Undertow: Building Sanctuary, Book Two (11 page)

He didn’t smile back, not right away. His eyes held shadows, an uncertainty. “I wasn’t as gentle with you as I’d have liked to be.”

The notion that he could have hurt her was so absurd she almost laughed. But he seemed deadly serious, so she chose her words carefully. “You don’t always have to be perfectly gentle with me. You couldn’t break me unless you tried, and you would never do that.”

“I have to be careful. I have to be in
control
.”

“Victor…” She turned to him. “You didn’t lose control.”

His fingers brushed over her neck, presumably where the mark of his teeth lingered. “Didn’t I?”

Simone caught his hand. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“This time.”

“No.” She framed his face with her hands and forced him to look at her. “The guilt has to stop, or you’re going to make me feel very bad about something that was beautiful.”

He closed his eyes and nodded once. “No guilt. It was—” He had to clear his throat. “You’re beautiful, Simone. You always are. You’re everything.”

Her hands trembled. “Then why do I feel like I did something wrong?”

“Shh.” His stiff posture broke, and he slid his arms around her and gathered her close. “Sorry, sweetheart. Shouldn’t be taking my problems out on you.”

“Yes, you should,” she argued. “I don’t want to be coddled. I want to understand.”

“You’ve been hurt, Simone. You’ve been mistreated. The fact that you’re all right doesn’t excuse me losing control to begin with. Strong wolves don’t have the luxury of indulging our whims carelessly, no matter how satisfying it can be.”

“So you’re never allowed to let go, not even with me?”

“Not this soon. Not for the wrong reasons.”

It was too pat, too neat, but she had no choice but to accept his explanation. The alternative was to press him into an argument, and that would only end in tears—or worse.

So she yielded, just like always. “All right.”

He wasn’t stupid. He knew she wasn’t content, she saw the truth of it in his eyes. But whatever haunted him must have been worse, because he pulled her closer and settled the blankets over them. “We need sleep, then. I suppose Guy could be showing up any day now.”

Simone closed her eyes, but she couldn’t relax into his embrace. He reminded her of the pond at her parents’ home in Massachusetts. On the surface, it looked placid, still, and it always iced quickly in the winter. But it was fed by a spring, with currents down in its depths, and that layer of ice remained fragile well into the season.

Victor didn’t want her to see what lay below the surface of his emotions. She’d give him time—it was no less than anyone deserved—but, sooner or later, the ice would break.

Chapter Eight

It was wrong to regret being rescued.

Victor stood at the water’s edge and watched Guy toss an anchor overboard. The boat floated a good ten yards out into the water, as close as Guy probably wanted to come without knowing what lay under the surface.

A smart move, with Victor standing next to the gutted remains of his sailboat.

Guy waved both arms, but he wasn’t the one who jumped right into the chilly water and began swimming.

It was the wizard.

Victor had soothed Simone because it wasn’t fair to force her to carry the burden of his own inner darkness, but that darkness stirred as he watched his rival cut a path toward the shore while Guy still struggled with the anchor.

No. Not a rival.
His human half.

Hunt,
replied the wolf.

He heard Simone coming down the path, heard the moment her steps halted in shock. “Victor.”

“I was just about to come get you.” Amazing how calm his voice sounded. A faint splash told him Guy had hit the water, probably worried about his wizard friend and the reception he was likely to meet at Victor’s hands. Guy
should
be worried, even if Victor managed to keep his tone casual. “I hadn’t considered the problem of not having a decent dock. We’re going to have to come back later to fetch the supplies.”

“I…” Her voice trailed off. “They should be secure in the cabin.”

She sounded dazed, and that angry part of himself was all too ready to lay the blame on the wizard now standing shoulder-deep in the surf. He’d wrapped magic around her. Weakened her.

Or maybe she was pleased to see him.

Or maybe you’re a bastard who’s losing his mind.

Her hand slid into his. “Will we be able to get everything back to Breckenridge before the winter worsens?”

The touch grounded him enough to reply. “I’ll talk to Seamus, and we’ll send some of the men back. They can make quick work of it.”

James struggled onto the rough shore, panting but steadier than Guy, probably owing to who-knew-what sort of magic. Even his voice grated on Victor’s nerves. “Simone, thank God! I didn’t know if we’d be able to find you, after all.”

He reached for her, and she held up a hand even as she stepped back. “James, don’t.”

It was too late. Victor’s temper snapped. His hand closed around the back of James’s vest and hauled him back so hard he spilled into the water.

He emerged with Guy’s help, sputtering and dripping. “What the hell?”

“
Don’t touch her
.”

“Victor, stop.” Simone clutched his arm.

James froze in the midst of brushing back his wet hair and stared at Victor. “You bastard.”

Even knowing the words were true didn’t provide adequate leash to his rage. He crowded Simone back a couple steps and fought to breathe, to
think
. A touch shouldn’t unhinge him to the point of violence.

Or maybe it should. He’d never been in love before.

Guy spoke to James, drowning out the wizard’s low, angry tones. Simone raised her voice over all of it as she gripped Victor’s arms and turned him, her shoulders set and tense. “This is completely unnecessary. It’s silly.”

It was only in that moment that Victor realized the depths of foolishness his own cowardice had driven him to. In refusing to talk to her, by avoiding the final confrontation that would make her his, he’d left himself unsettled. Wounded.

Everything was about to change, and he didn’t know if she’d choose him.

One thing he did know—she wouldn’t much care for him if he beat a defenseless man into the ground. “I’m fine,” he grated out and prayed it wasn’t a lie. “I’m under control now.”

“Are you?” She lowered her voice. “Be sure, because we both have to get in a boat with him soon.”

“A dunk in the Penobscot Bay will cool my temper plenty.”

Simone grasped his face with both hands and studied him intently. Finally, she said, “You still have no idea how I feel about you, do you? None.”

His chest hurt. “We can talk about it later. When you’re back on Breckenridge Island. Safe.”

This time, he wasn’t sure she’d give in. But she did—finally, silently—as she folded her arms around her midsection and turned away.

She might as well have slapped him. It would have hurt less.

He would have deserved it more.

Rose shoved another steaming tin cup of broth into her hands. Under Joan’s watchful eye, Simone had no choice but to take it. “I’m not cold anymore, really.”

“You took a swim in the Atlantic. In November.” Joan braced both hands on her hips, her stern expression not nearly strong enough to counteract the worry in her eyes. “James is getting the same treatment.”

He’d need it even more. He had magic to protect him, but he’d made the swim twice, to and from the tiny island where she and Victor had been marooned.

Just thinking Victor’s name elicited a stab of pain, and Simone closed her eyes. “And Guy? Surely he needs more care, if he’s been sailing all over creation, searching for us.”

Joan made an amused little noise. “Guy’s tucked up with a pot of Rose’s best stew and probably has more attention than he wants or needs.”

Guilt assailed Simone anew. In her darker moments, she almost resented the tenacity of Guy’s rescue efforts. It was, by far, the most selfish and horrible thought she’d ever had. “Has it been terrible without the supplies?”

“We made do.” A chair scraped next to her, and Joan sat with a soft sigh. “Necessity is the mother of invention, as they say.”

Simone would never be able to look her friend in the eye again if she didn’t tell the truth. “I half-hoped we’d have to stay there,” she whispered. “With just the two of us, it was…”

Joan’s arms came around her. Warm. Strong. “With just the two of you, there was no hiding.”

“No, there wasn’t.” And if he hadn’t been forced into such close company with her, things might never have changed. “I can’t go back to having him ignore me because he doesn’t know what else to do, Joanie. I won’t make it.”

“I know.” Sympathy stood clearly in Joan’s eyes, and a more subtle warmth surrounded them both, the comfort of pack. “Don’t let him. Dominant wolf or not, he’s still a man. And men are cowards. Stand up to him and make him deal with you. It’s better than not knowing, isn’t it?”

“It’s not
me
he has to deal with. It’s more complicated, and I have no idea how to help him.”

“Do you think it’s a man thing or a wolf thing? Because I don’t understand men, but I understand strong wolves.”

Victor’s past hurts were dark and far too personal for her to share with Joan. “It’s both.”

“Well, then.” Joan pulled back and crossed her arms over her chest. “It pains me to give Victor this much credit, but it
is
the truth. He can’t choose whether or not he wants to protect you. None of us can. We could cut out our own hearts trying to stop and we’d still fail.”

“I know.” That instinct had driven Victor to rage before, to kill. “I need to talk to him.”

“When you’ve rested.” Joan stood and tucked the chair back under the table. “Rose will stay with you. I’m going to make sure everything’s settled and see who can be organized to retrieve the supplies.”

“Thanks.” As her friend began to turn away, Simone stopped her with a hand on her arm. “You and Victor don’t give each other enough credit, Joan. You’re more alike than you think.”

“No, we know exactly how alike we are.” Joan glanced over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “Or have you never noticed how little credit we give ourselves?”

“Perhaps I have.” Nothing would make either of them more uncomfortable than peering into a mirror—and not liking what they saw.

Joan nodded in silent acknowledgement before slipping on her coat and bundling out into the crisp evening wind.

Rose remained at the stove, as if she hadn’t heard a bit of the conversation. For all Simone knew, she hadn’t. “Thank you for cooking, Rose.”

“I don’t mind.” The younger woman turned and wiped her hands on the thick, rough apron tied over her slacks and sweater. “I missed you. We all did. We were so worried, Simone.”

She smiled over the rim of her cup. “But you managed, right?”

“We managed.” Rose poured herself a mug of tea and took Joan’s abandoned chair. “The men were…surprisingly comforting. I wasn’t sure how they’d be without Victor here to glare at them for flirting.”

How much of Victor’s glaring had been due to his own harsh judgment of himself? “I assume they behaved.”

“For the most part. There was a bit of a scandal with Mary and Thomas, but… Well, you know Mary. And Seamus took care of it quick enough.”

Simone’s smile faded a little, though she tried to keep it in place. “Sounds like you all got along just fine without us.”

Rose’s eyebrows drew together. “We managed,” she repeated, a little more forcefully this time. “If you think we weren’t missing you every day, you’re mad.”

“No, I—” She set her cup on the table and propped both elbows beside it. “I had a lot of time to think.”

“About what?”

She took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t blame you, any of you, if you hated me.”

Incomprehension filled Rose’s face. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Frowned. “I…I don’t understand.”

Oh, how well she had hidden herself. “For not protecting you from Edwin. For not stopping him.”

Rose’s confusion didn’t vanish. If anything, it became more acute. For an endless moment she stared at Simone, the silence growing more and more uncomfortable as understanding blossomed in the girl’s eyes, followed swiftly by anger. “And how many of us do you hold accountable with you? Should we all shoulder the guilt for every girl who came after us, even though we were surviving as best we could?”

“It isn’t the same.” Simone’s misery deepened. “I keep wondering if I could have found a way, back before he went truly mad.”

“I’m familiar with his madness,” Rose said stiffly. “And I don’t think it was madness at all. He was a man who could indulge every whim because his money gave him power. How would you have stopped that? Joan is the strongest of us all, and even she couldn’t stop him on her own.”

Reasonable words, with a reasonable point. “I don’t know, Rose. I can’t help feeling I should have
found
a way.”

“I know. Perhaps you could have. Or perhaps you would have died, and Joan would have had no one to give
her
strength while she fought to protect us.” Rose’s anger faded a little. “For some of us, the worst Edwin could do was still better than what we would have had. You and Joan lost so much to Edwin. I didn’t have anything for him to take.”

“I’m sorry.” Her guilt was selfish, borne of blindness. To many of Edwin’s conquests, the abuse they suffered at his hands was a mere extension of their lives before, just more of the same. At least at his mansion, they’d also had a warm, dry place to sleep and plenty to eat. “I’m sorry.”

Rose smiled and shook her head. “Don’t be sorry. You still don’t understand. You think we deserved better. You made me believe I deserved better. The life we have now…I know it’s not much to you and Joan, but for me, it’s a dream.”

A dream, one Simone could help realize and build—but only if she stayed. She wiped her eyes and blew out a shaky breath. “I got you a new book in Searsport. Fairy tales.”

Rose’s smile lost its melancholy edge. “I love fairy tales. Thank you.”

Because she hadn’t experienced nearly enough of them. “You’re welcome.”

Rose leaned in to rest her cheek against Simone’s blanketed shoulder. “We got by without you, but only because you taught us how to do it. How to be strong enough.”