Brandon finished picking his nails and brushed off his hands. “We convinced our men to leave you be.”
“Or we’d rip their throats out. No argument.” Cox’s smile was mean, toothy. A fierce wolf’s grin.
“But why?” she asked.
“That is our bribe,” Brandon said. “The one gift you might accept. We leave you alone.” He flicked his hand, as if releasing a bird to flight.
“And what do you want in return?”
“Your name?” the gentleman said hopefully.
She thought about it a moment and said, “Lucy. I’m Lucy.”
“Glad to make your 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 understand if we don’t allot you your own sheep every month.”
She shook her head. “Even my beast couldn’t eat a whole sheep on her own.”
“Just so.”
She didn’t know what to think, and felt as if she still swayed with the movement of the boat that brought her here. Her legs gave out and she sat heavily in the grass, cradling the bottle of whisky in her lap. Scrubbed her cheek and swallowed back a tightness in her throat.
“What’s that you have there?” Cox asked, pointing.
She held it up. “Found it on the beach.”
“Good lord, is that what I think it is?” Brandon’s gaze narrowed, amazed.
She studied the label, looked back at them. Relished the feeling of safety she had in that moment. The feeling of peace. It wouldn’t last, most like. Couldn’t last, on a windswept island wracked by storms and monsters.
Then again, maybe it would, if an island of monsters could choose civility for itself. Unlike the world that sent her here. She cracked the seal on 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 breathed it in.
“I don’t have cups,” she said.
“Never mind cups. We’re monsters, after all,” Cox said. “Just take a swig and pass it ’round.”
She did so, turning up the bottle, filling her mouth, letting the liquor burn. Cox reached, and she handed it to him. Taking a chance on him. Trusting.
He drank, let out a laugh. “God that’s good. See, it’s what this island’s needed 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.
He took his drink and savored it, eyes closed.
Then he passed the bottle back to Lucy. That was when she knew she wo
uld be safe on the Island of Beasts. She stuffed the cork firmly back in the bottle’s mouth.
Still wincing from the liquor’s sting, Brandon said wistfully, “No offense to present company, but I was meant for better than this.” He gazed off at a 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 of Wolves and Masters of Blood and all the rest. They will come here expecting to find monsters. Tools they can use in their wars.”
The wind blew and smelled of rain. They turned their noses up to it, and Lucy breathed deep the free air.
“We will be ready for them,” she said.