The Legacy Series (Volume 4)

By Sheritta Bitikofer

The Unsinkables – 1912; Darren Dubose has finally found his former beta and the grandfather of his new protégé, Logan Elster. Only, he's a very different man than he remembered. A far more jaded and reckless werewolf. Now, Dustin Keith is coming back to America because he needs to clean up more than one mess that goes by the name of Ben Myers. Booked passage on the maiden voyage of Titanic, the trio of werewolves must get reacquainted and learn to trust one another very quickly. Their lives will depend on it.

The Keeper of Light – 1915; A lighthouse on the Oregon coast has become packed with werewolves and vampires. All are there for vastly different reasons. Geoffrey and Adam Swenson have come to finish their life's work, a massive manuscript telling the story of werewolves from all over the globe. Michael and Jane Gennari have come to seeking isolation from the war and all it entails. The moment Jane and Adam lock eyes, vampire and werewolf meeting as fate scripted, none of them could possibly know what lay ahead for the two families.

Bulletproof – 1924; The twelve-year search for Ben Myers has proved fruitless. In an effort to "lighten their load", Darren Dubose and Dustin Keith taken a detour to Chicago to hand their protégé, Logan, off to trusted werewolf, Will Croxen, and old friends from Devia. It doesn't take long for Logan to find out that Chicago, one of the most corrupt cities in America, would be far more dangerous and tempting for a rebellious werewolf-in-training than any of them could have predicted.

The Nexus – 1989; For decades, Jane and Adam have kept their relationship a secret from the feuding races. If either werewolves or vampires find out about their torrid love affair, they would be killed. A mixed pair is an abomination. But secrecy isn't good enough for them. They want more. Little do they know that hatred, prejudice, and an ancient prophecy would make it nearly impossible to achieve anything close to "normal".

• Language: English
• Publisher: Moonstruck Writing
• Release date: May 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9781946821621

Sheritta Bitikofer

Sheritta Bitikofer is a paranormal romance author of eclectic tastes with a passion for storytelling. Her goal with each book is to rebel against shallow intimacy and inspire courage through the power of love and soulful passion. Her biggest thrill comes when she presents love in a genuine light, where the protagonists not only feel a physical attraction to one another, but a deep emotional (and dare we say spiritual?) connection that fuels their relationship forward into something that will endure much longer than the last pages of their novel. A devoted wife and fur-mama to two shelter rescue dogs, Sheritta’s life is never dull. When she’s not writing her next novel, she can be found binge-watching her favorite shows on Netflix, doing Zumba with her friends, or painting at a medieval reenactment event.

Book preview

The Legacy Series Volume 4

The Unsinkable

The Keeper of Light

Bulletproof

The Nexus

Sheritta Bitikofer

Moonstruck Writing

Copyright © 2019 by Sheritta Bitikofer

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover art by Angela Quincoces Rivera at http://www.dream-designz.com

ISBN: 978-1-946821-54-6

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-946821-62-1

Contents

The Unsinkable

The Keeper of Light

Bulletproof

The Nexus

Afterword

About the author

Also by Sheritta Bitikofer

The Unsinkable

Legacy Series Book 13

Sheritta Bitikofer

Moonstruck Writing

Contents

Dedication

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

12. Chapter 12

13. Chapter 13

14. Chapter 14

15. Chapter 15

16. Chapter 16

17. Chapter 17

18. Chapter 18

Epilogue

Dedicated to those descendants of the survivors of one ofthe worst Maritime disaster in history, the historians who strive to understand the events of that fateful night, and those who continue to strive today to make sure a life is never lost at sea again.

Chapter 1

Via San Nazzaro, Verona Italy - April, 1912

Five years. Five years of moving from town to town, country to country. Five years of living under the roof of strangers for the chance of a hot meal and warm bed. Five years of searching had led them back to Italy. The woman in Belgium had mentioned Dustin Keith with such disdain that Darren hadn’t been sure they were talking about the same man. But it was their only lead for five long, frustrating years.

Logan trailed behind his mentor and alpha, his severe gaze skimming over the gruff and dirty faces they passed in the street. Dusk only deteriorated this city into a squalor that he wasn’t all together unused to by now. They had traveled to the remote parts of Asia and slept near the watery rice fields with families who barely understood a word of English. They had stayed in hotels in Paris, Rome, St. Petersburg, Mumbai, London, Madrid, and Berlin at the expense of rich alphas within the cities. They had been taken in by packs and other loup-garou families in countries like Turkey, Romania, Poland, Ireland, and Scotland, making friends along the way with others just like Logan and Darren. He had seen so much of the world, the good and the bad. He had learned many languages and cultures turning him into a well-rounded man. Fourteen years ago, he would have never guessed this is where he would end up.

Three- or four-story buildings hemmed in the street on either side, their nearly featureless edifices towering above them. Laundry hung on lines between the balconies, tall rectangular windows still emitted some golden electric light through the slats in their shutters. Smells of cooking dinner wafted out of every doorway, closed or open, making Logan’s stomach growl. They hadn’t had a decent meal in hours, but Darren assured him that as soon as they located Dustin, they would return to the hotel and eat.

With the aroma of roasted meats and boiling potatoes came the many sounds and noises that at one time, might have sent Logan running in the other direction. But the nine years previously spent at the chateau near Albi France had helped to hone his keen, preternatural senses. John Croxen, to his chagrin, had been an invaluable mentor, just as Darren promised. He, like Adam Swenson back in the states, did all he could to be the guiding light in his new life as a loup-garou - what everyone else would know as a werewolf.

Just fourteen years into this new life and Logan could do just about everything that any other loup-garou his age could do. The noises and smells weren’t overwhelming, as he could pick and choose what he wanted to recognize. He didn’t fear the sudden onset of some flying rage that could coax forth the golden stare of the wolf within him. Each month, he could sense when it was his time to shift into the unnatural, half-man half-beast creature of a young child’s nightmares. Such control had been almost inconceivable when he first met Darren Dubose in Devia, Alabama just a few weeks after his first untimely shift.

Logan closed his eyes against the memory of that time before. He didn’t want to think about that, or anything else associated with the small town that didn’t exist anymore. All he wanted now was an end to this search. Dustin Keith, his grandfather, had eluded their grasp long enough and after asking around the local loup-garou pack, they were sure they had finally found him.

The brothel was in their sights now, soft laughter and the stench of sex emanating from the place like a blaring beacon amongst the other mundane scenes. Outside the door were a few women, unoccupied, but dressed somewhat appropriately. Those who were innocent of the sinful vices of the world might have assumed they were only loitering or waiting for a friend to join them. Others knew better not to meet their lusty gazes.

Stay out here, Darren told Logan. His strong British accent stood out just as much on the streets of Verona as it had in France or China. Logan’s South Carolinian cadence, too, drew some attention.

He looked to Darren, his face screwed up in disbelief. You’re joking, right?

One glance from his alpha said enough. He was certainly serious.

Dustin doesn’t know you, he said, dropping his voice so low that it would have been barely audible to any human over the rattle of the carriage that drove by. If I go in alone, he’ll be less likely to become defensive.

Logan had heard enough about his grandfather over the years. Darren had told a few stories, but most of his limited knowledge about the man came from John and a German loup-garou named Johannes from the chateau. Like Darren and himself, Dustin had gone to the old loup-garou for his first decade of training. Countless young men had passed across those grounds in their journey to becoming alphas and betas in packs all across Europe. By far, Dustin Keith had been one of the most cynical and rebellious pupils to grace its halls.

Among other things, he and Logan had that in common. It seemed that he took more after this man he had never met than anyone else in the world. After all, it was from Dustin, by all odds, that Logan had become a loup-garou.

Though he disagreed with the orders, Logan resigned himself to lean against the front of a closed shop across the street from the brothel and wait. Darren passed by the girls, paying them little mind as he entered and began his not so subtle search for the beta loup-garou he had parted with half a century ago.

Logan folded his arms against the early spring chill that swept down the street and busied himself with scanning the thinning crowds. The girls, who had seen him walk up with Darren, watched him with curious eyes that he could feel rake over his body. To them, he wouldn’t have appeared above seventeen or eighteen. He cut a robust figure for his youth, with strong arms and a broad chest that was just as deceiving as it could be intimidating. No one knew that he was nearing his thirtieth year. Being a loup-garou, he aged slowly, and for the next fifty or so years, he would remain a youth to everyone he met who didn’t know the truth.

And it was this that made the prostitutes giggle and whisper to their friends about how he deserved their services. They pitied him for being left alone by his older companion. Darren looked every inch the man that he was, hiding almost three hundred years worth of knowledge and wisdom within a head that hadn’t even begun to grey yet.

For the most part, Logan could ignore their censure. It was only when they began to question why he seemed so disinterested in them, that he decided to hell with Darren’s orders.

He slipped his hands into his pockets and rushed forward before he could change his mind. He bypassed the girls, much to their amusement, and dove into the brothel. He let his nose, ears, and other loup-garou senses guide him through the darkened corridors and rooms. Darren’s scent was only slightly difficult to follow through the clouds of perfume and dizzying energies of the place. His eyes were fixed to the path ahead of him, because he knew what he would see if he looked up. Though the hastily made assumptions by the girls outside the brothel had been utterly wrong, Logan wasn’t here for that.

Beneath the moans, laughter, and covert talk amongst patrons, he could hear his alpha.

You’re a hard man to find.

You’re an easy man to avoid.

Logan felt a flush of heat race through his body at the second voice. He had heard from everyone that Dustin Keith was a born and bred Irish man, but he was completely devoid of an accent, Irish or otherwise. Deep with the tinge of sardonic, Dustin sounded like just what he had come to expect.

He hurried forward, turning down another corridor and climbing a set of stairs, careful to slink by a couple snogging against the wall.

Have you been here this whole time? Darren questioned with a note of disdain.

Dustin laughed. Not here in this exact spot, but I’ve been around Italy and Germany.

John didn’t know where to find you.

I made a point of avoiding France altogether.

Logan found the room where the other loups-garous were talking and he felt the familiar tingle in the back of his skull, the one that told him another of his kind was close. He paused just outside the door and assessed the situation inside. There was Darren and Dustin, of course, but he could smell at least four, if not five, other scents with them. All feminine. Yet, there was a lack of that potent stink of sex to give him any indication that they were of an indecent state.

You’ve avoided a lot of things, Dustin, Darren replied, disappointment laced in every word.

Yes, Dustin said cheerfully. I’ve avoided the law, the wars, and unnecessary attention for the most part. You taught me well.

The slosh of liquid in a bottle followed his half-hearted compliment and Logan sneered at the smell of alcohol. Some things never faded with age. His contempt for spirits was one of them. Even if he could never get drunk, and therefore consume as much whiskey or beer as he liked, Logan would never touch the stuff if he could help it. Some hatreds ran too deep.

You’ve also avoided one responsibility that I’d like to believe was a simple oversight of yours.

A tremor of panic clearly rang through Dustin’s reply. You… You know about him?

Logan bristled and the tiny spark of scorn he felt for his grandfather in that moment was stoked into a flame. He knew about Logan, or Logan’s mother and never bothered? He knew and he still ran away? That didn’t fit with his grandmother’s journal that he had read obsessively for the last decade. In it, she recounted how she had met Dustin and all the research she had conducted about loups-garous for her children’s sake. She couldn’t have known that Logan would be the one to inherit the wolf, but still she meticulously recorded everything she could find out.

That is, all but Dustin’s whereabouts. Now, it seemed that might have been on purpose.

It’s quite hard to not know when the poor boy’s literally crawling into Devia without a friend in the world, begging for help.

Dustin let out an oath that Logan had heard Darren utter many times. It was in one of the few languages he hadn’t learned yet. An ancient dialect for loups-garous had been taught to those at the chateau long before Logan arrived, but Darren had been unwilling to teach him for years. Dustin must have been one of the few students to know it.

Listen, I tried. I really did. It wasn’t working out, so I left. It was for the best and I don’t regret a thing.

You can’t simply walk out on something like this! Darren thundered. The brothel fell into a mild hush when the very frame of the building shook under his booming voice. You have a responsibility to him. You have to finish what you started. I thought you would have learned that. I had to pick up the pieces. Me, Adam, and Robert did. We took care of what you chose to neglect.

By now, the ladies who had been in the room began to vacate. As he had guessed, five girls fled the room. Some pulled on their shawls to cover their bare shoulders and chests as they busied themselves elsewhere, while some lingered and hoped that the men would settle their dispute soon.

For so long, Logan wanted to think that Dustin had left his grandmother for a good reason. They had met during the war between the states in Tennessee. The war had spilled into her backyard and the risk of exposure for a loup-garou was high. He imagined Dustin had left with at least some feelings of remorse, but that wasn’t the truth. Logan balled his hands into fists and the wolf fumed at the injustice done to him.

It was for the best, Dustin insisted. Did you come all this way just to scold me about it?

No, I came to make you face what you’ve done.

There was a pause of confusion and Logan thought it best to intervene. Both undoubtedly knew that he was there from the beginning. He stepped inside the room draped in crimson velvet and furnished with old, but luxurious settees and sofas. Only one wingback chair was occupied.

Dressed similarly to Darren and Logan, Dustin would have done a fine job of blending in if it weren’t for his strikingly young and handsome features. He looked to be no more than thirty, a median age between Darren and himself. Having memorized his own reflection after glaring at it for hours on end, Logan could see his likeness in his grandfather. They even slouched the same.

He had hoped they would have shared a common eye color, but Dustin’s were very much green while Logan’s were a storm-cloud grey. Their hair, too, were of differing shades, Logan’s being a darker tint of brown, almost black, compared to his grandfather’s. Only time would tell if they had any more commonalities. However, after hearing all that Dustin had to say, Logan wasn’t so sure he wanted to get to know the man anymore.

He came to stand beside Darren and waited, losing the words he had planned to say at this meeting.

I see I’ve been replaced, Dustin said with a mocking smile. Does he drag you along everywhere too?

Logan stiffened and didn’t trust himself to say anything kind, so he said nothing. Darren had been his teacher and mentor over the years. He had become the father he never truly had, stepping into a role that was forced upon him in Devia. All with little complaining or grumbling. Logan didn’t deserve his generosity, just like Dustin didn’t yet deserve his respect.

Dustin, this is your grandson. Logan, this is your grandfather… For better or worse.

Those green eyes widened, and he slowly rose from his plush chair. Grandson? he breathed. With a shake of his head, he denied the very idea. I… I don’t have any kids. How can I have a grandson?

In that simple phrase, the Irish finally came out, along a tiny leakage of fear that was just as strong as the perfumes suffocating the room.

Darren clasped his hands behind him and took a long breath. Do you remember a lady by the name of Nancy Raymond?

It took only seconds for realization to dawn in his stare. Nancy? Nancy had… We had a… All color drained from his face and it soon occurred to Logan that the two men must have been having completely different conversations that whole time. If Dustin had known about Logan, he wouldn’t have been so shocked now.

Darren must have realized this too and strode forward to help Dustin ease back into his chair. The Irishman refused and the daze was broken. He moved aside and turned to face Logan again, looking him up and down as if he were something new and foreign.

After a moment to see for himself, he looked to Darren and cracked a smile. I’ve never known you to be a prankster, Darren.

This isn’t a joke.

Logan couldn’t keep quiet any longer. My grandmother gave birth to my mother alone. They lived in poverty, because she didn’t have a husband to support her. They had to move to South Carolina where she married a man who thought she was crazy for believing in werewolves. Nancy was so convinced that my mother gave birth to a werewolf that her husband forced her to disown us. Logan hadn’t realized he was stalking forward until he was just a few feet away from the man who had caused a domino effect of tragedy. And then, I shifted for the first time without any clue of what I was, all because you couldn’t keep it in your pants! No, my life is not a joke!

Dustin’s golden eyes flared and Logan’s mirrored them. Darren, sensing the tension mounting between the two, stepped in and slammed his hands against their chests to keep them apart. Dominance radiated from him, encasing them both with a powerful force that quelled every bit of hostility in their wolves.

The gold slowly faded as each eased out of their aggression. Dustin might have been willing to overlook all that had been said, but Logan couldn’t forget the man’s arrogance. He had such hopes for this reunion, and every one of them had been dashed on the rocks. He didn’t want to claim any relation to this loup-garou. Not anymore.

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Hotel Accademia, Verona

This wasn’t Dustin. The women, the drinking, none of it was like him. The devil-may-care attitude remained a permanent fixture amongst his many notable, but exasperating qualities. But this was a new extreme that Darren hadn’t seen before. There was a time he wouldn’t even pay a woman a second glance. The death of his bride, Cassandra, was still too fresh to allow him to love or think about loving another woman. Then again, what he was doing in that room in the brothel couldn’t be considered love.

Their nearness to his former beta had rekindled the pack bond, feeding a new sensation that Darren hadn’t felt in centuries. Now he had Dustin and Logan. Together, they made a trio that gave him a sense of completeness. He was the alpha, Dustin the beta, and Logan was too callow in his loup-garou skin to have a rank. Yet, they felt more like a pack, despite their initial tensions.

One of which they were still working to unwind in their hotel room.

Just tell me his name, Darren firmly requested, his arms folded. Dustin reclined on the sofa in their suite, looking more like an adolescent who had been caught in some devious act, but didn’t care about the judgement he faced.

Why? he asked. It doesn’t matter. He’s probably fine by now and it won’t make a bit of difference.

Darren still marveled how well Dustin had managed to hide his Irish roots. No slang, no accent, nothing. To any untrained ear, he was as American as Logan. His deep-seated abhorrence for his home country surprised him.

It matters, because Devia… Devia’s not there anymore. He couldn’t keep the pain from this admission, even if the disaster was fourteen years old. If the man you turned had come to us as you told him to, I want the assurance of knowing he escaped or not.

The recalcitrant loup-garou looked up, a hint of fear in his stare. Isn’t there anymore? Escaped? What’re you talking about?

It was difficult to think of, let alone speak aloud. Even with Logan in the next room, it wasn’t easy to bring up the faces of those they had lost and left behind. It was hunters, he said. That’s all I know. Many didn’t make it out alive. Robert Croxen being one of them.

Dustin knew the founder of Devia. He might have left the town to roam and do as he pleased, but he had made friends that were now dead and gone. Darren hoped the Irishman felt some repentance for leaving and tried to not be so satisfied upon seeing the look of heartbreak transform his face.

His name was Ben Myers. I don’t know if he would have gone to Devia. He was so… damn mulish. That’s why we parted ways. He wouldn’t learn, and I got tired of teaching him.

A melding of relief and disappointment surged in Darren. He knew most of the loups-garous in Devia. Some better than others. He would have known if a man by that name came to them with curses on his tongue reserved for Dustin Keith. It was likely Ben Myers had evaded the disaster and moved on, but that should have never happened to begin with. Dustin should have stayed on and trained him, worked harder to reach him.

I taught you better than that, Darren scolded. I taught you that turning a human was a weighty responsibility. You shouldn’t have taken it so lightly, nor should you have left him so soon. Just one year? I have never met a man that could match you for stubbornness.

Dustin began to laugh as he pulled a cigarette case from his inner vest pocket. You haven’t met Ben Myers. I suppose something of me passed on through the bite and it was magnified in that Georgia farm boy.

Smoking too? Darren wrinkled his nose as Dustin lit up the end of the perfectly rolled, white cigarette with his lit match.

Just for the flavor, Dustin mumbled as the tobacco stick dangled from his lips. Cigars are bangers too, but a little out of my price range.

Yet you can afford five whores?

He shot his alpha a devilish look. Prioritize.

Darren’s brows furrowed as he shook his head in dismay. When Dustin had left Devia, he felt as if one of his arms had been severed. A part of him had left for good. Now that he had recovered that piece, he found it mangled and unrecognizable from what he once knew. It was enough to turn his stomach. What the bloody hell happened to you?

Not a damn thing, Dustin replied before blowing a thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling. I’m just taking advantage of the freedom you gave me.

Freedom to start your own pack and live a simple life. Not galivant across Europe, sleeping in whorehouses, wasting your money on beer that won’t do anything to you, and smoking those damn things. He snatched the cigarette from Dustin’s lips when he was in mid-drag and crushed it in his fist. The sting of the glowing embers hurt only for a moment. The scorched patch of his skin would recover quickly, but his trust in Dustin would take much longer to heal.

The eyes of his former beta flitted from the clenched hand to his alpha’s angry glare as if he didn’t understand. You lost the right to lecture me long ago, Darren.

I’ll lecture you until I’m blue in the face if it’ll make you understand the gravity of what you’ve done.

Dustin threw up his hands. I did nothing!

That’s the problem! Darren roared in return. You left a loup-garou without a pack, without any guidance, without any means of protection all because of your bloody pride!

He sat up straighter on the sofa and jabbed a finger toward the window that overlooked the darkened streets of Verona. "Ben wanted to leave! He didn’t want my help, didn’t want to go to Devia, didn’t want to be part of a pack. The gòrach pìos de cac tried to kill himself, because he couldn’t stand to be away from his precious family, but he signed up to fight on the losing side of a feckin’ useless war! I was done trying to convince him to save his own arse and he was done hearing about it from me."

There was the volatile Irishman he knew. Hearing a bit of Dustin’s native tongue, whether in cursing or not, soothed Darren in unexpected ways. It assured him that a piece of his beta was still inside there somewhere.

Without his notice, a subtle strain of dominance had been slowly leaking during their argument. Darren forced himself to take a breath and calm before asking his next question. Did you form a pack bond with Ben?

For a moment, Dustin didn’t know how to respond. His mouth opened and closed, jaw slackening and tightening as he tried to find his answer.

Darren repeated his question more deliberately. Do you and Ben have a pack bond?

I don’t know, Dustin nettled. Maybe. I never did it before, so how should I –

When you left him, did you feel a pull to look back.

Again, he received nothing but a dumbfound expression and Darren began to lose his patience again.

Did you feel the pull? he demanded.

Dustin couldn’t answer. His face drawn, he looked to the carpet between his feet.

It was settled.

Darren turned to see Logan standing in the doorway, watching the whole affair from a safe, but obvious distance. This wasn’t his intention. Darren wanted to take this reunion gradually, to allow them time to get to know one another, but there would be time for that on the next leg of their journey.

We’re leaving in the morning, he told the young loup-garou.

At this, both of his packmates started.

Leaving? asked Dustin. I’m not leaving.

Darren whipped back around and glared with dark eyes that threatened to lighten into the fierce wolfish gold. Yes, you are. We’re going back to America on the next available ship. We’re going to repair the damage you’ve done. You left your pack. What was my one principle that I always wanted you to know?

Logan, uninvited into the conversation replied with, Your pack is your family.

Dustin would look at neither of them as he pursed his lips.

Pack is family, Darren parroted. And you don’t leave your family when they need you most. We’re going back to America and we’re going to find Ben, just like we found you.

Chapter 2

Cherbourg, France - April 10th, 1912

Dustin thought he had been joking. But after sixty years, Darren hadn’t changed. He was still a man of his word. If anything, there seemed to be a new quality of sternness about him that was completely unaccounted for. Maybe it was the new responsibility of taking on Logan. Or perhaps it had something to do with the disaster in Devia, a topic that he avoided when at all possible.

The trip from Verona to Paris had been swift. A whirlwind of packing, travel, and correspondences sent back and forth to John Croxen in Albi had brought them to Cherbourg in the north of France. Three steerage tickets had been procured for them. Since the tickets were not transferrable, their party would have to take on the names of the previously booked passengers. They had changed their identities so many times over the years that it no longer seemed a hassle. The three loups-garous they posed as had canceled their passage across the Atlantic. A small pack destined for a new life in America had, for one reason or another, changed their minds.

John said it was nerves, and Dustin could understand as much. Standing on the open deck of the SS Traffic as they waited for the RMS Titanic to arrive, he wondered if he’d be just as sick as Darren was. He never liked sea travel, and Dustin never liked the idea of returning to the states.

The ship was to be the most luxurious, even for third class passengers. A new master of the seas. Rumors and talk throughout both the Traffic and the upper-class tender, the Nomadic, had persisted all the way since the train platform behind the port terminal. The sloping mansard roof of that last piece of land-rooted structure was sorely missed after nearly an hour of being adrift. Something had delayed the Titanic and Dustin could think up plenty of smart remarks on the queen of the ocean’s new reputation for tardiness.

However, he said none of it.

While Darren was off toward the bow of the boat, doing his best to keep the contents of their hasty lunch aboard the Train Transatlantique, Dustin had been left alone with his grandson by the railing. They both stared out to the sea, and he could at least be thankful for the mild spring weather. Not too warm, but certainly cold enough to keep most of the first and second class passengers below deck on the nearby Nomadic. Logan’s silence, on the other hand, was unbearable.

The youth had barely spoken two kind words to him since they first met in Verona. He certainly had a tongue. That was evident after his short tirade in the brothel. And he answered Darren’s questions, but otherwise didn’t bother to waste his breath speaking to anyone else. It had been days.

Then again, there was some salvation in that silence. Logan clearly didn’t want to speak to him, and Dustin didn’t know what to say. He had fathered a child he never knew about and set forth a series of events that he might never be able to atone for. If what Logan said was true, Dustin had inflicted far more pain than he ever had in his life. Save for one instance, which he never cared to remember. There was a good reason he refused the company of blonde women.

Every anxious eye on deck was fixed on the western horizon, where the Titanic was determined to sail from. At the quay and the train platform, one might have thought they were stepping into a hornet’s nest of pandemonium. Passengers, valets, servants, and station attendants all hurried about looking for their luggage or gathering up their party to embark on their designated tender.

When they realized their ship was late, disquiet turned to indignation. Especially among the rich patrons who thought waiting another hour was the biggest inconvenience of their lives. Speed was the currency of the day. The three loups-garous had far more patience. At least, most of the time.

The way Logan gripped the metal railing, Dustin wondered if he was just as uneasy as the others.

I reckon we’re the only lads who speak English on this boat.

The remark was more or less intended to draw some reaction from the youth. For once, it worked, and Dustin wondered if Logan wanted to be distracted just as much as he did.

The boy glanced over his shoulder to the cluster of foreigners congregating on the boat deck. They’re mostly Lebanese and Croatians.

Dustin turned to look at the same group, and besides their obvious strange peasantry garb, he saw nothing that could divulge that much. How can you tell?

Their language, he replied flatly before reverting his gaze to the ocean.

Sounds like just a bunch of babbling to me.

And there, the conversation nearly died. But Dustin wasn’t one to let go when he set his mind to a thing. In that lay the duality of his nature. If he did something, he did it to the fullest. If he didn’t want to do something, he would avoid it at all costs. Darren could speculate all day if that quirk was his reason for running off to Europe and leaving behind not only Ben Myers, but a bastard baby as well.

So, you know a lot of languages?

Logan cut his eyes at him. We’ve been a lot of places. Learning the language of whatever country we were in was necessary.

Dustin nodded approvingly. That’s a good thing. Now, if you ever come back to Europe – which I’m sure you will in your lifetime – you’ll always be able to talk your way into someone’s home. A guaranteed meal and bed.

I wouldn’t have to have learned any languages if you had just stayed in the states.

Much against his will, Dustin went rigid and gave up. If they couldn’t hold a civil discussion, he was no longer interested. For now, anyway.

As if on cue, Darren returned, his face pale and dotted with perspiration.

You’re looking a little green around the gills, Dustin quipped with a half smirk. Looks like some things haven’t changed a bit.

A low, nearly indistinguishable growl rumbled from the alpha’s throat. It never ceased to amuse Dustin that his former mentor and oldest friend had one very human vice. The alpha had sworn that once they had crossed the vast ocean to settle in Devia, he would never step foot on a ship again.

Back then, riding in steerage had been cheaper, but far less appropriate than the accommodations aboard the Titanic. From what he had overheard, they would have running water in every room, permission to stroll along the third class decks, and best of all, hot meals every day. No more dried beef rations tucked away in their luggage. He’d be even more impressed if the White Star Line managed to build a ship that Darren wouldn’t get sick on.

The three of them heard it long before anyone on the Traffic saw it. The steady roar of the engines from the west announced the arrival of the long awaited vessel. The loups-garous, all harboring different feelings toward the voyage ahead, watched for the first signs of the four funnel stacks peeking above the watery horizon.

The ship was massive, just as advertised. The largest man-made, mobile vessel currently on the planet. In the dusk, the light from its many portholes shined bright like strings of stars against the evening sky. As the ship moved further into the bay, Dustin could hear the many passengers who had been picked up from Southampton England hours before. Music floated across the water, gracing the only three sets of ears who could hear from this distance.

Cheers and exclamations of relief rippled throughout both tenders and they steered to make headway toward the Titanic.

They say she’s unsinkable, Darren said, partially recovered from his bout of nausea.

Dustin snorted a laugh. Man’s arrogance at its best. Nothing’s unsinkable. If it floats, it can sink too.

Logan snapped a glare at him. Are you always this pessimistic or is today just special?

That earned a weary laugh from the alpha who leaned his elbows against the railing, mimicking his two packmates.

Dustin pulled a face and looked back to the formidable giant they approached. Man’s arrogance, indeed. He wasn’t pessimistic. He was a realist. There was a time, over a hundred years ago, when he strove to see the best in any situation. Being a loup-garou had taught him that nothing was perfect, everything was temporary, and there was always some hidden variable waiting to ruin a wonderful situation if allowed. Like his relatively brief stint of freedom, for example. It couldn’t last forever, and Dustin had known it from the beginning. It was only a matter of time before something or someone caught up with him. He just hadn’t expected it to be a grandson and his alpha.

The Nomadic angled herself to come alongside the Titanic’s starboard side, while the Traffic took position on the port. The sea rocked their little tender further, the wake of the colossal vessel disrupting their steady advancement. Darren was in the best position to lean even further over the railing and he let himself be sick one last time before the gangplank was extended to connect the two ships.

They allowed most of the other passengers to disembark first before they stepped up and took their place in line. Like most of steerage, they carried what they’d bring with them to America in a single suitcase for each of them. A few changes of clothing were all they needed, unlike the wealthier passengers on the other side who fretted over their eighteen trunks.

As they ambled up the gangplank, Dustin made the mistake of looking over the side into the dark water below. He had never stayed for long in any coastal village. Never climbed the heights of mountains. Each of these landscapes brought back too many memories. Most of which, he would rather have left forgotten on distant shores. Seeing the ocean so close reminded him of the time it tried to claim him and swallow him whole. It hadn’t, and his wolf had saved him from the fate of drowning just a day after he first turned. That’s how he’d met Darren, washed up on the beaches of France. The ocean was his doom and his salvation, all in one. He shuddered and hurried along with the others to board the ship.

Inside, Dustin realized just what they would be contending with during their journey. Noise. And lots of it. The music, especially, swelled into a disharmony that wouldn’t be considered tasteful to anyone’s standards. There had to be at least three, if not four different bands playing across the ship. One seemed close, and he recognized the instruments to be of a peasant nature. Accordions, fiddles, mouth organs, and drumming came from somewhere near the deck they boarded. The other two were high above them. He had no doubt that the squealing string instruments belonged to the bands that played for the first- and second-class passengers while they ate supper.

Smells of all sorts, savory and repulsive, bombarded them the moment the gangway hatch was opened. Over two thousand humans, complete with their own unique odors would torment them for almost a week before they arrived in New York. Not to mention the utter newness of the place. The potent redolence of fresh paint and cold steel would be a constant.

Darren and Dustin could handle such a challenge. Logan, however, seemed to struggle as soon as they stepped into the third class entrance. After their tickets were torn along the perforated half and given back to them, Dustin took the initiative. He guided his grandson to the side, so the other passengers could embark while the youth gained a hold of his senses. From what he and Darren had discussed, the boy was old enough to know how to distinguish between what deserved his notice and what didn’t. But he might have never come across a trial such as the Titanic would pose.

You all right? Dustin asked.

Logan sniffled, his face contorted and stretched as his sinuses must have become momentarily clogged. His eyes watered briefly, but after a minute, he nodded. I’m fine.

In the time it took for Logan to recover, they had lost Darren. He looked, but couldn’t pick him out at a glance among the many heads of the passengers. This wasn’t a good way to start a voyage.

Some distance away, near a junction of hallways, the alpha stood amongst the bustling traffic of foreigners. His stare shifted from one plaque to another as he read the directions to sections. A couple of stewards, who had been placed at the gangway doors to receive them, tried their best to give directions to the men and families who didn’t understand English. In a fit, they often gave up, which left the Croatians and Lebanese without any hint of how to find their berths.

Dustin and Logan came to their alpha, jostled by impatient passengers along the way.

There’s some cabins that way, he said as he pointed down the seemingly endless hallway to their right. That leads to sections Q, K, and M… But ours is in section F… His voice trailed off as he looked to the stairs on their right. Up or down?

Just then, a couple came forward to peer at the signs and mutter to themselves in that rapid-fire gibberish that Dustin didn’t understand.

Darren did, and he wasn’t shy in admitting it. He looked to the couple and as fluent as if he were a native of their country, spoke to them, presumably about the layout of the deck. They were just as surprised and eager to speak with him. Logan let out a long sigh and Darren hardly noticed when the youth slipped the passenger tickets from his hand.

He’s going to be a while, Logan said as he made his way toward the stairs. Beyond the stairwell lingered the unambiguous odor of lavatories. Something he would have to remember, in the event that there were none close to their room. It took seconds for him to pick and they were headed down deeper into the ship, following the flow of other hopeful and confused immigrants. Dustin simply followed, slinging his pack over his shoulder.

Do you think everyone’s at dinner? Dustin asked after noticing how empty the third class passageways were. I smell food, but I heard they have a restaurant somewhere on this ship too.

You think third class would have a restaurant?

They came to F-Deck and maneuvered around the crowds to the numbered signs on the corner of the landing. No, but if they’re cooking around the clock, how are we to know when it’s time for our meal too?

The youth shrugged his brows. That’s a valid point.

He then turned around the stairs and marched toward the bow of the ship. This side of the boat seemed packed mostly with men from all nations and backgrounds. Some were obviously farmers, others looked to be clerks or educators in their semi-formal attire. Dustin and his party would be considered a little above the bottom rung of this class, not quite vagabonds, but neither were they close in appearance to the second class gentry.

It didn’t take long for them to find their room, F-38, situated at the mouth of a short hallway.

Their cabin was far more than Dustin had expected. When he traveled to Europe almost fifty years ago, he had to share space with dozens of other men and some women. Their stay on the Titanic wouldn’t be far from what they were used to in any modest hotel. Four bunks lining two of the three walls were fashioned with mattresses and dressed in red and white coverlets. Across from the door was a washstand, complete with a mirror for grooming and their own towels. The whitewashed pine panels that continued from the hallways amplified the brightness of the electric lights. And though it didn’t make much of a difference to their noses, Dustin could tell that the room was well ventilated.

The two loups-garous stood in the doorway, marveling at the amenities before they received some nudges from behind as their neighbors tried to squeeze past them.

This might not be so bad after all, Dustin commented as he threw his bag to one of the top bunks. The springs barely made a noise beneath the weight and he nodded in approval. There was a slight pitch of the ship that Darren would surely notice, but the sink would fulfill more than one duty in that regards.

Logan claimed the bottom bunk opposite his. As it was, they appeared to have no other bunkmate, but if he understood right, they had one more stop to make before crossing the Atlantic. One he knew he wanted to stay below decks for.

What do you say we get settled and then go hunt for some food?

Logan passed him a somewhat scathing look. We should wait for Darren.

You said yourself that he would be a while. Besides, I think I smell roast beef somewhere.

I’m sure that’s not for third class, Logan chuckled as he tucked his suitcase beneath his bunk.

Dustin, curious if the nozzle on the sink was a cruel joke made by the ship’s designers, tested the water. Sure enough, twisting it yielded a steady stream of fresh water. Outstanding. Well, I’m sure we can slip into second class or find some way into the kitchen to snitch a bit of meat. We need it, after all.

He splashed his face with the chilling water and ran his fingers through his hair, heedless to how it would alter his appearance. There was no one here he needed to impress with a carefully combed style.

A few heavy footsteps sounded near the open doorway and Dustin turned to see that they were no longer alone. Four men, massive and obviously laborers by their plain and humble apparel, stood with looks that would make any other man immediately begin scrambling for an exit. To Dustin, they were nothing.

Evenin’ lads, he greeted with a derisively cheery tone. Are you lost?

The man at the head, the leader of the party started blabbering on and gestured to the room. Dustin looked to Logan for a translation, but he shrugged.

I think they’re Scandinavian, but I don’t know that one so well.

Another of the men began talking and Logan stammered out a broken reply. They’re saying something about the room, but I’m not sure.

Dustin understood all too well when one of the men grabbed his sack from the top bunk and dropped it to the floor. He glared at the bag, then to the men.

Listen, lads. I’m hungry, tired, and my day hasn’t been the best that it could be. I’m going to give you five seconds to leave.

They knew about as much English as Logan knew Scandinavian, and they practically ignored Dustin when he began to count down the seconds. One of them bent down to seize Logan’s suitcase and that was the end of it.

Dustin grabbed the foreigner by the collar and threw him back from the bunk. As if using a muscle that he hadn’t worked in ages, he threw up more dominance than he had ever cared to use in the last fifty years.

The one who dared to touch his grandson’s things staggered back, face open in shock. The leader, or as his defensive wolf saw him, the alpha, stepped forward but was frozen in place when he collided with that wall of dominance.

The golden eyes of the wolf hadn’t shown, but Dustin could feel it rise up. Hunger and frustration melded together, making a dangerous cocktail that these humans could never imagine.

I’m going to count again… One… Two…

Dustin took a step and that was enough to send the Scandinavians scuttling into the hall. They’d harass someone else for a berth, and it wasn’t Dustin’s job to protect those hapless souls. He was only in charge of his pack, his family.

As much as he hated to admit it, Darren had been right. He left Ben Myers in Tennessee and regretted it for years. He had thought about going back, about finding the loup-garou whose eyes could never return to their human brown color. But each time, he drowned out his guilt with adventure and reckless behavior that disappointed his alpha to no end.

His soul had been convicted, and now was the time to make things right. Not just with Ben, but with Logan too. And he hoped this little incident would be enough to start building a bond between them. It’d be hard to live together for the next few centuries if they couldn’t learn to trust.

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Morning, April 11th, 1912

Logan had hoped that their third class breakfast would yield a more promising selection for them. No such luck. Most of the food they were given couldn’t be stomached. Plates of porridge, bread, and potatoes were passed down to their fellow passengers, who thought the wide selection a veritable feast. To them, it must have been. This was more food in one sitting than most of them saw in a day.

Only the eggs and smoked herring could be eaten by the three loups-garous in the third class dining saloon. Even less could be eaten by Darren. The saloon, situated amid ship, presented a far better situation than in his berth. All night, Dustin and Logan were kept awake by his retching and muffled groans as the ship swayed on its way to Ireland. He had tried to stuff a bit of torn linen in his ears to mute the chaotic jumble of noises, but it merely made the voices a little less distinguished.

Air and a good stiff drink, Dustin said as they climbed the stairs up from the saloon and onto E-Deck. That’s what you need.

His pallor had improved some in the course of the morning, but their alpha wasn’t out of the woods yet. It’d take him more time to get his sea legs.

I’ll pass on the drink, he said wearily. But good fresh air, I’ll take.

They turned to the left to travel toward the aft third class stairwell that would take them topside. Logan wanted nothing of it. The noise, the smells, the congested corridor that they learned was called "Scotland Road’ for its working class traversers, all of it was too much and Logan had felt the end of his rope fraying for days already. He wanted nothing more than a better meal than some fish, and a good long rest with some silence.

Perhaps it was his young age that made him so ravenous in comparison to the rest of his pack, but Logan was mildly baffled by the fact that neither Darren nor Dustin complained about the scant food options. The first class passengers had their own restaurants and cafes on the upper decks to supplement their meals, but steerage had nothing. Now, he wished they had thought to pack some dried meat, even if it was tasteless.

Know how to play poker, Logan? Dustin asked him as they skirted past a maid servant carrying an armful of towels.

Dustin’s almost relentless efforts to befriend him were met with the only bit of patience and politeness that Logan could muster. This trip had put him in an unamiable mood, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. It wasn’t just the noise or the fact that Darren was liable to hurl his stomach up between his teeth. It was something deeper, something foreboding and he couldn’t name it. It just sat there, deep in his soul, and refused to budge no matter how much he tried to convince himself that they were fine. This was the safest ship in the world. Why wouldn’t they be fine?

Logan knew, even if this ominous twisting of his guts did pass, he wasn’t ready to make nice with his grandfather. The loup-garou drank alcohol, smoked, and kept the company of whores. This wasn’t the same man he had heard about from so many others. They spoke of a witty and loyal beta who cared deeply for those around him. Apart from the incident at their cabin yesterday, he had yet to prove that he was the same man.

No, I never cared to learn, he replied.

Dustin’s green eyes brightened. I’ll teach you then. He patted one of his coat pockets. I’ve got a deck right here.

Knowing that he had backed himself into a corner, Logan was ready to give into his fate. That was until he smelled it. They walked through the faint traces of some aroma coming from the second class stairwell. Succulent meats, raw and mouth-watering.

He glanced and saw one of the double doors had been left unlatched, and therefore unlocked. The maid they had passed must have neglected to shut it properly. Or it could have been any of the other crew they had passed on the way to stern.

His steps slowed to a stop. Darren and Dustin regarded him with concern.

I’m actually going to go back to the cabin, Logan said. I’m still tired. You two go without me.

Dustin shrugged. Later this afternoon?

Sure. Come find me after lunch.

His show of agreeableness didn’t fool Darren, though Dustin had already turned to continue down the wide corridor.

Are you all right? Darren asked. It was quite a question for a man of his state to ask, and Logan only nodded.

The alpha, still unconvinced, joined his beta anyway. When they turned the corner to follow some other steerage passengers up the stairs, Logan darted for the ajar door. If he was quick, no one would see him.

The stairwell itself was fortunately empty. Whitewashed pine panels from the third class gave way to rich polished oak. Upward he went and found himself on the other side of the door from the second class dining saloon. Peeking through the ornate glass inlay, he watched as some waiters passed by with plates for their guests.

Second class passengers were seated at long tables, each diner parked in a chair that swiveled on its base and was upholstered in red velvet. The elegance of the stairwell carried into the dining saloon. Its column capitals were ornate, the white patterned ceiling contrasting with wooden beams, and the lighting fixtures added the finishing touches to make this room a work of art in itself. Not one exposed pipe or rivet to be seen. He might as well have been in a hotel instead of on a ship.

The only similarities in their classes lay in the crisp white tablecloths and exceptional silverware, all amenities that were unheard of for steerage from what he understood. There was constant chatter amongst the immigrants about how fine the settings were and some asking their neighbors how to use certain cutlery they were not accustomed to. But in second class, they took all of these niceties for granted. No one questioned or gaped in awe. At least third class knew how to appreciate what they had.

The food upon their plates, many left half-eaten or partially eaten, was by far more appetizing than anything he had seen coming out of the third class galleys. Such waste could be afforded by the rich. It’d all be tossed overboard.

He straightened his vest and stuffed his felt cap into his deep pocket before combing back his dark, slightly oily hair. If he acted like he belonged amongst the second class, the stewards and waiters wouldn’t pay him a second glance.

Feigning an air of importance, Logan strode out from the double doors that led from the stairwell, avoided all eye contact with the diners he passed, and took an immediate right down the neighboring corridor. Following his nose proved to be his best compass. In the crew passage, he knew that if he turned right he would venture too close to the ship’s hospital. The astringent smell of medicine and disinfectant told him that much. To the left was his salvation.

He didn’t have to go far before he found the butcher’s shop. Inside, two men worked steadily, cutting up meats to be taken to the pantry just across the way, or to the galley where it would be prepared for the passengers.

This would be a greater challenge. He stood and put his mind to work, all the while crew busily hurried past, hardly noticing him or choosing to mind their own business. He considered the pantry, but saw it was too crowded.

His ticket to a quick and easy meal came when the butcher shop door opened and one of the assistants came sweeping out with a wrapped leg of lamb. Logan closed his eyes to hide the hungry golden change and dove inside before he could convince himself to wait.

With his loup-garou speed, he grabbed for the nearest slab of pork and darted out. The butcher wouldn’t have seen anything more than a blur, if he saw anything at all. By the lack of shouting, he guessed that the latter was the case.

Taking the stairs back through the dining wall would be too risky. He could go empty handed before, but now he’d be too conspicuous holding a ten pound cut of bacon. He found an unmanned set of stairs that led back to the lower decks and he raced for it.

Logan descended into an empty, long hallway. Another staircase at the end led further into the belly of the ship, while a few doors would take him beyond to third class accommodations again. Here seemed as safe a place as any to reward himself.

Thieving wasn’t a thing he could take pride in. Nor was it something he typically considered. But hunger had gotten the better of him. If he didn’t eat, he’d become more volatile, more hostile. He reasoned that he needed this meat to ensure the safety of others. Those people in second class wouldn’t miss it anyway.

Within just minutes, his belly was full and the golden eyes of the wolf withdrew. Now, he was caught in his deception. Fresh air sounded favorable now, but he couldn’t come on deck and make some reason to explain why he wasn’t tired any longer.

With a sigh, Logan realized that he either had to make good on his excuse or find some other way to occupy himself until after lunch to avoid his pack. But what was there for a steerage passenger to do on a ship built for the elite?

Chapter 3

C an I bum a smoke off of ya? Dustin kept his voice low, just loud enough the American could hear him over the mild ruckus in the third class smoking lounge. It might have been pointless to try and conceal his sneaking a cigarette when Darren was just beyond the forward wall on the well deck.

The American gave a sidelong look, his own cigarette pinched between his lips. After just a second of weighing his losses, he pulled out his case and passed one to Dustin. It was awkwardly rolled and didn’t smell of the good quality tobacco that he preferred, but it was better than nothing.

He thanked the man and then struck his match to light it, but didn’t move away just yet. He looked around the lounge at its oak paneled walls and fancy patterned linoleum floor – a common upscale decorating design that carried through most of the third class accommodations. Cigar and cigarette smoke hung in the air, catching the bright morning light that streamed through the portside portholes and giving the room a hazy atmosphere. Slatted benches lined the walls and middle avenues of the room, teak tables and curved-back chairs dotted here and there in between.

After breakfast, this seemed to be quite the destination for the men who had little else to do below decks. In the adjoining room, a piano was being put to good use as the nimble hands of a passenger played