"Maybe not." She didn't pull away from his grip. "But you have it anyway."
"You should change out of those wet clothes," he said, releasing her wrist. "Before you catch a chill."
"So should you."
"I need to check on the ship. Make sure the storm hasn't damaged anything critical. I'll have Gris bring you dry clothes. And something warm to drink."
"Anatole."
He stopped, his hand on the door. She watched his shoulders tense at the sound of his name.
"Thank you," she said. "For catching me."
He didn't turn around. "Don't thank me. I'm the reason you're in danger in the first place."
Then he was gone, the door closing behind him, and Jeanne was left alone with the sound of the fading storm and the memory of his skin beneath her fingers.
ANATOLE
HE MADE IT TO THE HOLDbefore his legs gave out.
Anatole braced his back against the hull, sliding down until he sat on the damp floor, his head in his hands. His whole bodywas shaking. Not from the cold, though he was soaked through. Not from the exertion of fighting the storm.
From her.
She had touched him. Her small, human hands on his face, gentle and careful, tending his wound like he was something worth saving. She had looked at him with sympathy, not fear. Had saidI'm sorrylike she meant it.
Had called him by his name.
Anatole.Not Captain. Not Bluebeard.Anatole.
His wolf was pacing behind his ribs, not howling for once, but purring. A deep, rumbling satisfaction that made his chest vibrate.
She sees us,it said.Not the monster. Us. She touched us with kindness. She will be ours.
She is not ours,Anatole told it.She can never be ours. The curse...
Did you not smell her? Did you not feel the way she softened toward us? She is beginning to care. Beginning to see.
And if she cares too much, she dies. Like all the others.
His wolf went quiet, but he could feel its disagreement simmering beneath the surface. It had never wanted a mate the way it wanted Jeanne. Never pushed so hard, never been so certain.
And tonight, when she'd almost gone over the rail, his wolf had nearly torn free of his control entirely. The terror of that moment, the certainty that he was about to watch her drown, had stripped away every defense he'd built.
He had caught her. He had held her against his body with the storm raging around them, and he had wanted her so badly he'd barely been able to think.
She had felt it. She must have felt it, his cock hard against her backside, his arms shaking with the effort of not claimingher right there on the deck. But she hadn't pulled away. Hadn't looked at him with disgust.
She had touched his face and thanked him for catching her.
"Captain?"
Luc's voice came from the stairs. Anatole didn't look up. "Storm's dying down?"
"Another hour and we'll be through the worst of it. Minimal damage. We got lucky." Footsteps approached. "You're sitting in the dark."
"I'm aware."
