with her gaze until her fingers ached with the need to touch. She came up on her knees and reached for him, flattening her palms against his bare skin, and nearly moaned at the fire that might burn her if she stayed too close. “If you’ll show me what to do. I’ve never—”

“I know.” He caught her hands and tugged them up so he could kiss her palms. “Slow and easy. I promise.”

She frowned and curled her fingers, scratching the sides of his cheeks as she leaned up to bite his chin. “Not too slow. It will hurt a little the first time. I don’t care. We’ll do it again.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Never another first time, Joan. Trust me.”

Trust was easy. Telling herself to slow down, less so. It felt as if everything they’d been through had led to this moment, to the total breakdown of what remained of her strict upbringing and the rules she’d taken upon herself to abide by even in a world gone mad. It brought perfect clarity, being at peace with the wolf inside her, something she’d only felt before when she’d fought for her life.

Now she was celebrating life. She slid her hands over his neck and the tight, coiled muscles of his shoulders to where his shirt still hung from his arms. Dragging it down brought his chest close enough for her to kiss it, pressing her lips to hot skin stretched taut over hard muscles. “If you don’t show me what you want me to do, I’ll make it up as I go along and it will be your own fault.”

Seamus swore between clenched teeth and freed his arms from the tangled shirt. Then he cupped her head, guiding her mouth over his chest. “Doing a good job so far.”

Joan shivered and eased her lips apart before touching the tip of her tongue to his chest. “That?”

He groaned and eased them both down to lie on the bed. “That.”

His helpless need in the face of her attentions stirred her so much that she closed her teeth on his skin, marking him in a primal, desperate claiming. You are mine, Seamus Whelan. Whether you know it or not, you’re mine.

Another groan, and he wrestled her arms up over her head and pinned them to the bed. “Slow down, sweet Joan. Let me make it good.”

“It is good,” she whispered, rubbing her legs together as a soft ache centered low in her body. “How much better do you plan to make it?”

His lips brushed her cheek and mouth. “So good you’ll think you can’t stand it.”

She tried to tug one hand free and whimpered when she couldn’t. “My shirt. I want to take off my shirt. I’m too warm.”

“Don’t move. I’ll do it.” Seamus trailed his fingers slowly down her arms and began freeing the buttons lining the front of the garment.

Obeying him thrilled her in a way she hadn’t anticipated. She curled her fingers around the pillow under her head to quash the temptation to reach for him. “I want your hands on my skin so desperately.”

He parted the rough fabric and slid his palm over her stomach. “Do you trust me?”

She felt no hesitation, no confusion. Woman and wolf both knew the answer. “Yes.”

His hair fell over his eyes as he raised his head and smiled at her. “Then let me love you.”

Love. Not what he’d meant, but the word shook through her regardless, a promise of what she could have if she could just surrender to it. “Yes. I’d like that.”

Seamus touched her gently, though his hands trembled on her skin. He stripped off the shirt and her oversized shoes before loosening the belt that cinched her borrowed pants. The whole time, he watched her face, gauging her reactions with a hot gaze. “This is what a woman like you deserves, especially at a time like this.”

“A woman like me?” She liked those words less. “What sort of woman am I, Seamus?”

“A beautiful woman.” He unbuttoned her pants. “Sweet, sexy. Gorgeous.”

“Oh.” Warmth rose in her cheeks, and she closed her eyes. “I thought you were going to say prissy, difficult and virginal. Or at least be thinking it.”

His eyes lit with laughter. “No, sweet Joan. Only someone who’d never glimpsed the fire under your very prim exterior would consider you prissy.”

With her shirt gone and her pants undone, she was far from prissy or prim. “It was safer to be thought of as cold. I acted frozen, and I started to feel that way.”

“You’re not cold,” he whispered. “So far from it, I ache just looking at you.”

“You make me melt.” She touched his cheek, ran her fingers through the rakish fall of his hair. “You make me feel alive.”

“Yes?” He reached into the baggy pants she wore.

Her body trembled. She tugged at his hair, wanting to feel his mouth on her skin. “You make me feel wild.”

He gave her his mouth, along with a soft, teasing lick just under her collarbone. She arched and pressed closer, needing his heat, his touch, needing it all more than her next breath.

He made a soothing noise, his breath blowing hot against her skin as he stroked her hip and slipped his hand down between her thighs.

Nervousness was impossible under his gentle touch. She’d been prepared for fast—had wanted it, even—but now she reveled in the delicious, twisting tension he built higher with skillful caresses. Arousal had readied her, left her wet and aching and craving the illicit things she’d pretended so hard not to overhear when the girls put their heads together and whispered. It was all too easy to anticipate, to imagine his fingers, strong and sure, sliding inside her. His mouth, wicked and taunting, trailing down her body until his tongue drove her to madness.

He did put his fingers inside her, one and then another, probing. Stretching. Seamus lifted his head, his brow furrowed. “Damn, you’re tight.”

Her breath caught, and she clenched her fingers in his hair. “That seems—seems—” She couldn’t even think of a retort, not when the persistent ache had become a need so sharp it hurt. Angling her hips helped, rocking up against him as she chased an elusive pleasure that remained just out of her grasp. “Seamus.”

His head dipped to hers again, just as he twisted his hand and stroked her with his thumb.

“Oh!” Firm lips muffled her gasp, but he took advantage of her parted lips and kissed her again, his tongue stroking over hers in time with the irresistible movement of his fingers and the dizzying press of his thumb.

He whispered her name against her mouth and probed deeper, his hand rocking more firmly. Restless squirming found a focus as his fingers brushed the perfect spot, a magical touch that curled her toes and tightened her fingers until she knew she was yanking at his hair in her desperation. “There, right there, don’t stop—oh please don’t ever stop—”

Seamus ducked his head and closed his teeth on her neck with a harsh growl.

Light exploded through the room—or maybe just behind her eyelids, though she couldn’t remember squeezing her eyes shut. Every frantic sensation in her body pulled in tight, centering for one endless moment on the quick, almost rough circling of his thumb. In the next heartbeat it broke free, and she cried out, caught in the trembling grip of pleasure that rushed to the tips of her fingers and toes, only to retreat and do it again, and again, until nothing existed but joy and him.

His desperate groan vibrated against her throat, and he murmured encouraging words. “See? Good, Joan, so good.”

“Yes…” She gasped in a breath and shifted her grip to his shoulders, nails scraping against his skin as she tried to bring him atop her. “Now. Take me now. I need you now.”

He surged over her, his arms shaking as he braced himself above her and settled his hips on hers. “Careful.”

She felt nothing but his bare skin against hers, and it was a mark of how lost she was that she couldn’t remember him removing their pants. Later she might wonder, but now she followed instinct—human instinct, this time—and hooked her legs over his hips. “I’m strong enough to take you. Don’t ever think I’m not.”

“I know.” He moved closer, the hard head of his erection almost pressing into her. “You’re strong, and you’re fierce. You’re mine.”

Joan dug her heels into his lower back, not fighting the growl that rose from deep in her chest, and swept the rest of her manners away with it. “Do you want me to say it? Do you want me to beg you to—to fuck me?”

Seamus drew in a sharp breath and bit her, his teeth scoring her lip. “Don’t talk dirty when a man’s trying to take it slow, love.”

“If you don’t like the things I’m saying, I suppose you should find a way to make me stop.”

“Maybe I should.” He kissed her and pushed forward, entering her slowly.

Too slowly.

Discomfort was inevitable and unimportant. Nothing compared to the daily pain of shifting to a wolf, or even the recent sting of sacrificing blood for magic. Joan dug her teeth into his lower lip and rocked up, so hungry for the hot, intimate press of his body inside hers that she needed all of him.

Finally, he drove forward, burying his body completely into hers, and froze. “Jesus Christ.”

“See?” The word trembled, in spite of her attempt to sound as if the world wasn’t spinning out of her grasp. “You’re mine.”

His arms flexed and shook as he levered his body up a little and looked down at her with shadowed eyes. “Tell me you’re all right.”

Pain was already a distant dream. Having his lean body stretched over hers could have been a dream, the very best kind. She touched his shoulders, smoothed her fingers along his sweat-dampened skin and nearly moaned at the tension trembling in his muscles as he fought to hold back.

No more holding back. Not for her, and not for him. “I won’t be all right until I’m yours.”

“You are mine, Joan.” He pulled away and thrust into her again, the movement bordering on desperate. “You—Joan—”

“Seamus.” The pleasure of his movements built that perfect tension again, and she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, riding the slow spiral instead of reaching for it. He’d bring her relief, bring her release, and all she had to do was trust him. She didn’t even have to struggle to find his rhythm; every deep, steady thrust brought her hips up, awkwardly at first, but that awkwardness didn’t last long after instinct kicked in.

Wild instinct. Not fully wolf or fully human, but both and neither. It was primal, ancient, whispering that this was life; the hot sweaty press of bodies, the heady pleasure and the warmth that kindled inside her and had nothing to do with the way her body tightened around him. Life wasn’t money and manners, polite society and prim behavior. It was the way he murmured her name, hoarse with need but tender, the way his body strained into her, hungry and feral but leashed by gentle protectiveness.

Sex. Dirty, guilty glorious sex, and that something more that had come to life when he’d whispered, Let me love you.

He took her mouth again, his tongue plunging between her lips in a sensual echo of the joining of their bodies. Then he shifted his hips, angled them so that his next thrust shredded any ability to think, until she was oblivious to anything but the sensation of their bodies. Hers, straining upward, wild and needy; his, hard and hot inside her, rubbing against some quiet spot that made her blood pulse in her ears as she panted the first syllable of his name over and over, too breathless and lost to do more until tension boiled over and she cried out.

It was better than the first time. A hundred times better, a thousand times better, and she clutched at his shoulders until she was sure she’d drawn blood, clinging to the only solid thing left in a world shaking with pleasure.

A second later, his smooth rhythm faltered. Seamus dropped his face to her neck and bit her, muffling his groan as he jerked against her. His hands slid down her body, holding her tight. “Joan.”

Her throat throbbed under his teeth. Her skin tingled. She wrapped her arms and legs around his body, holding him tight against her, and sucked in a trembling breath. “Let’s do it again.”

His chuckle was low, and it tugged at something deep inside her. “You won’t be saying that in the morning. Give yourself some time.”

Joan laughed too, and it felt joyful. Free. She held up her hand, the one she’d used to activate the wards. A hint of blood smeared her palm, but the thin cut had knit shut, showing only a tiny fading scar. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’ve never taken a virgin werewolf to bed before. We heal quickly, you know.”

“I was accounting for that.” He rolled carefully to his side and drew her back into his arms. “If you were human, I’d have said you needed a few days.”

“If you say so.” Truth be told, with peaceful languor settling in, moving seemed like a terribly unappealing proposition, something to be reserved for the imminent arrival of invaders. Unless… “You could always distract me by offering to draw a bath. The tub is big enough for you to join me, if you wanted.”

Seamus laughed. “And how is that supposed to give you respite from my masculine attentions?”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, pleased with the idea that he’d carry her scent as a warning to other females. No one else could take what she’d claimed. “I would think a dangerous criminal like yourself would have all sorts of interesting words.”

“Interesting, yes. Appropriate? Not so much.”

Joan closed her eyes. “I’m tired of appropriate. I’ve been appropriate all of my life. I’d like to try being something else for a while.”

He grasped her hand and wove their fingers together. “Some of us get along just fine without being appropriate, I suppose.”

“It was all I had.” With his arms around her, it felt safe to whisper the things she’d never told anyone, not even Simone. “The men of the pack hated me for not submitting. Everything was cruelty and violence and savage and inhuman. And sometimes I thought—I thought if I just clung hard enough, that maybe I could make a place for wolves who were still human.”

His voice and touch softened. “It’s not about still being human, Joan. It’s about not being selfish, not thinking that being stronger means you get everything you want, even if you have to take it.”

“I know that now.” She turned and pressed her cheek to his chest, taking comfort in the steady beat of his heart. “I still want to make a place. A place where wolves can be…what they are. What we are.”

At first, Seamus didn’t speak. Then he sighed. “The island. We bought it from Guy’s grandfather so we could set up there, have a place to—to lie low after all the smuggling. Figure out what we wanted to do.”

She felt the first tentative thread of uncertainty. “And you didn’t make plans to support so many.”

“No,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it can’t be done. It’d be a hard first winter, but if we made it through…”

“Most of my people are used to hard winters.” All of them, in fact, except for her. Human status had held sway in the pack—those with means could escape mistreatment, after all, if only by fleeing. “I sent money with them. Cash and bonds, and a little gold. Enough to help buy supplies.”

“That’s the thing. We’ve got plenty of money, but you can’t just buy things like shelter, not out there. We’ll all have to work.”

“Then we’ll work. We’ll learn what we need to do. Even the weakest of us is as strong as any human man.”

“The physical labor might be the least of it, sweetheart.”

“I don’t understand.”

Seamus kissed the top of her head. “It’ll be isolated, and my men aren’t like the ones your people are used to. There’s not a weak one in the bunch, and that might be difficult to deal with.”

Joan considered that just long enough to understand what Seamus couldn’t. Edwin, for all his many, many vices, hadn’t numbered unwilling women among them. Young, perhaps. Ripe for debauching. But never unwilling.

Even her newly formed resolution to ignore society’s strictures couldn’t overcome panic at the idea of being trapped on an island with a dozen earthy young women hungry for wicked men and a gang of former bootleggers who would surely seem like saviors straight out of a fairy tale. Left unchecked, all the women would be pregnant by spring.

She very nearly whimpered. “I think they’ll get used to it more quickly than you think.”

He choked on something that sounded like a laugh. Maybe he wasn’t as oblivious as she’d thought. “Yes, they’ll grow used to it very quickly, I should say.”

Beyond her own discomfort, there were practical concerns. “I’ll have to make it clear to them that this winter will be a trial. And perhaps you can impress upon your men the importance of being…careful. Most of my girls have never been treated with any sort of gentleness or respect by a strong male wolf. It’s very heady.”

“I’ll tell the men to keep their hands to themselves.”

“Or, if they can’t, at least…” Judging by the heat in her cheeks, she was blushing furiously enough to be glowing. “I’m fairly certain there are…alternatives. Ways people can enjoy themselves without worrying about pregnancy.”

Now he was undoubtedly laughing. “Yes, sweet Joan. There are ways.” His voice dropped. “I’ll show you a few.”

She turned her head and bit his chest with just enough force to leave a mark. “You’ll have to. I can’t take the risk either. I have too much work to do.”

He groaned and held her mouth close to his skin. “Right. We’ll have to be more careful, then.”

Be more careful. She soothed the mark she’d left with her tongue and bit him again, thrilling at the noise he made. A day ago she’d left her people behind, convinced she was walking to her own death. Even when Seamus had joined her, she hadn’t really believed. She’d even considered taking him that night, in the woods on the ground, rutting with him like an animal because nothing mattered anymore.

Now it mattered. There was a future past the next week, if only they could get there. She moaned and lifted her head, sliding up his body to brush her lips over his. “I’m being careful. Do you understand?”

His body went rigid under hers. “Why do I get the feeling you’re talking about more than making love?”

“Just…understand.” She dropped her forehead to rest against his. “You give me hope. I fought and fought and there was no end in sight, no reason to think I’d ever be doing anything but fighting. Just knowing there’s something past fighting…”

Seamus pulled her up and sat, easing her legs to one side so he could settle her in his lap. “There’s something past the fighting,” he told her softly, his breath blowing against the damp hair at her temple. “There’s me. Us.”

It was almost a promise, a reckless one, considering what lay ahead. Joan didn’t care. She curled more closely against him, resting her cheek on his shoulder as she marveled at the peace she felt, even in the face of everything yet to come. “Lots and lots of long, shared baths?”

“Keeping each other warm all winter long.”

“You are quite warm. I suppose that makes you useful to have about.”

He laughed. “Who needs a coal heater when you have a naked werewolf?”

“That’s the conclusion I’m afraid everyone will come to soon enough.”

His laughter subsided into a smile, but it held an edge. “My men will listen to what I say, or they’ll answer to me. That includes making sure no one is hurt by the consequences because they couldn’t keep their pants on.”

The danger, the reckless confidence… Both were intoxicating, even as they stirred the need to test her strength against his own. “I know. We’ll make it work.”

“Yes.” He tilted his head to hers. “Bath?”

“Bath.” She needed to enjoy the luxurious tub while she could. Edwin would arrive soon enough, primed for a fight. He might have even enlisted the Boston alpha’s assistance through the power of money and shared antipathy. Battle and bloodshed lay in her future…but not tonight.

Tonight she had Seamus. And hope.

Joan seemed surprised that he could cook, and Seamus took a moment to enjoy the relief that lit her face. There wasn’t a damn thing about her that wasn’t beautiful, and she was his.

The instinctive reaction she evoked should have scared the hell out of him, but the fact was that he liked her—a lot. It wouldn’t take much for that attraction to blossom into more. All they needed was a little time.

Seamus set the skillet on the counter and pulled a knife from the drawer. “Want to learn how, or do you want to save the lessons for this winter?”

“This winter,” she said without hesitation. “I’m a terrible cook. I think I might be able to learn to bake, with a patient teacher. Mary makes the most amazing pies.”

“Then you’ll have to talk to Mary about that. I can’t bake for sh—” He broke off and cleared his throat. “At all. I can’t bake at all.”

Joan pursed her lips as if trying not to laugh. “Asking your men to keep their hands to themselves seems trying enough. I can overlook the occasional coarse language. You might recall I recently had a lapse of my own.”

Even the memory heated his body. Joan, bucking under him, begging him to fuck her. “I recall very well.”

“I thought as much.” Pink tinged her cheeks as she looked back down at the list she’d been compiling. “I think I have everyone. If the alpha is holding Gavin and Adam and the others, it will be at Edwin’s house. It’s far enough out of the city to be discreet and has a fair bit of land attached. I think most of the pack’s activities are based there now, though more out of necessity than choice. Edwin has the money, so he has the power.”

A sad fact of human nature that had lately been exerting itself over werewolf nature more often than not. “And how does the alpha feel about that?”

“Bitter.” She traced absent little whirling doodles along the edge of the paper without looking up. “I think…I think without me, they would have fought it out by now. But what the three of us stood for here—it was a threat to both of them, so they’ve been uneasy allies.”

But they could work with that bitterness, perhaps even use it to remove Edwin from the alpha’s reluctant graces. “I understand.”

Her foot bounced under the table, proof of the restless energy that burned inside her. “It all comes back to the money. I think if Samuel could figure out a way to legally take Edwin’s assets, he’d already be dead. But Edwin’s not stupid. And he has a good lawyer.”

Perhaps the alpha needed to consider working outside the law. “Their argument is theirs,” he reminded her.

“Their argument is useful,” she countered. “If I could just figure out how.”

Seamus barely managed not to smile. She was sneakier than she gave herself credit for being, and he liked it. “I think you’ve got a bit of a rogue bottled up in you too, sweet Joan.”

She finally looked up, and her eyes glinted with amusement. “Women have been using men’s vices against them since men discovered vice.”

“Mm-hmm.” He cracked two more eggs into the bowl. “And what did they use against them before that?”

“Why would they need to? Men were angels. Now I’m thinking they might have been a bit boring too.”

“Men have never been angels, sweetheart.”

“I suppose not.” Her pen scratched against the paper again, more idle doodles. “I’ll enjoy learning about your vices, as long as I’m numbered among them.”

His greatest vice, and he proved it by not being able to stop himself from crossing to the table to slide his fingers through her hair. “Tell me something.”

She tilted her head back and smiled up at him. “Anything.”

He nuzzled her cheek and relished the scent of her. “What are your vices?”

“I don’t know.” The pen clicked against the table and her hands smoothed along his cheeks. “I never allowed myself to have any, except pride. That’s not a very fun one.”

“Mmm, I’m partial to lust, myself.”

Her lips found his ear, warm breath skating against him as she spoke. “You inspire lust in me.”

“Better than wrath.” He bent his head licked her earlobe gently.

Her breath caught on a tiny, startled noise and released on a sigh of pleasure. “You inspired a little of that too. Is it wrong to admit it makes the lust…sharper?”

“Wrong? No.” Seamus closed his teeth on her ear. “A little naughty, yes.”

That elicited a satisfyingly breathless gasp. Her fingers slipped down to curl in his shirt and her voice grew huskier. “I’ll have you know, I am never naughty.”

“No?” He couldn’t resist the soft curve of her throat, so he dropped his lips to it. “Not ever?”

“Maybe once. Or twice. I might have to concede that our antics in the bathtub last night were a little outrageous.”

Just thinking about having her under him again made his blood heat. “Outrageous enough for you to need more time to recover?”

Joan laughed as her hand edged under his shirt, her nails dragging lightly over his skin. “If you don’t stop treating me like I’m weak, we’re going to have to detour into wrath. I can feel how strongly the magic burns in you. Can’t you feel me?”

“Yes.” Her magic soaked into every pore of his body, vibrating inside him as they spoke. “But what sort of lover would I be if I didn’t concern myself over you?”

“Lover.” Her voice turned the word into a caress. Her teeth closed on his ear, mirroring the way he’d nipped at her, and pleasure shuddered up his spine.

Seamus leaned over, trapping her against the wood. “Lover.”

Joan eased her hand free and slid both up to hook under his suspenders. “I’m fine, Seamus. I’m aching for you.”

He could tell. The scent of her body, earthy and aroused, tickled his nostrils and stirred his own body. “Tell me what you want.”

She guided his suspenders down. “Everything.”

There were plenty of things he could do to her, things she might never have heard of, but would love all the same. He grasped her hips, lifted her and turned to drop her on the counter. “Lean back.”

“Bossy.” She’d donned a loose men’s shirt and a flowing skirt, claiming she wanted to be ready if they had to shift. Now she smiled wickedly as she lifted her fingers and tugged the top button of her shirt open, then the second, revealing the smooth curve of her breasts. “Do women just do whatever you tell them to?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted.

The third button gave way, and the shirt slipped from her shoulder. The fabric caught on her breasts, snug enough to show how tight her nipples were. “Do you like it when a woman does whatever you tell her to?”

He didn’t bother to hide his feral grin as his hand grazed her inner thigh. “Sometimes.”

Joan drew her legs together, trapping his hand, then leaned forward until her lips hovered over his. “That sounds like submission,” she whispered, every word like a teasing kiss. She licked his lower lip and laughed. “I’ve listened to the gossip. I know that giving in to our instincts can make sex more…primal.”

“You want primal?” Her shirt was like paper under his hands, and he tore the fabric free of her body, though he left it wrapped around her arms. “Say the word, sweet Joan.”

She dragged in a breath and leaned into him, pressed her breasts to his chest with a shaky moan. “What word? Primal? Please?”

He chased her back until his body was stretched out over hers. “The word…is yes.”

“Yes.” Her head fell back, and she didn’t struggle, even though she could have easily torn her arms free of the tangle of her shirt. “Yes, yes, yes—”

She wore only plain cotton panties under the voluminous skirt, and Seamus tugged at them. “What other gossip have you heard?”

Wildness filled her eyes as she watched him. “That finding a man with a clever tongue is of paramount importance.”

The cotton slid easily down her legs, and Seamus licked his lips. “You don’t say.”

“Are you going to show me why?”

He wanted to, not only to drive her wild, but to put his mouth to her body and taste her. “Yes.”

She wet her lips, an adorable anticipation lighting up her face. “Right here on the counter?”

“You like the idea?”

“More than I should.”

“Says who?” He teased her by grazing his fingertips over the sensitive flesh at the apex of her thighs as he bent closer. “That society you’re always talking about?”

The sound of her shallow, strained breaths filled the kitchen as her legs inched apart in silent invitation. “I want it more than I thought possible.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” This close, he could feel the heat of her on his tongue before he even touched her. And then he did.

Her breath caught and her knees knocked into his shoulders as she let out a choked noise that mixed pleasure with surprise. She moaned, and fabric ripped a second before her fingers thrust into his hair, the tattered remains of her shirt hanging from one arm. “Seamus.”

To speak, he’d have to raise his head, and he was nowhere near ready to relinquish the warm taste of her. Not yet.

One heel dug into his back as she squirmed, tugging at his hair in time with her short, gasping moans. “This is—this is so good, so wicked.”

He turned his head and bit the inside of her thigh. “Wicked?”

She snarled and tightened her fingers in his hair as power swelled, fierce dominant magic that trembled with her pleasure even as it challenged him.

It was a sweet challenge, and one Seamus couldn’t resist. He eased her off the counter and turned her over it. He dropped a single kiss on the smooth line of her spine and held her hips still. “Say yes.”

“How many times do I have to say it?” She rocked back, rubbed her ass against his cock with a throaty moan. “This is how I imagined it the first time. This is what she’s wanted all along. Give me what I want. Take me.”

Something in him told him she meant it, and that something rejoiced as he thrust into her, sinking deep with a groan.

Joan choked on a gasping moan, and he knew her inhibitions had been stripped bare when she reached for his hands and dragged them up, pressing them to her breasts with another desperate noise. “T-touch me, please—”

“Soft?” He plucked at her nipples, teasing them into hard peaks before twisting them just a little. “Or like that?”

“Like that.” Her fingernails dragged across his wrists before her hands slammed against the counter, bracing her shaking body.

She tightened around him with every caress, and Seamus steeled himself against release. He couldn’t come, not yet. “I know what you need.” He cupped her breast, squeezing her nipple between his fingers, and slipped his other hand down the front of her body.

Her body clenched and her head crashed back against his shoulder. “More. Harder.”

He bit her ear and gave her the dirty words she wanted. “Not until you come on my cock.”

She did, with a sobbing moan of pleasure, her hands slipping against the counter as she tried to rock back against him with the rhythm of her body’s frantic release.

He gripped her hips, gritted his teeth against his own need to follow and gave her what she needed then—hard, driving thrusts that pushed her against the biting edge of the counter. One of her hands flew out, knocking a vase to the floor. She whimpered and pushed up on her toes as her head fell forward, baring the back of her neck to him save for a few strands of wild hair.

He bit her before he could stop himself, and that jubilant voice inside him whispered that she wouldn’t want him to stop. She’d given herself to him, and now…

Now he’d give himself to her. He closed his teeth harder on her neck and drove deep as release took him, pleasure tearing through him in white-hot waves.

When it faded Joan had gone liquid underneath him, her head resting on her folded arms as tiny tremors shivered through her, aftershocks of pleasure he could feel deep inside her. Her breath came in short, gasping pants that slowed gradually, until she found the breath to whisper. “I think I might grow to like being a werewolf.”

He laughed and eased back to make sure he wasn’t crushing her. “I’m glad I could help.”

“I’m glad I let you.” One of her hands drifted up to her neck, fingers caressing the spot where he’d bit her. “It’s like everything means more. How can one bite feel better than the sex?”

“Because we shared ourselves.”

She straightened slowly and nudged him until she had space enough to turn and stare up at him. A smile curved her lips as she reached to brush her fingers through his tousled hair. “Because we fit together.”

“Yes.” Admitting as much should have caused him more than a moment’s worry, but it was too late. Seamus wasn’t one to fight his instincts. “And now we should rest.”

Joan’s smile widened. “Am I so distracting you forgot you were hungry?”

He’d manage without the meal, but she would need the strength. “Blast it, I had forgotten.”

She laughed and tugged at his shirt until he relinquished it, then pulled it over her own head before smoothing her rumpled skirt down. “So we’ll cook together. How much of a mess can I make of it?”

He didn’t care if they made a mess, as long as it made her smile.

Chapter Six

By the time the seventh day dawned without an attack, Joan was ready to climb out of her skin.

The first few had felt like a joyful reprieve, a chance to rest and prepare, to plan. She’d made her lists, had discussed the strengths and weaknesses of every man Edwin might be able to call to his cause, from the alpha himself straight to the weakest of subordinates.

When she’d run out of words, she’d enjoyed the free time in other ways, ways that made her blush to consider. But the joyous sense of freedom had constricted a little more with each day, until she felt tension as a painful knot between her shoulders. The ax had to fall; there was no way it couldn’t.

Waiting for it might drive her mad. It did drive her to snap at Seamus as she paced her bedroom, the need to move having driven her from beneath the blankets at the first light of sunrise. “I thought they’d come at once.” It wasn’t the first time she’d said it, but she didn’t care anymore. At least words gave her some release from twisting fear. “What if they’re hurting them more, and I’ve been wasting my time indulging myself. A week, and no one could have held Astrid so long. Not without—” A hitching breath as she forced the thought away, tried to deny her sinking surety that her friend was dead. “I should have gone sooner—”

“Then you would have accomplished nothing by rushing in and getting yourself killed,” he reasoned.

She didn’t want to hear reason. “Right now nothing I do could be categorized as rushing. They’re not going to walk into our trap. Maybe I need to walk into theirs.”

“Can’t just do it.” He sat, the sheets falling to his waist. “If you want to live, we have to be careful.”

The claustrophobia of being trapped grated so harshly on her nerves that even the bare, beautiful expanse of his chest couldn’t hold her attention for more than a few moments. “I have no skill at this. I don’t plan battles. I understand a clean challenge, a fight. I don’t understand this.”

“If we could know it would be a clean challenge, we’d be gone already.” Seamus patted the bed. “Come here.”

If she went to the bed he’d lay his hands on her, and her traitorous wolf would be soothed just by his touch. It should frighten her more, how easily he could quiet her panic, but today it only made her angry. She didn’t want to be petted and tamed, she wanted to fight. “No. If you have an idea, tell me what it is.”

“I’m not trying to distract you.” He tilted his head. “Come here.”

The command held a thrust of power, and she bared her teeth at him. “Don’t get alpha with me, Seamus Whelan. Not unless you want to smash me in line with your fists.”

His lips trembled as he quite obviously fought a smile. “I’ll never rule you, sweet Joan. Only ask. Please.”

The plea did what an order couldn’t, and she capitulated with a sigh and slid onto the bed next to him. “Don’t issue orders when I’m riled up unless you want me to challenge you on principle. I can’t help myself.”

He looked like he might not be so averse to the occasional challenge. For now, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I have an idea,” he murmured against her shoulder, “and I need your help figuring out if it would work.”

Nervous tension bled from her body as her wolf quieted at the gentle brush of his magic. At least it made it easier to think. “What’s your idea?”

“It involves two things—the bad blood between Lancaster and the alpha, and a good scratch man I happen to know.”

“A scratch man?”

“A scratch man is a forger,” he told her, “but not just any forger. The kind who can fool anyone. The kind who can get things done.” Seamus stroked his hand down her arm, from shoulder to wrist and back again, over and over. Then he began to speak just as slowly, outlining his plan.

Edwin Lancaster’s estate was about what Seamus expected, huge and austere and brimming with the stink of fear. The men milling about were scared of Lancaster, that much was obvious. Should he displace the alpha, he would rule the pack with anger and threats.

It had happened in the past, of course, but that control wouldn’t have lasted for long before another would have risen to rid the pack of the tyranny. These days, though…

Money was God.

Seamus held Joan’s hand tighter as one of Edwin’s guards led them through a small courtyard and toward a large set of French doors. They crashed open, and Lancaster stood there, pleased but also angry. “Joanie.”

Joan’s fingernails dug painful furrows in Seamus’s hand. “I want your assurance that Adam and Gavin and the girls are still safe.”

“They’re here. They’re alive.” His gaze flickered to Seamus. “Mostly.”

Distantly, Seamus recognized the anger that raged through him. He tamped it down. “I challenge you for their freedom, for what you’ve done to them…and for what’s yours.” He delivered the final words with a smile he knew would infuriate the man.

Edwin’s look of shock was almost comical, but when his eyes focused on Seamus and Joan’s joined hands, something feral and ugly crept over his expression. “So, the virtuous Miss Fuller is revealed to be a common whore. I hope you got your payment upfront.”

Oddly, the ugly words did nothing to further Seamus’s ire. It didn’t matter what this man thought—a man who, for all his finery and affluence, was more of a thug than Seamus himself had ever been. “I challenge you, Edwin Lancaster. Are you tucking tail and showing your belly in forfeit?”

“No.” Disdain dripped from him. “I accept your challenge.”

“Excellent.” Seamus caught movement out of the corner of his eye as Lancaster’s men moved into position, readying for an attack. “What are your terms? Fists? Teeth?”

“I have no interest in exchanging blows like a petty criminal. We fight as wolves are meant to.”

“Do we now?” The men moved closer, and Seamus released Joan. “Let’s have done with it, then.”

Joan might be fairly trembling with rage, but she kept to the plan and stepped back, hands curled into fists at her side. Edwin’s eyes narrowed as he reached for the buttons on his vest. “Don’t look so upset, little Joan. You’re free of me. I don’t marry whores and I don’t bed cold-hearted bitches.”

Her lips curled into a vicious, deadly smile. “Be glad he claimed the right to challenge you. He might kill you quickly.”

“Enough,” Seamus grated, hoping she would understand. If the plan fell through and Lancaster won, her threats could cost her her life.

Joan glanced at him and then away, fixing her gaze on the ground as she visibly dragged her temper back under control. The sight only amused Lancaster more. He laughed, the sound grating and harsh, and shed his vest. “How touching. Someone finally brought you to heel.”

Seamus stripped off his own vest and began to unbutton his shirt. “You’re spending an awful lot of time heckling a girl, Lancaster. Don’t want to fight me?”

“I’m not afraid of you.” The words were pure bluster, undercut by the way his eyes kept flicking from left to right, clearly sizing up his supporters.

“Right.” Seamus smiled. “Then why are you waiting for your men to jump me?”

It might have been the truth, but Lancaster’s pride couldn’t take it. His fingers closed around his crisply pressed shirt and he jerked, sending buttons flying. “Ridiculous.”

“Clean,” Seamus told him. “A clean fight, or I’ll take your fucking head off right here, while you’re still tangled up in your pretty clothes.”

Lancaster’s hands fisted, something sly passing behind his eyes. “You could try.”

“Or I could.” They’d both been so distracted with the posturing that neither had noticed Samuel’s arrival. The Boston alpha stood at the front of the courtyard, his arms crossed over his chest. “Surely you’re not thinking of cheating, Edwin? I had to stop you once this week already, that silly business with the wizard.”

Behind Seamus, Joan’s breath released in a gusty sigh of relief, as if she’d almost believed they’d been betrayed. But as Samuel stared expectantly, the loose circle of men surrounding Seamus and Edwin broke apart.

Edwin wasn’t stupid. He looked from Samuel to Joan, angry color rising in his face. “You double-crossing bitch.”

Her chin came up. “Only you would think ensuring a fair fight is cheating.”

Seamus kicked off his shoes. “Enough. Here and now, Lancaster.”

When his opponent didn’t reply, Samuel took a step forward. “You’re stalling. You’ve avoided too many challenges of late. Fight now or forfeit.”

Edwin’s shoulders slumped just the slightest bit, and Seamus knew he knew he’d been defeated already. He would still fight because he had to, but the alpha was finally ready to move against him. To preserve his position.

Then Edwin’s eyes gleamed, and he squared his shoulders and spoke again. “This man’s problem with me isn’t his problem at all. It’s hers.” He cut his eyes at Joan. “If anyone challenges me, it should be her, should it not?”

She’d grudgingly agreed to cede the challenge to Seamus, but now not even their plan could hold her. “I accept. Now, with the alpha and Seamus standing witness.”

Before Seamus could argue, the alpha nodded. “It will stand. Whelan, step back.”

He had no choice but to comply, and only the fact that Edwin was a coward and a weakling allowed him to do so without physical restraint. From the way Joan looked at him as she slipped out of her shoes, she understood the cost of his self-control. A tiny, secretive smile played around the edges of her lips as she straightened and whispered, “Thank you.”

It eased his hackles somewhat. “I know you threatened to kill him slowly, but I’d appreciate it if you made it quick.”

Joan laughed, looking like an entirely different woman than the one he’d first met. Wilder. Freer. She reached for the buttons on the front of her oversized shirt and nodded. “Anything for you, my dear man.”

That unfettered confidence let him relax more, and he fell back to stand beside the Boston alpha. “She’s going to tear into him.”

The man seemed unconcerned. “If he can’t defend himself against one little deb, he deserves to go down.”

“Yes, doesn’t he?” Joan’s voice slashed through the air as she shed her shirt. “You made me, Edwin. You bit me, you turned me… You took all those girls, stole their lives and threw them away like trash. Now it’s time to pay your debts, and this time your money won’t make it go away.”

Edwin opened his mouth to deliver a rejoinder, and she kicked off her pants and knelt to shift.

Seamus crossed his arms over his chest. Surprisingly, he was going to enjoy watching Joan fight this fight.

As a wolf Joan could smell the heavy stink of Edwin’s fear. He wasn’t a man used to fighting. During normal times he would have settled somewhere in the middle of the pack, not a submissive wolf but not dominant. There was no steely strength in him, no fire, none of the seething power that made the world come alive around her.

Then the world they’d known had ended with the stock market’s crash, and Edwin’s ability to cling to his fortune had given him all the power he needed. No one challenged the man who fed them.

Before now.

It seemed to take forever for Edwin to call the change. His power fluctuated wildly with the pounding of his heart, skittish and fast enough to rouse her instincts. Scared. Weak. Edwin was prey.

He trembled on his paws, his tail dipping down, as if he wanted to tuck it between his legs and submit, ending the challenge. But Joan knew that the man still inside him wouldn’t allow it.

He’d always had more pride than sense.

The men had formed a circle again, a loose one this time, marking the boundary of an acceptable challenge. Joan could sense Seamus at her back, a glowing star of power. A hundred times before she’d considered challenging Edwin, but fear had always held her back. Edwin didn’t believe in fair fights. His men would have fallen on her like they’d been planning on attacking Seamus.

Not this time. A fair fight. A clean fight, with Seamus protecting her from duplicity. Baring her teeth, she snarled at Edwin and lunged.

He met her at the shoulder with a hard shove. His greater bulk gave him an advantage, but she was used to being smaller than the males. She twisted away easily and nipped at his side, moving faster than he could hope to.

A good thing too, since even Edwin, with his slight build, was stronger. He could snap his jaws on her throat, so she had to make sure he didn’t get the chance.

She had to bring him down.

Edwin wasn’t an experienced fighter, but he was desperate. Joan was still considering the best tactic when he came at her, lips pulled back in a vicious snarl. The move held no subtlety, just rage and aggression, but even so his teeth grazed her fur as she twisted away, almost too slow.

No time to think. Instinct took over and she went low this time, driving underneath his guard. Her jaw snapped shut on his back leg. His yelp turned into a howl of pain, but he cut it short and retaliated, biting into her haunch.

Pain sliced through her, intensifying as she endured it long enough to bite again, this time hard enough to snap bone. He went down, but his teeth ripped free of her flesh as he did, rending it in a burning blaze of agony.

Instinct screamed to press the advantage, to ignore her pain and end him before he could hurt anyone else. Instead she hesitated, giving him a chance to yield.

He scrambled up, spittle flying from his jaws as he dove for her throat.

On three legs the attack was clumsy, and part of her had known he couldn’t give in. Not to her. She feinted back, let him think she was more injured than she was. That she was scared, intimidated…all the things he wanted to believe.

A perfect trap for his ego, and he tumbled into it, pressing his advantage without a care for defense. She narrowly wrenched her body out of the way of a stumbling attack, then let her leg give out, as if the pain from her left flank was too much.

He shouldn’t have believed it. Even a weaker wolf would have recovered from her injury by now, but males always believed females were inferior. Edwin lunged, reckless and triumphant, and Joan twisted at the last moment and closed her jaws around his vulnerable throat.

She’d killed before, when necessity called for it. Her human mind might shy away, but the wolf knew what to do.

Bite.

Tear.

Blood gushed, hot and sharply metallic, and relief swelled as she staggered away, her wolf already secure in their victory.

Edwin toppled, slumped to the ground in a quiet, awkward heap. Blood pooled underneath him and seeped into his meticulously kept lawn. Brutal death amidst the trappings of civilization.

No one spoke. No one breathed, not until Seamus finally broke the leash of his control and ran forward to kneel beside her, his hands gently ruffling her fur. “Joan. Are you all right?”

The words drifted over her, more tone than substance. Some part of her knew their meaning, felt the sweet possessiveness in his touch. She should turn, reassure him somehow.

She should celebrate, howl her victory loud enough that the wolves who belonged to her would hear and know themselves safe. The enemy of her nightmares had been brought low. By her.

He was dead. Edwin Lancaster, the man who’d torn her from her family and her life when she’d rejected him. The man who’d thrust her into this nightmarish world of brutality and savagery. Joan stared, her heightened senses filled with the scent of cooling blood.

Dead.

She was free.

Frigid numbness faded under a rush of giddy, reckless excitement. There’d been a time when she’d imagined not even his death would save them. So many wolves had embraced the corruption Edwin fostered. Impossible to imagine the same wasn’t happening all across the country, where desperation met money.

No place to run. No place to take the girls whose lives Edwin had destroyed.

Not until Seamus.

He whispered her name again, hands still sliding over her back, questing for injuries. He was worried. Protective. It snapped her out of her shock, and she shook herself and danced away, needing the space to shift.

The agony of the change intensified with a still-healing wound, but Joan pushed through it until she knelt on the blood-slicked ground, her hip throbbing in protest. “My shirt?”

Seamus wrapped his own around her, engulfing her in his warmth and scent. “Do you need a doctor?”

“No.” Her fingers trembled as she tangled them in the shirt and clutched it tight around her. She lifted her gaze and found the loose circle of men watching her, their expressions ranging from fury to satisfaction.

Only one man’s face was blank—the one man who could betray them yet. “Samuel.”

Slowly, the Boston alpha began to smile. “I’ve done my part.”

Seamus nodded. “Yes, you have.”

“I trust you haven’t forgotten our agreement.” Samuel’s expression darkened. “If you don’t hold up your end of the deal, I could still make life very difficult for Miss Fuller and—”

Seamus held up a hand to stop his words. “I know someone who can transfer Lancaster’s assets to the pack. I’ll contact him immediately.”

“Then I believe everyone will agree that Edwin decided to take an extended trip. A tour of Europe, perhaps?”

Joan closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. “My people.”

“In the guest house. Edwin kept them there, under guard.”

The answer didn’t soothe her. “He couldn’t have kept Adam and Gavin in check with a guard.”

Samuel looked away. “Edwin always has—had his ways.”

Which meant some of them had died to keep the men in line. Ice slipped through her veins, and it took all of the stubborn pride she possessed to lift herself to her feet. Her leg wouldn’t quite hold her yet, but Seamus was quick enough to offer support. “I’m taking them with me, Samuel. We’re leaving Boston.”

“That was part of the deal.”

“A part we’re keeping,” Seamus whispered, close to her ear.

Joan nodded and tightened her fingers around his hand. “I’d like to see them while you and Seamus discuss your business.”

The alpha shook his head. “Business will keep. Take her to see them, and we’ll talk later.”

Seamus slid his arm around her waist and nearly lifted her off her feet. “Come on. I’ll help you.”

In times past she never would have accepted his assistance. She would have swallowed pain and accepted the misery of appearing uninjured. Many of the men who watched their slow progress across the uneven ground had been enemies. To show weakness, to be vulnerable in front of them—it would have invited challenge.

With Seamus at her side she didn’t have to be strong every moment of every day. She could curl her arm around his neck and let him help her. So she did, shaking a little as she hooked her arm over his shoulder. “For a second I thought you wouldn’t let me fight him.”

A flash of guilt skated across his face. “I almost didn’t.”

“I know.” She smiled a little, in spite of everything. “I won’t blame you for your instincts, as long as you try to fight them once in a while.”

“And I held back,” he allowed. “Even when the son of a bitch bit you.”

“I’m strong enough to fight when I have to, Seamus. But knowing you’re at my back…it means everything.”

“I will be, sweet Joan.” His eyes blazed with intensity. “Your fights are mine, and mine are yours.”

The words rocked through her, wiping away pain and fear in a rush of relief that weakened her knees. “That means your people are mine, and mine are yours.”

“Thought we’d settled that already, love.”

“I suppose we did.” She hesitated in front of the door to the guesthouse, then squared her shoulders. Whatever she found on the other side, whatever pain or grief waited, she wouldn’t have to face it alone.

She’d never have to face anything alone again. “Let’s see to our people.”

Seamus pushed open the door, and at first she could only see the faces of the missing. Opal, whose death she had all but ordered through ruthless practicality. Astrid, their witch, who she’d known in her heart must be gone because Astrid could never be held captive, not for so long. Not when the first person to lay an ungentle hand on Maggie would have had to kill her or forfeit his own life.

A more ruthless leader might have considered it a triumph. Not so many were missing. Opal, Astrid, a young, quiet woman named Jasmine and the only male Edwin had captured, a gruff older wolf who’d only joined Joan’s pack recently. Not so many, but still too many. Enough to make victory more bitter than sweet, and Joan ached for every life as if every death had been hers alone to prevent.

Seamus’s arm slid around her waist again, a comforting strength. “Joan?”

She swallowed and pulled herself together. For them. “We’re leaving. We’ve found a safe place, and everyone else is already on the way there.”

A quiet, pained noise filled the air, and two of the girls moved, giving Joan her first glimpse of Adam stretched out on an immaculately upholstered sofa. He was pale, as pale as human legends so often painted vampires, and even sitting upright seemed a struggle, though he flinched away from the one girl who reached out to help him.

Dull, tired eyes focused on her waist, on Seamus’s arm around her and the unspoken statement inherent in the gesture. When Adam’s gaze lifted to hers, he looked almost relieved. “You don’t need me anymore.”

Seamus glanced around, his mouth open as if to speak. Before he could, Gavin shouldered out of the small crowd with a grimace. “Whelan.”

“Gavin.” His relief was palpable.

But his friend paused only for a brief greeting before turning to Joan. “Talk some sense into Adam. He’s half-killed himself trying to help everyone, but he won’t feed.”

Joan slipped away from Seamus and moved to stand in front of the sofa, her throat tight with tears she still couldn’t shed. Wouldn’t shed—not yet. “Adam.”

The vampire looked away. “I’m leaving, Joan. Gavin’s going to help Seamus get everyone to safety. Wolves helping wolves. That’s how it should be.”

She hadn’t always approved of Adam. Sometimes she hadn’t even liked him very much, but she’d always respected him. Appreciated him. “You helped us. For years, you helped us. Let us help you now.”

“No.” His eyes closed. “The bonds are gone. Astrid’s gone. I need to go too. I need some time.” His fists clenched on his legs. “Do you really want to look at me, day in and day out, and see the ghosts?”

As if the ghosts wouldn’t follow him wherever he went, just like they’d follow her. “We always see them. They deserve to be seen. And Astrid—” She glanced at Maggie, curled in the corner between the protective press of two of her friends, her eyes red and swollen, her expression numb.

Adam didn’t turn his head, but he seemed to know where her gaze had wandered. “Take care of her. For Astrid. For me.”

Unwavering finality. She could argue, but Adam was unmovable when he set his mind on something. Only Astrid had ever been able to sway him. “I will,” she whispered. “We’ll take care of all of them. Gavin will know where we are. If you need a safe place…”

“Take care, Joan.” Adam finally looked at her, just for a moment, and she saw a world of loneliness and loss and something that went beyond both, a soul-deep envy that sharpened as he looked past her again. “Let him love you, Joanie.”

“We just met, Adam. It’s not—” The words wouldn’t come, because she knew they weren’t true. Love bloomed over a lifetime of days, but it could kindle in a moment. In the space between heartbeats, with something as small as a promise—Your fights are mine, and mine are yours.

The tiniest smile curved Adam’s lips when she didn’t finish her denial. “You never were stupid.”

“No, I suppose I wasn’t.” She hesitated before lowering her voice. “I hope you’ll let someone love you someday.”

“Someday,” he agreed, but his pleasant tone couldn’t cover the lie. Her heart broke a little, but she pasted on a smile and pretended she believed him. She pretended as Gavin and Seamus helped her gather up the girls, pretended as Adam said his awkward goodbyes and someone brought her clothes and pointed her to the bathroom.

She pretended until the door closed behind her, and then she gave in and cried. Silently, because she couldn’t afford to alarm the young women who had already been through so much, but the tears burned as she scrubbed at her skin with a wet rag. Another sink in another house and she was still covered with blood and tired of fighting—

But not alone, not this time. The door cracked open and Seamus slipped inside. He watched her in the mirror for a moment before taking the damp cloth and stroking it over her arms. “Dubois left.”

Joan closed her eyes and let him take care of her, needing the quiet, steadying support. “I know. I think he’s broken inside.”

“He did the best he could.” Seamus’s fingers stroked through her hair. “We all did.”

She turned blindly and found him there, arms open and strong as she wrapped herself in his scent and his power and everything that was Seamus. “I want to go home. I want to have a home to go to.”

“Breckenridge Island?” he whispered against her temple.

It was more primal. More basic. “You.”

A soft growl vibrated under her cheek. “You’ll always have that, whether we’re out there on that island or back in the city. I promise.”

She clung to him until she thought his shoulders might bear bruises from her fingers, and even that evoked an instinctive satisfaction. Marked. Hers. “I think my wolf is a little in love with you.”

He made a low noise of pleasure. “What we need to do now is see if the rest of you is going to join her.”

“When.” Joan kissed his cheek, the line of his jaw and then his chin. “Not if. When. I only hope you’re not far behind me.”

He cupped her face, tilted it up to his. “No,” he whispered, somehow making the word sound like an endearment. “Not far at all, love.”

The day was chilly, but Seamus had long since discarded his shirt as he worked on fashioning a door for the most recently completed cabin. It would be shared by several of the women, including Elise and her new baby, so they’d worked on making the structure especially sound.

He paused and straightened as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. The settlement was larger already than they’d expected it to be, but word of their defection from the city packs had already spread. More showed up every few days and, soon, overpopulation would cause problems. Not with money—there was plenty of that—but even money couldn’t buy shelter or food on this island.

Victor balanced precariously on the steeply slanted roof above him, working on the slate shingles. “How’s the door coming?”

“Almost done.” It was solid, sound, and it would serve them well through the impending winter. “Not much time left.”

“Wind’s got a fearsome bite to it. It’ll snow any day now. Some of the men may be taking it in shifts bedding down in the barn as wolves, but we’ll get through.”

Yes, they would. “Remind me to check the coal stores again. You might have to make one last trip into Searsport.”

Victor groaned. “That woman has been after me to take her along. Says men don’t know how to shop for the things a woman needs.”

That had to be Simone. Seamus grinned and settled the finished door against the side of the cabin. “Better listen to her. I get the feeling she doesn’t give up easily.”

“She’s already gone and whined to your mate, and I got that look this morning.” Victor’s eyebrows pulled together as he slid down the roof and hopped to the ground. “Not telling you how to manage your woman or anything, but shouldn’t a newly mated wolf be less crabby?”

“With you? No.”

“Damn.” Victor tossed his hammer onto the makeshift table and took a step back. “Well, we’ve got that order coming in from Boston in a few weeks. And there’s a lot of work to do here, still. No time to take two trips, so she’ll just have to wait.”

“Simone will manage.” Seamus stretched and slid his arms into his shirt. “Joan’s expecting me for lunch. Something special, she said, and keep your mind out of the gutter.”

“Mm-hmm.” Victor didn’t take his gaze from the house. “This is going to be a long winter, Whelan.”

“A hard winter.” There was no use sugarcoating that particular fact. “We’ll all have to work, no doubt about it.”

“It could be years before we can get reliable electricity going out here. How many of these girls want to live like this? They’re soft. City girls.” Victor’s jaw tightened. “Christ, they’re scared.”

Their fear had to be eating at Victor, just as it was at him. But at least he had Joan to soothe him. “We’ve got money, Vic, and that makes things happen. It’ll be faster than you think, we just have to keep it together until then.”

“I know.” Victor sighed and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “Go. See your woman. And ask her to keep her friend from pestering me. That one hasn’t got a scared bone in her body.”

“Right.” Even Victor’s grumpiness couldn’t disguise the fact that he admired Simone’s fearlessness. “Watch yourself. She’s got a beau. One who could turn you into a frog, come to think of it.”

“Ain’t afraid of any wizard.”

Most of the others didn’t feel that way. The magic at the wizard’s command was strong, and beyond most of the wolves’ understanding, including his own. That sort of magic could confine him, or compel him to act against his own desires or conscience—and that was terrifying.

But in this first year, when their tiny island still lacked for so many comforts and amenities, magic could prove invaluable. “We need him here in case something goes wrong. He’s a skilled healer.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m not arguing. If I live another hundred years, I hope I never have to deliver a baby in the backseat of a car again.”

“With luck, you shouldn’t have to.” Seamus raised a hand in farewell. “I’ll tell Joan you said hello, and please keep Simone the hell away from you.”

Victor turned back to the house and picked up his hammer. “I’m gonna finish up here. See you later, Whelan.”

A short walk brought Seamus to his own door. Given a choice, he’d have preferred privacy, to be set away from the others a bit, but for the sake of safety and convenience, they all needed to stick close together.

Especially the alphas. When he opened the door, the scent of blueberry pie greeted him. “Smells good.”

“Because Mary was here. All I have to do is manage not to burn it.” Joan had a patchwork apron tied over her jeans and thick sweater, and the sight of her bent over the table made his mouth water. “But Guy brought in his first haul from the traps today. And he showed me how to cook them. I think.”

“Good, lobster for dinner.” He caught the ties of her apron and spun her around to land in his arms. “Good afternoon, Miss Fuller.”

She laughed, happiness brightening her face. “Mr. Whelan, your obsession with ambushing me in the kitchen is becoming its own vice.”

“I gave up all my others. You’re the only one I have left, sweet Joan, and I intend to indulge.” Especially over the long, cold nights ahead.

Her fingers traced along his jaw as her eyes softened into the look she never wore for anyone else, the one that said more clearly than words that she was his lover, his mate. His. “Well, fancy that. I’ve redeemed your criminal heart. Of course, you’ve turned me into a shameless wanton who might very well have her way with you in broad daylight on the kitchen table.”

“Mmm.” He lifted her and set her down on the edge of the aforementioned table, urging her legs around his waist as he moved. “I could get used to it, but your aprons might start to excite me.”

Joan landed a playful nip on his chin, but when she leaned forward to wrap her arms around him and bury her face against his neck, it became clear she was more interested in cuddling than sex. “Victor said to expect a blizzard soon. I admit, I’m almost a little relieved. We’ve been so busy getting ready, some days it seems like the only time we get to spend together is while we’re sleeping.”

“We’re as ready as we can be.” He was looking forward to it too—no one in the white, whirling world except for them. “Nothing we can’t handle if we work together, right?”

“Nothing at all.” Her breath tickled against his neck, warm and teasing. The soft words that followed, however, were deadly earnest. “I love you. More every day.”

Three tiny words, but they never failed to move him. His chest tightened, and he cradled her closer. “And I love you.”

“I’m so lucky to have you. After everything—” Her voice hitched, and her fingers dug hard against his shoulders. “But we’ve done it. We made a safe place. A sanctuary.”

“Yes.” He knew only one dark spot remained, sullying her happiness. “I wish we could have convinced Adam to stay here this winter.”

“We couldn’t. Not without Astrid…she was his contemporary. I was… We were never close. Not like that.”

“Then he’ll need time.” There was nothing they could do to help him heal, not if they only served as painful reminders of the deaths of those under his charge.

“We all need time.” She pulled back and lifted her hands, cradling his face with a gentle smile. “Now we have it.”

“There’s my smile.” He traced his thumb over her lower lip. “Blueberry pie. Is that my surprise?”

Joan twisted in his arms and reached behind her, turning back to him with a rich-looking leather-bound book cradled between her hands. “It’s not much, but I thought we needed at least one book in our library before the blizzards start.”

Only Joan would have known that being stuck without something to read would vex him more than any other amenity the island lacked, and the knowledge filled him with a warming satisfaction. “I love Whitman,” he told her as he set the book aside, “but nowhere near as much as I love you.”

“I expect you to spend the long winter nights reading me poetry now, you know.”

“I’d be happy to.” Happier than she knew, but that was all right. He had time to show her. “I’ll read it in bed. Wanna try it out?”

Joan laughed, all traces of grief vanished in a joyful rush of power and pleasure. “The pie will burn.” She didn’t sound like she cared.

“It’ll be fine.” The pie, like just about everything else, could wait, but his need for Joan was paramount. Overwhelming.

Overwhelming because it was a need borne of affection as well as lust. He could talk to her, share things with her.

She arched an eyebrow. “You’re staring.”

“I’m looking.”

“Looking at what?”

That answer was simple. “My love.” Joan was his partner, a true mate, and he would never turn back.

They’ve been hiding from the past. Now it’s time to fight for their future.

Sanctuary Unbound

Red Rock Pass, Book 4

New England is ideal for vampire Adam Dubois. His cozy home in the Great North Woods reminds him of a happier time when werewolves and witches were stuff of legends, and he was a simple lumberjack.

Hiding from past failures has worked for over eighty years, but a life debt owed to the Red Rock alpha has forced him to leave his retreat—and come face to face with a woman who challenges and tempts him on every level.

Hiding secrets is a lonely business, and Cindy Shepherd is lonely with a capital L. Red Rock isn’t exactly crawling with available men, but her interest in the mystery-shrouded new vampire in town seems mutual. After all, it’s only sex—there’s no danger he’ll dig deep enough to unleash the demons of her past.

Casual flirtation turns deadly serious when Adam discovers that the vampire plaguing Red Rock is using his mistakes as a road map. When it comes to his life, he knows Cindy has his back. But in order to secure the future, they both must trust each other with more—even if it means sacrificing themselves to save everything they hold dear.

Warning: This book contains epic werewolf battles, mystical vampire blood bonds, unexpected sex on the kitchen floor and a dangerous attraction between a secret-burdened werewolf and a vampire lumberjack.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Sanctuary Unbound:

“You’re like a mule.” Even as she rasped out the words, she lifted her hands to frame his cheeks. “When I start calling you stubborn, you know you have a real problem.”

“I’m old enough to be set in my ways. I earned every damn scrap of stubborn I have.” He turned his head and kissed her thumb. “All of it, honey.”

He was fascinating, and he scared the hell out of her. “Last chance, Adam,” she whispered. “Don’t you want to go?”

“Fuck, no.”

Fighting the inevitable was exhausting, so Cindy let go and touched her mouth to his. She meant it to be a slow exploration, but her hands shook as she rested them on his shoulders. Arousal coursed through her, hotter and faster than anything she could have expected, and she quickly deepened the kiss.

His fingers thrust into her hair, holding her head still as his tongue stroked over hers. She had to get closer, so she angled her leg over his and slid into his lap.

He stared up at her from glazed, hungry eyes. “We doing this for the right reasons?”

She’d already lost track. “What are the right reasons?”

“Because we’re so hot for each other that we can’t stop ourselves.”

“I didn’t think there was ever a question about that.” Cindy shifted in his lap, easing her hips against his. He was hard between her legs, solid and hot, and he groaned as she rocked down against him.

His hands fisted in her hair, tilted her head back until his lips brushed her throat. “Best reason in the world, then.”

The simple touch streaked hot pleasure through her. “Does lazing about in bed like rich people include torrid sexual encounters?”

“Even if it didn’t, I don’t mind a little revisionist history.” His tongue dragged across the skin over her pounding pulse, and dark, hot magic twisted tight between them. “The past isn’t as pretty as people like to pretend these days.”

“Nostalgia’s easier.” Certainly easier than trying to maintain a conversation while he licked her throat. “Adam.”

“Cindy.” Another lick, a little faster. Rougher.

“You’re a tease.” She turned her head and bit his earlobe, almost hard enough to hurt.

“Am I?” He braced his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back against the rumpled blankets. “Seems to me I’m plenty willing to follow through.”

“So the unresolved sexual tension is my fault?” Playing around felt good, almost as good as having him lean over her with the promise of such heat in his eyes.

“Or we’re just both responsible adults in the middle of a crisis.” His fingers trailed down her body, teasing at her breasts through the fabric of her shirt. “Mostly responsible, anyway.”

Cindy moaned, feeling less responsible by the second. She needed his hands on her bare skin, so she dragged the thin cotton up and over her head. The fabric had barely cleared her hands when he rewarded her, cupping her flesh with warm, work-roughened hands.

There was no stifling the cry that rose in her throat. She wanted him too much, and denial had driven her almost to the point of pain. “Don’t stop touching me this time. Please.”

“We don’t have time for me to take you like I want.” His voice was as harsh as his fingers were gentle, a delicious contrast. “But I’m not leaving this bed until I see you come.”

Cindy trapped his hands against her skin. “Don’t jinx us like that. We have time, plenty of it.”

“Shh.” He lifted his hands, moving hers easily enough. They ended up trapped against the bed as he leaned down and let his breath feather over one tight nipple. “Stop thinking so much.”

She strained toward his mouth, caught between another whimper and a laugh. “It’s what I do.”

“Not anymore,” he whispered, then closed his lips around her.

Everything in her zeroed in on that single touch, focused on the hot pull of his mouth and the way he slicked his tongue, rough and wet, over her nipple. She forgot to think, forgot everything except how to moan his name.

He groaned and lifted his head, eyes blazing. “My name sounds good on your lips.”

She yanked her hands free and pulled his mouth to hers. There was no finesse in it, no careful caresses specifically crafted to make him want her more. All she could manage was need, and she poured it into every second of the kiss.

What she got back was passion, pure and simple. He tilted his head and pressed closer, his deliberation fading. Pain lanced through the pleasure as her tongue snagged on the tip of a fang, and Adam stiffened at the hint of coppery blood.

He lifted his head, breathing ragged. “Sorry, that wasn’t—not on purpose.”

“I know.” Cindy rubbed her tongue against the roof of her mouth until she felt the tiny wound close.

“I’m not in control. I’m not—” He laughed and shook his head before leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth. “I know you don’t want blood and sex to get confused. I’ll try harder.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She gripped the front of his shirt and kissed him firmly. “As long as you want the sex more, I mean. Of course you want my—my blood.” It felt odd to say, and even odder to be fine with it.

“No.” Adam caught her hands again, this time pressing them to the bed on either side of her head. “I want you. The blood is a means to an end, Cindy. Sometimes it’s to give me strength, and sometimes…”

He nipped her lower lip and she felt the tiniest prick before his tongue slid over the spot. Magic roared to life and heat crashed into her as he kissed her again, and this time she felt each hard thrust of his tongue as a hot, tugging pull deep inside her.

Cindy had already come to associate it with him, the dizzying combination of too much and not enough, and she bucked under him. His grip on her wrists held, somehow soothing the most primitive, animal part of her. Adam was strong, commanding, and she wanted him.

She relaxed without thinking then, pulled her mouth from his and bared her throat.

A wolf might have taken that invitation and bitten her, leaving a very human mark that served an instinctive purpose. Instead Adam licked her pulse and settled his body over hers, his hips cradled between her thighs so his first rocking grind let her feel the hard length of his erection through their jeans.

The sensation wrenched a cry and a shudder from her. “Adam.” She needed him closer, his skin against hers. Him inside her.

“Don’t move your hands,” he whispered, then slipped away, leaving a blazing trail of hot, wet kisses along her body as he went. Down, down until his breath blew hot against the skin just above her jeans and his fingers tugged at the button.

These elements have no desire to be tamed…

Stormchild

Pacific Passion, Book 1

As the new traveling doctor for the Pacific Inside Passage settlements, Matthew Jentry balances dual roles for his water-shifter people—caring for their health as a human-trained physician, and for their spiritual needs as a shaman.

Distractions of the female kind are not on his agenda, but his magical bloodline makes him a target for every marriage-minded woman within range. There’s something about the mysterious Laurin Marshall, though, that he finds far too enticing. It’s just as well that it’s time for him to move on.

Laurin thought she had perfected her guise as a mild-mannered teacher, but the sexual fireworks she and Matt touch off are threatening to blow her cover out of the water. Luckily it’s time for her to catch the boat to her next assignment.

When she discovers she’ll be sailing with Matt, she realizes there’s only one thing more dangerous than their unforgettable one-night stand—being trapped with him on a boat that gives “riding out the storm” a whole new meaning…

Warning: Contains strong sexual currents and powerful waves of desire that break down inhibitions. Recommended only for those able to navigate through extremely steamy situations, on land and at sea.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Stormchild:

She jerked herself upright. What the hell was up with her hormones?

Laurin enjoyed sex. Not in the “need it, gotta have it” daily kinda way like her caffeine or dark chocolate. But ever since she’d laid eyes on Matthew Jentry, she’d been like a homing pigeon trying to come back to roost. She imagined his capable hands on the wheel, guiding them through the dangerous passage. Better yet to imagine his hands on her body, smoothing up her torso to cup her breasts, his dark skin contrasting with her fairness. He’d roll his thumbs over her nipples while supporting the aching globes in his palms.

Laurin leaned back on the short countertop and closed her eyes. God, she could almost feel it, the tingling sensation from her tight nubs trailing through her body to fire her core. She rubbed her breasts in an attempt to stop the throbbing. The sensation felt so wonderful she trailed a hand down her belly, slipping under the elastic waistband of her shorts to press on her aching clit. Desire wrapped around her like a cloud on the mountaintop and she was powerless to stop it.

Curses sounded from the deck above her and she startled, suddenly realizing she was fondling herself where Matt could walk in at any time. Heat flushed her face and she hurried to deal with the now-singing kettle. Her heart thumped in her throat and her hands shook as she poured the water into the French press she’d found. Then she leaned her forehead on the cool glass of the small round window in the saloon, trying to calm her soul. By the time the coffee was ready she was back to being agitated instead of direly horny. She stirred an extra spoonful of sugar into her travel mug in the hopes the calories would help her deal with the stress.

She stared at the second cup in frustration. She didn’t know how he liked his coffee and she was scared to death to go up the four steps to the wheelhouse and ask him. That would require actually looking at his face. Speaking to him.

Oh hell, she was screwed big-time.

The engine sound faded and she turned in a panic to face the door, her hands clutching her cup protectively in front of her like a shield. Solid footsteps paced away for a minute, a loud splash sounded, and then the steps returned. The door opened smoothly and his sandaled feet appeared as he took the stairs toward her two at a time. He stopped at the base, his chest heaving. His nostrils flared as he glared at her with his cobalt eyes.

He slowed his approach. One step. Two. The third put him toe to toe with her and she shrank back against the counter. He loosened her death grip on the cup, reaching past her to place it somewhere behind her. Their torsos touched and scalding heat flashed. Laurin realized she held her breath and she released it slowly, a puff at a time. He shifted and his firm chest brushed her already erect nipples. He caged her, one arm on either side of her body before deliberately pressing his hips into her. Oh hell, his erection felt huge against her belly. Moisture flooded her passage and she whimpered.

Matt leaned into her harder, every inch of their bodies in contact. He tilted his head and approached her mouth. She was sure he must hear the roaring beat of her heart. He touched their lips together, his eyelashes brushing hers like a butterfly’s kiss and she exhaled with a little moan.

She was on fire. This wasn’t what she’d expected.

Matt spoke against her lips, his voice shaking. Every word punctuated with a soft kiss. “You’re…driving…me…insane.”

Then the storm broke between them and his gentleness vanished. She flung her arms around him and pulled his lips to hers. Lightning flared between their souls, the frenzy of her needs whipping like the whitecaps outside on the ocean. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and she accepted it, sucking it in uneven pulses. Their hips ground together and she wrapped a leg around his hip, opening her body in an attempt to line up her clit with the tempting rock of his erection. He thrust into her, lifting her hips slightly to help and then it was there. Just what she needed—the angle, the pressure. She groaned into his mouth and he swallowed the sound. The air around them heated, rippling with magic as he lifted her to the surface of the counter. Behind her the coffee mug tipped, rolling harmlessly into the sink with a clatter. His hands were busy, unsnapping her shorts, tugging at her T-shirt.

“I need to touch you. I need to see you.” He growled and stepped back, shaking his head like a wild beast. The lightning came from his eyes and she stared in fascination as he leaned on the wall across from her. They were all of three feet apart and it seemed like a mile. “I don’t understand this. I will stop if you ask me to, but God I hope you feel like I do. I have to have you again.”

Panic hit. Then delight. Fear followed rapidly by desire. His need poured over her, echoed by her own arousal. Now? Here? “The storm…”

“The ship is anchored in a bay. We’re as safe as we’re going to get.” His hands clenched into fists, his entire body rigid. A wave of magic floated past her again, overwhelming her senses. She reached deep to try to counter it. It had been so long since she’d used that part of her nature her skin burned. The answering flash of passion that exploded from within was not what she expected. Instead of cooling her ardor for the shaman watching her with lust in his eyes, her fascination grew.

He was willing to stop? Oh God, if he stopped she would die.

Who said being eaten by the big bad wolf was a bad thing?

Little Red and the Wolf

Maizie Hood struggles to keep her bakery turning a profit, her landlord from evicting her, and her dear Granny in a nursing facility. Wrestling with the decision to sell Gran’s cottage is hard enough. The last thing she needs is her childhood big-bad-wolf nightmares turning into real-life adult fantasies. Sexy businessman Gray Lupo’s sudden interest just makes matters worse. Is he the answer to her problems, or just a wolf in gentleman’s Armani?

Since his wife was killed twenty-one years ago, Gray’s life has been focused on two things: protecting the pack and avoiding the grown daughter of his wife’s killers. When it becomes clear he can’t do one without compromising the other, Gray finds playing “big bad wolf” to Maizie Hood’s “Little Red” is a role he enjoys far more than he expected.

A real bad wolf’s attack on Maizie changes everything. Gray can’t deny the pull she has on his instincts—and his heart. Suddenly he finds himself taking on a role he never thought he’d want, as her protector and mate. Until the truth about his connection to her nightmarish past comes to light…

Warning: This book contains cookies, pastries, pies, hot-guy-on-girl sex and animalistic passion, all for zero calories. Enjoy!

Enjoy the following excerpt for Little Red and the Wolf:

Jeezus, he hated that they’d done this to her. But he couldn’t help his excitement at her awakening senses and the enhanced need that would come with them. He wanted her. He had from the moment he’d seen her at Green Acres.

His wolf had known all along, and he’d tried to ignore it. But now with the virus pumping through her veins, the wild scent of the pack rising through her skin, he couldn’t deny it, couldn’t resist her. He was helpless. His wolf wanted its mate.

Maizie reached for him. Her long slender fingers lightly feeling over the smooth head of his cock, the ropey veins bulging along the shaft. Even seeing it coming, Gray’s lungs seized at her touch, his body tightening. Her gaze flicked to his, her smile a permanent fixture on her face. She held him, not a firm palmed grip but enough that when she tugged he followed.

Three steps was all it took and Maizie’s soft red lips parted over him. Her tongue explored the textures, swirling and flicking, making him lean into the feel of it. He pushed deeper into her, her right hand loose around the base, stroking what she had left to take. Her mouth pulled on him, sweet, wet suction that drew sensation from every part of his body like strings on a puppet.

She went down on him farther, and back with greater suction. Down and back and then again to the hilt. Gray’s hips pumped with each draw, until he was fucking her mouth, as hard and fast as she could take him. Every thrust he went deeper, and Maizie took it, grabbed his balls, his ass and demanded more.

He held her head with both hands, his fingers digging into her thick fiery hair. His hips rocked, thrusting his shaft between her lips, feeling the sharp scrape of teeth, the hard pull of suction. He’d come like this if he wasn’t careful.

Fuck. Sensation thrummed through his veins, swirling, building in his groin, feeling better and better by the second. He wanted to come. It felt so damn good. No. He could hold off a few seconds longer, enjoy it just a little more. Maizie’s hands began a wicked tease. She rolled his balls through her fingers, caressed, and tugged. Her other hand slipped around his ass, traced the line of his cheeks, teasing, searching for his anus.

The sensation stormed through his body faster than he’d expected, a wash of heat and delicious pleasure crashing through his tenuous control—a flash of release.

He came before he could stop himself. He pulled out, holding her back before he lost any more of his load. Jeezus, it’d been decades since anyone had out-fucked him. He controlled his body. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had managed to seduce that control away, even a little.

Maizie licked her lips, tasting him, eyes questioning. “What’s wrong?”

“Your turn.” The wolf growled in him, panting. She’d awakened the beast as she’d been doing for days, only this time he’d have his fill.

Gray pulled her to her feet, held her until he was sure she’d found her balance. She kept most of her weight on one leg, her hands braced, one on the back tiled wall, the other on the glass wall.

Arms out, her breasts seemed gifted to him, and he couldn’t resist a quick caress, feeling the roundness, the supple give when he squeezed, the hard nipples straining beneath the lace. Her back arched, pressing into his palms and Gray gave a final squeeze, a quick pinch, a gentle tug.

He knelt, hooked his fingers on the waistband of her sweats, catching her panties as well, and drew them down over her hips.

He teased them both, pulling slow over the round of her hips until the first reddish curls peeked over the edge. A little lower and he could see the top slit of her pussy. He stopped, leaned in and flicked his tongue in the crease.

She gasped. He pushed his tongue firmer between the lips, tasting her cream even as he found her clit. She moaned, tried to open her legs further, but her sweats held her. She curved her hips, pressing her sex into his face and Gray breathed her in.

No sugar here, but plenty of spice and the heady scent of woman. Sweet Jeezus, he could live in that scent. His teasing, slow reveal had suddenly become a torture. He yanked her sweats to her ankles and only remembered her injured calf when she cringed.

“Shit. Maizie…”

“Fine. I’m fine. Don’t stop. Please God…” She lifted one foot free and opened wide, grabbed his head and pulled his face to her pussy.

Gray smiled even as he drew his tongue from the opening at her sex up to her clit. She moaned loud with the feel of his mouth on her and so he did it again. It was most likely the virus that made her so bold, but he didn’t care. He liked it. A lot.

The tops of her inner thighs were wet, her curls glistening, and Gray slipped his finger between her swollen flesh, finding the tight slick entrance. Her muscles pulsed, gripped his finger and welcomed a second, her cream hot on the back of his knuckles. She was on fire, so needy he fought to take things slow, to please her before he gave in and fucked her so hard she’d scream his name. Every primal instinct inside him hammered his brain, so he could hardly think, barely see straight.

He spread the hood of her lips from her clit, flicking the plump nub with his tongue, making her body quiver even as her pussy milked his fingers. Her hips rocked against him, riding his hand, driving his fingers deeper. He arched his fingers inside her, curved along her channel to find the spot that made her head fall back, her eyes close and her hips set a frantic pace.

Her hand fisted the hair at the back of his head. “There. Right there. Yes.”

He latched onto her clit, sucked and toyed, pulling the juicy flesh into his mouth, coaxing the small spasm trembling through her muscles into a full-on orgasm.

“Gray…” She fell back. He caught her, his fingers still pumping her pussy, his mouth still suckling her clit until her hips slowed, her hand in his hair went slack and the last spasm of her sex fluttered around his fingers.

Dear Lord he wanted her to come again. He leaned in, mouth open, gaze flicking up to her face. The back of her shoulders leaned against the wall, her body angled out to him where his arm still held her around her ass. Maizie’s eyes were closed, her face flush, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. She needed a moment to recover.

Gray couldn’t resist one last playful bite on her pussy as he pulled his fingers out of her. She squirmed a little, made a soft laugh.

She was utterly pliant to his touch, not even opening her eyes when he stood and removed her bra. He tossed it over the glass wall then turned and set the temperature for the shower. It’d turn on when the water in the pipes had warmed enough. The process took less than two minutes.

He stood shielding her from the sudden rush of hot water that would come. She had yet to open her eyes or let her pretty smile falter. He stared at her, the pale creaminess of her skin, the delicate features of her face. Long reddish eyelashes, nearly translucent, shadowed almost-there freckles high on her cheeks. Lips so soft that rose petals couldn’t compare, bowed with a smile that flipped his heart, made him happy to be a man. When had Granny’s Little Red become such an enchanting woman?

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