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“Well, if whisking you away to an island in the middle of the ocean wasn’t enough of a clue, then I suppose this will have to do for now.”

I reach up to wrap my arms around his neck, wearing what I’m certain is one of the goofiest, most unattractive smiles I’ve ever worn. “You know, when I was younger, I used to dream that a guy would, like, let me wear his varsity jacket, or his class ring, or something oddly old-fashioned and out of style to profess his commitment. Never in a million years did I imagine he’d do it under the clever guise of dental bacteria.”

“What can I say? I’m not like most men.”

“You surely aren’t, Thierry James Bergeron.” A light tug pulls him into me, and he resumes his distracting neck kissing ritual. “Can I confess something else?”

“Might as well, though I don’t have another cleverly disguised proposition lined up.”

“I hid the keys to the boat.”

His groan vibrates against my skin. “Again? Where did you hide them this time?”

“In my bikini bottoms.”

He lifts away from me, and hooking his finger into my bikini string, he gives one hard yank that clanks the metal keys together so they scratch at my bare skin. The way he shakes his head tells me I’m in deep shit now. “You leave me no choice. I’m going to have to go after them, you know.”

“A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

“The positions you put me in, catin …”

“Aren’t nearly as bad as the ones you’ll probably put me in later.”

Eyes on mine, reaches down inside my bikini bottom, and the moment his finger traces over my sensitive cleft, I arch my back on a soft moan, and a wicked grin stretches his lips. “Found it.”

* * *

Lying sprawled across Thierry’s body, I let the ocean waves lull me into a half sleep, as I run my fingertips up and down his arm. To the scar of his bullet wound, just above his elbow, and back down to the wolf’s bite wound. At the bumpy protrusions there, I pause to examine the mark I’ve seen before. The line where teeth latched onto him is clear and defined, with puncture wounds where its incisors pierced the skin. “Did you ever go after the wolf?”

“My father shot at it with a gun. Whether he killed it, or not, I wouldn’t know.”

“That’s surprising. Russ always believed to kill a wolf was a bad omen, or something. He always told me to scare it off, rather than shoot it. Must’ve been terrified watching it come after you.”

“It was a bad omen, in some ways, I suppose. It marked a chain of events. He told me to go after some rabbit that’d been eating away my mom’s flowers. When I tracked it down, I was too scared to shoot. So I went into the woods, in search for my old man. Saw him at the edge of the river with the barrel of the gun in his mouth. I called out for him, and that’s when the wolf attacked me.”

“You were the reason he didn’t go through with it that day.”

“I only recently found out why he wanted to kill himself. I never knew about Brie’s mom.” Brows pinched together, he stares off. “I often wonder, what if I hadn’t gone out there that day? What if I left him to kill himself?”

At the mention of Brie’s mom, I glance down at a tattoo I recently had inked on my forearm, of a white magnolia overlaid with the same phrase that Brie wears: Si seulement. If only. “I find myself torn. While I’m angry that he never suffered the consequences for Brie’s mother, I also can’t imagine my life without him. Such a weird dichotomy. He was like the embodiment of good and evil.”

“You were his redemption. And now you’re mine, moiselle.”

“Yours.” Bending forward, I kiss the scar on his arm. “And how do I know this scar isn’t some strange satanic wolf cult plotting my future sacrifice?”

“Because I’m too fucking selfish to give up what I love for anyone. God, or devil. Heaven, or hell.”

“Did you just … indirectly profess that you love me?”

“Stranger things have been known to happen.” He chuckles and runs his finger down my temple. “There is nothing that means more to me than you, chère. Nothing I’ve ever desired more.” Lips pressed to my forehead, he holds my face, as if I’m the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

Where I once stared into the ruthless eyes of a cold and detached wolf, I now see that obsessed devotion I predicted all those months ago. A man incapable of simply loving a woman, because such a thing would be too tame for him. His eyes now blaze with the single-minded passion that leaves me weak and breathless most nights.

“Je suis fou de toi.” I’m crazy about you. Tipping my chin up, he slants his lips over mine, eating the words that linger on my tongue with the kind of kiss that has my heart damn near clattering against my ribs. “Je t'aime, ma ‘tit moiselle.”

“I love you, too,” I say against his lips. It’s the first time I’ve said those words to any man who wasn’t a father to me, in some way.

They say you never get past, or over, your first love, and I believe that’s true. Thierry is forever stitched into a quiet little haven inside my heart, where the sunlight is more golden, the air is sweeter, and time doesn’t exist. A place of enchanting summer nights and fireflies in the sky. Of stolen kisses under the stars, and soft Valir whispered in my ear. For the first time, I feel home. Right here, in this man’s arms. “So, where to next, mon capitaine? How many names left on that list?”

“Three. One in Africa, Australia, and Russia. Which do you think we should hit next?”

“You decide. And wherever you go, I shall follow like a wayward lamb trailing the big bad wolf.”

“That sounds awfully dangerous for the lamb.”

“I don’t know.” Teeth running along the edge of his neck, I pause to nip the crook at his collarbone, and he shifts beneath me, giving a rough, masculine growl. “I think the wolf better watch his back. This lamb has sharp teeth, too.”

“I do love the vicious ones. But, lucky for you, I’ve got an envie for something sweeter tonight.” He rolls over top of me, and as he makes his way down my body, leaving a trail of kisses en route, I let out a quiet chuckle.

A flicker of something draws my attention toward the corner of the boat’s dark cabin, where the glow of a skull stares back at me. I wish I could say it was the first I’ve seen it in a while, but that’s not true. It’s happened a few times over the last couple months. Doesn’t matter where I go in the world, the nightmare of my past will always be there, watching me. For years, I’ve suffered its ominous presence, only to find the truth behind that mask was even more terrifying than I imagined.

I will not look away, though. Never again.

As hard of a pill as it was to swallow, the events of that night are a past that I cannot change, and the catalyst to a future I never anticipated. A life I intend to live one breath at a time and savor every moment fate has handed me.

Because ghost stories aren’t meant to have happy endings.

But mine did.