by Dessa Lux
Lir gave him a startled look, and Devon kissed him quickly, apologetically. “I’d rather have you here, but our guest is going to be shy of you for a little while. Even if you weren’t a sea god, you’re an alpha he doesn’t know. I don’t know what his home pack is like, but I don’t think he’s mated, by his scent. He might have hardly ever met an alpha he wasn’t related to.”
Lir tilted his head. “Had you, before you met me?”
Devon shrugged. “Not unsupervised, not really. I mean, I went to college, they were around, but... no.”
Lir sat back, frowning, though he looked confused and curious rather than annoyed. “You weren’t frightened of me, when we met.”
Devon gave him a wobbly smile and tried to think of a way to say, I was too depressed to care what you did to me, that didn’t sound... bad.
“I suppose I’m a trusting soul,” Devon offered lightly. “Our guest clearly is having a harder time. Give me an hour or two with him, Lir, I know you must have other things to do. You could probably stand a break from waiting on me.”
Lir huffed, curling an arm around Devon and tugging him close. “I don’t need a break from you, sunlight. But you’re the expert on werewolves, so I’ll leave you to it.”
Devon turned his face up for another kiss, breathing in the warm sea-green salt scent of his mate. He couldn’t sense any real anger in him, or wounded alpha pride—just the urge to be close, which Devon couldn’t find fault with.
“Thanks,” he said finally, tipping his head back to look up at Lir.
Lir just kissed him one more time and then got up. He headed out of the house southward, to leave the island without passing the red wolf. Devon piled the remaining share of breakfast onto the third plate and took it with him out to the north of the house, along with a blanket. He settled down at the top of the slope down to the water. The little purple sand flowers that had begun over on the west side, stabilizing the dunes, had begun to colonize the north beach, and Devon sat down among a few patches of them, setting the plate out of his own reach and then lying down on the edge of the blanket.
He closed his eyes and waited, and it wasn’t long before he heard soft, hesitant footfalls. The breeze was going the wrong way for him to catch the red wolf’s scent, but it could hardly be anyone else creeping up on that plate of food.
There was a soft sound like a sigh, and then the sounds of a human-shaped body folding itself down to perch at the farthest corner of the blanket. Devon kept his eyes closed until he heard the stranger begin to eat, and then he peeked through his eyelashes.
The stranger was tall for an omega, and thin in a half-starved way that showed what flesh he did have was hard, ropy muscle. His hair was shaggy and he had a full beard, short and scruffy and all but shouting his unavailability to any alpha looking for an omega. Devon smoothed his own hand down over the soft curve of his belly, and he saw the stranger’s gaze dart to it, then up to his face. His lips parted, but he said nothing.
“I felt the baby move just the other day,” Devon said, so the stranger would know it was okay to acknowledge what he could probably smell and hear as well as see.
The stranger dropped one hand near to his own belly—not merely flat but concave—and then he ducked his head, returning his attention to the food though he didn’t resume eating right away. “I don’t think I—”
Devon felt a sudden chill at the thought of what the stranger might have lost, or might have been searching for.
The stranger glanced up sharply, and it was Devon’s turn to look away, letting him choose whether to acknowledge any of it.
“Harry,” the stranger said after another moment. “I think... you should call me Harry.”
Devon nodded. “Good to meet you, Harry.”
Harry’s mouth twitched toward something like a smile, and then he went back to eating, quickly and silently. When he finished, he set the plate down and then sat utterly still. He probably wanted to go back to that restless pacing of the beach, but Devon was his host now—Devon had fed him, and Harry felt some obligation to be polite.
“If you want to contact anyone,” Devon said. “You just have to let me know, and I’ll make that happen, okay?”
Harry’s jaw tensed, his heartbeat speeding and his scent turning sour, and Devon gritted his own teeth. He turned his head to breathe in the scent of the sea, not letting himself be drawn too far into the other omega’s reaction. Without any alphas or betas to balance them, they could wind up in some kind of locked spiral, and Devon didn’t want to spend half the day crying on the beach with a stranger until Lir could come back and sort them out.
“If you want to stay out here,” Devon said after a moment. Harry’s posture changed, and Devon knew he was nearly as eager as Devon was to focus on something else. “It’s fine, you’re welcome to. When we were first on the island, before we started building the house, I used to sleep in a tent on the beach.”
The whole island had been the beach then, but Devon didn’t need to get into that right now.
“It’s still in one of the crates, I think,” Devon added. “We could set it up for you, if you’d like a place where you can get out of the sun and wind but still be by the water.”
Harry nodded, a short, controlled motion like he was trying not to give too much away. “Yes, I’d... I’d like that. Thank you.”
Devon smiled and stood up, gathering up the blanket while Harry picked up his emptied plate. “I could find you some clothes, too, if you’d like? I think there are some things in the crates that Lir hasn’t worn yet, so they should fit you without smelling like him.”
Harry looked down at himself in Devon’s peripheral vision, and Devon kept his attention firmly on shaking out the blanket until Harry said, “Oh. Yes. Thank you.”
“No problem,” Devon said cheerfully, and led Harry back to the house.
Devon went straight into the spare room, politely ignoring Harry dragging his feet as he looked around. Devon searched for the crate of unused clothes first, and soon found the things he wanted—jeans and light-weight button-downs still in their plastic bags. They would probably be loose on Harry, but they ought to at least stay on. He set them on the crate by the blanket Harry had slept under, and after another moment Harry came in and, with another mumble of thanks, pulled the clothes on.
Devon looked over and watched Harry running his hands over the sleeves of the soft light blue shirt, down the sides of his thighs. He was frowning a little, his scent and heartbeat both indicating unease, but it wasn’t as if he had much reason to be at ease in such a strange place, wearing a stranger’s clothes.
“Are they okay?” Devon asked. “Comfortable?”
Harry looked over at him, then nodded sharply, dropping his hands. “You said there was a tent, too?”
Devon nodded and found the crate that held the little dome tent and awning that had been his first shelter here. It had all been broken down into a couple of tidy nylon bags and a bundle of telescoping poles. He handed the bags to Harry and rested the poles on his own shoulder as he led the way outside again.
Harry’s distress was only rising. Devon wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he and Harry weren’t family, or pack. Devon wasn’t going to press him to admit that he was upset until Harry chose to show some sign of it.
They laid out the tent pieces on the beach and Devon realized he didn’t have any instructions for how to set it up. Lir had done it the first time, if he hadn’t just magicked the tent into place, and Devon didn’t recall exactly how they’d disassembled the thing, either.
He considered going inside to look up directions on the laptop, and started looking over the tent again. There weren’t any obvious brand names printed on it that he could Google, but it had to have come from somewhere.
Then Harry said, “Oh, I think I see it.”
He knelt by the poles, examining how they extended. In another moment he was running them into the channels in the tent’s fabric, and Devon could see the whole thing tak
ing shape. He went to the opposite side of the tent to help guide things into place, and more quickly than Devon had imagined possible, the tent was up. Harry found the tent stakes and rope and began anchoring it while Devon set up the awning, which was reasonably straightforward.
Devon heard a few taps as Harry started driving in a tent anchor, and then there was no sound except the accelerating beat of Harry’s heart.
Devon dropped what he was doing and stepped around the tent to kneel by Harry, who was still holding the tent anchor in one hand, the mallet in the other, and staring at the little divot he’d made in the green-black surface under the dark sand.
“Oh,” Devon said. It really didn’t look like proper earth, and wouldn’t have felt like it, either, when Harry tried to drive the stake in. “Remember I said we’re on an artificial island?”
Harry’s knuckles were white as he gripped the anchor and mallet.
Devon spread his hands and sat back, giving him a little room. “Lir’s a sea god, he can... speed things up. Coral, algae—”
“It smells chemical,” Harry said. “Like—oil, or rubber, but neither of those.”
Devon frowned. What wolf didn’t know the smell of plastic? It was everywhere.
How long had Harry been in the ice?
“It’s plastic, under the algae. There’s tons of plastic pollution in the ocean, and...”
Harry looked over his shoulder at Devon, and after a few seconds he echoed, “Plastic pollution?”
Both words came out awkwardly, like he didn’t know what either of them meant—and if he’d never encountered either of those concepts... He had been in the water a long, long time and his pack was never going to answer his call.
He thought he could see Harry realizing what Devon wasn’t saying in the silence, and then Harry looked down again, turning his face away.
“Devon?” Harry’s voice sounded small and scared for the first time. “Just—just tell me. What year is this?”
Oh, God. Devon didn’t know how bad this was going to be, but... it couldn’t be good.
“I know,” Harry said sharply. “I’m not stupid, I know I was frozen, I know this isn’t—none of this is—I just want to know. What year?”
“Two thousand seventeen,” Devon said, and Harry twisted sharply toward him, obviously caught by surprise even though he’d been bracing himself for the answer. Harry’s eyes widened, and his fair skin went bone white.
“No,” Harry said, starting to shiver. “No, it can’t—it can’t be—”
“I’m sorry,” Devon said, knowing from Harry’s reaction that it had been a long, long time. Everyone he knew, the world he remembered, it would all be gone now. “I’m sorry, I—”
Devon knelt up, opening his arms, and Harry lunged at him, hiding his face against Devon’s chest, wrapping his arms around Devon’s waist. Devon pressed his cheek against Harry’s head, curling his eyes around the rail-thin omega and rocking him gently where he sat. There was long moment where Harry was utterly silent, not even seeming to breathe, just holding on desperately to Devon.
Then he gave a tiny little gasp, and the floodgates opened. He began to sob, his whole body shaking in Devon’s arms. Devon just tightened his grip and held on, staring out at the sea to the north, where Harry had come from. Where Harry had been frozen and lost for so many years.
There was nothing Devon could say. There was no it’s okay for this, and even I’m here wouldn’t be much consolation, when no one Harry had known before this morning was. But wolves didn’t need words so much, at a time like this. They needed the truth that only actions could speak. So Devon held on, doing his best not to be drawn into Harry’s grief, to project calm and acceptance.
You can stay, he thought. You’ll be safe here. We’ll be your pack now.
But it was much too soon to say any of that to Harry, so Devon just held him and waited for the storm to come to an end.
*
By the time Lir came home, Harry had retreated into his wolf shape, lying quietly under the awning in front of the tent. Lir cast a worried look in his direction, then raised his eyebrows at Devon.
“He’s... adjusting,” Devon said softly, tugging Lir into the house where it would be easier for Harry not to hear them if he didn’t want to. “I told him what year it is, and... I think he was in the ice for a really long time. Like, decades. He definitely reacted like he doesn’t expect there to be anyone left for him to go home to.”
Lir pulled him close. “Decades? I thought werewolves lived a long time.”
Devon tried to look up at Lir’s face, but Lir kept holding him tight. Devon gave up and wrapped his arms around Lir. “We do, as long as we stay out of trouble. And I don’t know how long it’s been for Harry, he didn’t tell me exactly. Maybe there is still someone.”
“Maybe,” Lir agreed, nuzzling at Devon’s hair. “Just have to keep you both out of trouble, in the meantime.”
Devon smiled against his mate’s chest. “Don’t worry, I’m not in any hurry.”
Lir squeezed him tighter, and Devon wondered what a sea god considered a long time, and decided not to ask just yet.
*
Over the days that followed, Harry seemed to settle in. He still spent a large part of every day in his wolf shape, and slept out in the tent instead of in the house. Devon wasn’t sure whether he was avoiding being too close to Lir, or if he just preferred to be where the sound of waves would drown out the noise Devon and Lir made at night. And during the day, sometimes.
Harry hadn’t said anything more about his pack, though Devon still heard him calling for them once in a while on rainy nights. He didn’t give any sign of wanting to leave, and didn’t seem to be curious about the 21st century, or the world beyond the island. Devon saw Harry watching him sometimes while he used the laptop, but Harry didn’t ask him any questions and Devon didn’t push him on it.
“Do you think he’s happy here?” Lir asked one night, watching Harry walk back out to the tent after eating dinner with them. He’d listened to their conversation, smiled once or twice, nodded and contributed a word here or there, but he still spoke little, and less in front of Lir than when he was alone with Devon.
“I think this is the best place for him,” Devon said firmly. “Anywhere else—with more people, more technology—would probably be worse. But he’s still finding his feet. Whatever happened to him, however long ago it was, to him it must have just happened a couple of weeks ago. Everyone he lost... that’s a lot to deal with.”
Lir nodded, studying Devon, then said hesitantly, “And are you happy with him here?”
Devon was so startled by the question that he just stared for a few seconds, until Lir started to frown.
Devon waved his hand, dismissing whatever Lir was thinking. “No, I—it just didn’t occur to me to think about it like that. He’s no trouble, of course, and it’s good to have another wolf around. And I wouldn’t ever send him away, as long as he wants to be here. I know he isn’t really, but I guess I’ve just been thinking of him like... pack? Even when it’s not easy to have them around, you’d never turn them away.”
Lir relaxed at that, looking satisfied, and Devon pushed away the thought of his own pack, and how much he’d let Harry distract him from his resolve to get in touch again. He had his mate to focus on, and the baby on the way, and Harry. That was plenty right now.
“What about you?” Devon asked. “I know I’ve been spending a lot of time focusing on him—and we haven’t had Mar for a visit since he came, is that...?”
Lir shook his head, waving off Devon’s concern just like Devon had his. “No, no, I can visit Mar any time. And like you said, Harry’s not any trouble—I wish I could help more, but as long as you’re happy I don’t mind. And the island’s still growing; he might be living a mile away by the time the baby’s born.”
Devon smiled and just looked at Lir for a moment, letting his eyes trace the lines of his face. Gorgeous and generous and understanding, too.
> “Maybe we should build him a house,” Devon said with a wink. “Never mind us making noise, when the baby comes he’ll probably be jumping into the sea for some peace and quiet.”
“Oh,” Lir said, brightening. “Would that be good? I could do that—it wouldn’t take long if it’s not a big place. Or do you think he’d want to do it himself...?”
“We’ll see,” Devon said. “Meanwhile, back to the topic of making noise...”
Lir grinned and took the hint this time, scooping Devon up and carrying him to bed.
In the morning, Lir went out to the sea and Devon sat down at the kitchen table, digging through the drawings he’d done before Harry arrived. He’d made a few plans about a guesthouse then, but maybe Harry would want to be on the northern side of the island? The northwest side, backing up to the dunes, might be nice...
Harry came in while he was sketching plans and sat down at the table. Devon had the laptop open—he’d been looking at pictures of houses built into hillsides—and Harry gave it a cautious look now, then lowered his gaze to Devon’s sketches. “What’s this?”
“Oh,” Devon bit his lip. “Just... thinking ahead? I don’t know what you’re planning, in the long run, but if you want to stay you’re welcome, of course, and... I was thinking you might like something a little sturdier than a tent, in that case?”
Harry frowned a little, studying the drawings and casting a few more cautious looks at the laptop. “What does your mate think of that?”
Devon turned to face Harry. “He was just telling me that he wished there was more he could do to help you adjust, actually. He did most of the work building our house, so he’d like to do yours, or at least help with it, if you want to...”
Harry flinched and went still, and Devon shut his mouth and waited, trying to read his reaction even if he couldn’t respond to it until Harry said something. Harry was guarded, tense, bracing for something.
Finally he said, “So he wants me to stay, then.”