"No." Anatole grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "He's dead because your father was a coward and the debt collectors were brutal. You didn't kill him. Don't carry that guilt."
"How can I not? He died for me."
"He wouldn’t have wanted you to feel this guilt." His grip tightened. "It was his choice. He loved you."
The words hung between them.
"Teach me more,” she said briskly, too much of a coward to see where the conversation could go. “About navigation. About the ship. About whatever you're willing to share. I want to learn. Not because I'm planning to escape, but because..." She couldn't finish. Couldn't say the truth that was forming in her heart.
Because I want to know you. Because learning about your world makes me feel closer to you. Because I'm falling for you, and I don't know how to stop.
"All right, sweet omega." His voice was indulgent. "I'll teach you."
So he did.
For the next two hours, Anatole taught her about sailing. How to read the wind, how to trim sails for maximum speed, how to predict weather by watching the sky. He showed her how to tie nautical knots, his hands covering hers as he guided her through the movements. He explained the ship's structure, pointing out the masts and rigging, explaining how everything worked together to move them across the water.
And while he taught her practical things, he told her stories. About ports he'd visited, storms he'd survived, the time he'd outsailed a rival pack's ship through waters so dangerous most captains avoided them. He talked about his crew, about Luc's unwavering loyalty, about Gris's terrible jokes and even worse cooking before he'd gotten better.
He talked about everything except the curse.
Jeanne absorbed it all. The knowledge, yes, but more than that—the sound of his voice when he was relaxed, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about sailing, the small smile that crossed his face when he remembered something good.
This was who he'd been before the curse. This was the man Marguerite had fallen in love with.
And Jeanne understood why.
"It's late." Anatole glanced at the stars. "You should sleep."
"So should you."
"I will. Soon." He moved toward the stairs that led below. "Go on. I'll follow in a bit."
She knew he was lying. Knew he'd stay up here, keeping watch, maintaining distance. But she let him have it.
"Goodnight, Anatole."
"Goodnight, Jeanne."
She went below, her mind full of stars and the sound of his voice. When she reached the cabin, she couldn’t hide from herself anymore.
She was falling in love with him.
And the curse was waiting.
The door’s call shuddered to life again.
ANATOLE
HE STAYED ON DECK UNTILdawn, watching the stars wheel overhead.
Teaching Jeanne had been a mistake. Every minute spent with her made it harder to maintain distance. Every question she asked, every eager way she absorbed information, every soft sound of understanding she made—all of it pulled him deeper into feelings he couldn't afford.
Finally,his wolf said.Finally you're treating her like our mate.
His wolf was right. That was the worst part. Somewhere between catching her on the dock and teaching her to read stars, between fighting through her heat and watching her stitch a crew member's wound, he'd fallen for her.
And the curse knew.
