A Safe Harbor: Building Sanctuary, Book 1

by Moira Rogers

  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 h
er 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.”