“That’sa way of putting it,” the soldier said. “No better or worse is a thingto hope for, sometimes. You hunted?”
“Yes.Rabbit, I think.”
“Wegot a sheep,” Brandon said smugly. “Was our turn for sheep, this month.They’ll get one next month.” He nodded to the other fellow.
“Youtake turns?” she said.
“Well,Christmastime we both get sheep. We have to be careful, not tocompletely depopulate the island. But you got a rabbit. That’s good.”
“Yes.”She moved closer. She wanted a better look at them. Wanted to knowwhat had happened last night, how she’d managed to have the mostpeaceful full-moon night she’d had in months, here on the Island ofBeasts.
“Youhave a question,” Cox stated, matter-of-fact. Brandon studied hisfingernails, picking out a bit of dirt from one.
“You. . . you left me alone,” she said. “I was prepared to fight, to defendmyself. But none of the wolves came for me.”
Brandonfinished picking his nails and brushed off his hands. “We convinced ourmen to leave you be.”
“Orwe’d rip their throats out. No argument.” Cox’s smile was mean, toothy.A fierce wolf’s grin.
“Butwhy?” she asked.
“Thatis our bribe,” Brandon said. “The one gift you might accept. We leaveyou alone.” He flicked his hand, as if releasing a bird to flight.
“Andwhat do you want in return?”
“Yourname?” the gentleman said hopefully.
Shethought about it a moment and said, “Lucy. I’m Lucy.”
“Gladto makeyour acquaintance, Miss Lucy,” he said.
“Likewise,”Cox said, more gruffly. “Three packs on the island, then?”
“Agreed,”Brandon said with a brief nod. “But Miss Lucy, I hope you’ll understandif we don’t allot you your own sheep every month.”
Sheshook her head. “Even my beast couldn’t eat a whole sheep on her own.”
“Justso.”
Shedidn’t know what to think, and felt as if she still swayed with themovement of the boat that brought her here. Her legs gave out and shesat heavily in the grass, cradling the bottle of whisky in her lap.Scrubbed her cheek and swallowed back a tightness in her throat.
“What’sthat you have there?” Cox asked, pointing.
Sheheld it up. “Found it onthe beach.”
“Goodlord, is that what I think it is?” Brandon’s gaze narrowed, amazed.
Shestudied the label, looked back at them. Relished the feeling of safetyshe had in that moment. The feeling of peace. It wouldn’t last, mostlike. Couldn’t last, on a windswept island wracked by storms andmonsters.
Thenagain, maybe it would, if an island of monsters could choose civilityfor itself. Unlike the world that sent her here. She cracked the sealon the bottle and pulled the cork. Brandon might have moaned a little.Even from several paces off, his wolf could no doubt smell the heady,oaky aroma rising up. For a moment they simply sat quietly and breathedit in.
“Idon’t have cups,” she said.
“Nevermind cups. We’re monsters, after all,” Cox said. “Just take a swig andpass it ’round.”
Shedid so, turning up the bottle, filling her mouth, letting the liquorburn. Cox reached, and she handed it to him. Taking a chance on him.Trusting.
Hedrank, let out a laugh. “God that’s good. See, it’s what this island’sneeded all along, a woman’s touch. Place looks better already.”He handed the bottle to Brandon.
“Barbaric,”Brandon muttered, but didn’t turn down his chance.
Hetook his drink and savored it, eyes closed.
Thenhe passed the bottle back to Lucy. That was when she knew she would besafe on the Island of Beasts. She stuffed the cork firmly back in thebottle’s mouth.
Stillwincing from the liquor’s sting, Brandon said wistfully, “No offense topresent company, but I was meant for better than this.” He gazed off ata distant point, maybe at a parlor fire or some fine park in London.Lucy would get his story someday.
“Aye,we all were,” Cox said. “They will come for us, you know. The Lords ofWolves and Masters of Blood and all the rest. They will comehere expecting to find monsters. Tools they can use in their wars.”
Thewind blew and smelled of rain. They turned their noses up to it, andLucy breathed deep the free air.
“Wewill be ready for them,” she said.
TheBeaux Wilde
ITWAS SAID of Miss Elizabeth Weston that she was a young woman of greatfortune and little accomplishment. Since the former went some waystoward making up for the latter, all was well, or should have been. Butat twenty-two years of age, Miss Weston remained unmarried.
Sheplayed the pianoforte adequately, but would not play before strangers.Her needlework was loose at best, her dancing merely functional. Shewas pretty, with honey-brown hair, a pert face, and clean skin; but shewas shy, and so did not catch the eye as she might have if she smiledmore. What she liked best was to read, and while conversations andgames of whist might go on around her, she would sit alone with a bookof Scott or Radcliffe. She could sometimes be prevailed upon to readaloud, but within a line or two her voice would grow so timid andconstricted, she must leave off.
Elizabethknew what people said about her in whispers, behind their fans andglasses of sherry. Since she could not help what they said or what shewas, she withdrew further and avoided the kind of company a highlymarriageable young woman in her prime should have sought out. It was aparadox that gave her mother and father some anxiety.
Elizabethwould not have attended the ball at Woodfair at all, but Woodfair wasthe home of the Brannocks. If Elizabeth had a best friend in all theworld, it was Amy Brannock, because what Amy said and the feelingsbehind her words were just the same. When the invitations went out,Elizabeth accepted, because Amy would not question why she did not wishto dance.
Mr.and Mrs. Brannock greeted the Westons at the door, and Elizabethimmediately looked over their shoulders for her friend, but alas, shewas not in view, and Mrs. Brannock had another plan. She and Mrs.Weston exchanged a wink that meant they had been conspiring.
“MissWeston, it is my great pleasure to present to you Mr. RichardForester. He is a cousin on my mother’s side, and expressed a greatinterest in meeting you after hearing of your many charms!” Mrs.Brannock offered up the handsome young man as if he were wrapped withribbon.
Blushingenough to make
