by Morgan Rice
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kyle paced the deck of the small yacht, anxious as they sped in the early morning towards Martha's Vineyard. He could not stand still. He hated boats, and he hated water. Worse, he hated crossing water, like most of his kind. Perhaps even more than most.
That Russian boy had insisted that Caitlin was in this direction. So he'd went with him, up the coast, along a highway. But then their search had ended in a harbor. The Russian had pointed out to the ocean. He had insisted that stupid girl, the source of all his trouble, was on the island.
Kyle had gotten into such a rage, he hadn't been able to control himself. Not only had this girl made him chase her up the entire East Coast, not only had she made him miss the war, but now she was forcing him to board a boat, to cross water. He had marched up to the first docked yacht he had seen, leapt on board, and had killed the entire crew on the spot. He'd thrown them all overboard, had hijacked their boat, and he and the Russian had taken off. At least killing them had taken the edge off of his rage.
But now that they were out at sea, surrounded by nothing but blue, his rage flared up again. He had had enough of chasing this girl. He wanted to find her already, kill her, after making her show him exactly where her father was - or where the sword was.
He nearly jumped out of his skin as he paced on deck, wanting the yacht to go faster. He ran up to Sergei, who was steering, and yelled at him again.
"Make it go faster!" he screamed.
"I can't, my master," he pleaded, afraid. "This is as fast as this boat will go. "
"You are certain she is on this island?" he asked for the tenth time.
"I am certain that she has crossed water in this direction," he answered. "I feel her scent in my veins. "
"That is not what I asked you," Kyle responded, threateningly.
The Russian lifted his head, looking at the air, breathing in. For a moment, he seemed confused. Almost as if he were unsure, or changing his mind. As if he had lost her scent.
If he had, Kyle would kill him.
"I. . . am sure they came in this direction. I sense their presence strongly. But. . . that is all I know," he said.
Kyle stormed back to the railing. He face burned red with anger. He was missing it all. After thousands of years of waiting, the war - his war - was beginning without him. Right now, back in New York, the plague was beginning to spread. His work, unleashed. And here he was, far away from it all, stuck on a boat with some stupid Russian opera singer. Not able to enjoy it. Not able to watch the pathetic humans screaming, running for their lives. It was the part he had been looking forward to most.
He would really make this girl pay.
Kyle gripped the railing with both of his hands in such a rage that he bent it in half, then tore it completely off the deck.
*
As Caitlin stood on the ferry, holding the railing, the water moving quickly below, Rose tucked into her jacket and Caleb beside her, she looked out at the horizon. She couldn't see land, but she knew it would be coming soon.
A part of her wished she would never see land. As long as they were out at sea, surrounded by blue, things would remain the same. She and Caleb would still be together. But when she spotted the first sign of land, she knew that life would begin, inexorably, to change. Once they reached land, they would be drawn, like a magnet, right into the heart of Boston, onto the Freedom Trail. She just knew that this would be the final stop in their search. She could feel it. And that terrified her.
Apparently Caleb was nervous, too. She looked over and saw him clutching the railing, looking out, and she could see the worry etched in his face. She was beginning to recognize his facial expressions, and she knew that this was not one he wore often. She could see that it was not from his fear of water. It was something else. Was he also afraid of their future? Of what would happen once they found the sword?
They both knew that, once he found it, he couldn't take her with her. He would be on the warpath. Likely, back with his coven, in the midst of a vampire war. She could not see a role for herself in that. And yet she could not see a life without him, either.
Things were different between them now. As he slipped his arm around her waist, and held her close, she realized that she had never felt so close to anyone. It was almost as if they were one mind, looking out of the water. She was a changed woman. And she felt that somehow, even if in a small way, he had been changed by last night, too.
This time, on the ride back, they were both silent. Neither obsessed about the latest clue, neither spent time trying to decipher the riddle, to speculate as to where it might be. They were simply content to stand next to each other, to be with each other. Neither felt the need to talk. It was the calm before the storm, and they both just wanted to enjoy it.
Suddenly, Caleb grimaced. His jaw set hard, the way it sometimes did when he was getting ready to fight.
She looked at him.
"What is it?" she asked.
He stared at the horizon, squinting, clenching his jaw. Several seconds of silence followed.
"I sense something," he said.
She waited for him to add more, but he didn't.
"What?" she asked, finally.
He stared for several more seconds.
"I don't know," he said. "There is a great disturbance. I can feel my people suffering. . . . I feel. . . people searching for us. And I feel. . . we are heading into grave danger. "