The Sea Wolf's Mate (Hideaway Cove 2)

Jacqueline stared at her computer screen.

The call logger will have the details of the call, the organized, sober part of her brain reminded her, but she couldn’t focus on it. Her mind was miles away, in the open, exposed marine reserve that must have borne the brunt of the last week’s storms.

She took a deep breath and glanced out the station’s front window. The massive storms had broken windows and torn down tree branches here. What might they have done out on the wild coast?

Her hands moved automatically, probably because they had noticed her brain wasn’t capable at the moment. They picked up her mobile and called her boss.

The call rang. And rang.

“Hi, this is Reg—”

“Boss, thank God. I’ve just had a distress call, I think, and it sounds like—”

“—probably a bit busy at the moment, so leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Brent out.”

Shit. Jacqueline grimaced. Answerphone. Of course. Because God forbid Reg actually take the “on call” part of his job seriously when there was punch and a live band on offer.

She took a deep breath and waited for the beep.

“Hi. Boss. This is Jacqueline. We’ve had a call reporting possible child abandonment at the marine reserve, up the coast. I’m going to go check it out. I’ll have my mobile with me if you need me.”

The office seemed to ring with silence as she ended the call.

I’m going up the coast.

Of course she was. There was no way she could take that call, hear the panic in the guy’s voice, and not follow up. If it wasn’t a prank, and he’d actually for whatever reason left some kids at the marine reserve…

She got up quickly, sending her office chair spinning away.

“It’s probably just some teenagers having a joke,” she told herself out loud. Her voice echoed around the empty office.

Good job, Jacqueline. You can’t even convince yourself.

2

Arlo

Arlo furled the sails, letting the Hometide slip gently through the swell as the wind whipped through his hair. The sun had set, and soon the night would be so dark that the water turned black, nothing to separate it from the heavy canopy of sky. It was too cloudy for the moon to show, let alone any stars. The sailboat would seem to be drifting in space, only the distant lights on the coastline a reminder that the rest of the world existed.

Even those few lights grated against Arlo’s skin. Later in the season, when the weather was more reliable, he’d sail further, away from the towns, away from streetlights and the glowing windows of people’s homes. Until it was just the sea, and the sky, and him. Maybe then he’d be able to get his head right.

Arlo cursed and tied off the sail. The storms that had kept him landed for the last week had disappeared like smoke overnight, and he’d left Hideaway before first light, sliding out of the bay on still waters with his tail between his legs.

And he didn’t even know why.

Everything had been going fine. Work was good, and Arlo’s best friend Harrison had been preening like a peacock ever since he put a rock on his mate Lainie’s finger.

Even Lainie’s plan to build more houses in Hideaway Cove was going well. Arlo was proud to be a part of the project. More houses meant more homes for shifters, and that was what Hideaway Cove was all about. Shifters always looked after their own.

He, Harrison and the other builder on their crew, Pol, had celebrated the completion of the first house in the project the night before the storm hit. They’d broken out a few beers. Lainie had abstained, with a meaningful look at Harrison, and Pol had ribbed them both about how at least they’d finished their own house first, and then turned to Arlo and made a joke about which one of them would be next, and Arlo had been in a foul mood ever since.

Hrngg? his wolf whined, and Arlo sighed.

“Yeah, I know, buddy. It doesn’t make any sense. Blame it on the weather.”

The storm had hit that night—a first strength-test for the new build and a trial and a half for the headache that started pounding at Arlo’s skull the moment Pol suggested he might be the next to find his mate. On a whim that he didn’t understand, Arlo had asked Lainie how sales of the new sections on Lighthouse Hill were going. The build they’d just finished was spoken for, but he’d thought—he didn’t know what he’d thought. His head had felt like someone was scraping it out with a rusty spatula, and when Lainie had reassured him that there were still sections available, he’d felt even worse.

I don’t need a new house, anyway. I have the Hometide, and a room above the workshop. Why do I need anything else?