Forgotten Sea

by Virginia Kantra

  “Is irrelevant. He’s an elemental. A hostile elemental,”

  Jude added for emphasis.

  “You see enemies everywhere.”

  He climbed painfully to his feet, leaning on a table for support. His head swam. “Because we have no allies.”

  “Heaven has no allies. We’re on earth now. Maybe we should put more faith in those who have been here the longest, the fair folk and merfolk. God’s creatures, Jude.”

  It was an old argument between them. One he’d given up on winning.

  He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Simon thinks the boy is possessed.”

  Moon’s blue eyes clouded. “And if he is?”

  “It makes no difference. Unless he kills the girl. In which case, I will avenge her murder, and Simon can thank me for that.”

  Moon sniffed. “Sometimes I really don’t like you very much.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  Their eyes met, dark with memories and—at least on his part—regret.

  A faint flush rose in her cheeks. “You replaced me quickly enough.”

  “A lesson I learned from Simon.”

  She shot him a questioning look.

  “Keep your friends close,” Jude explained. “And your enemies closer.”

  “And you, of course, see enemies everywhere,” Moon said again dryly.

  He did not smile. “I don’t fuck all of them.”

  “Such self-restraint.”

  He did not defend himself. In truth, he used sex the same way he used everything else.

  The nephilim did have enemies. Everywhere. He did what he must to ensure their survival. He played a long game with high stakes against incredible odds. Lara Rho was just another card to turn to his advantage.

  Assuming he could find her.

  “I’m going to Maine,” he said.

  *

  Iestyn had never sailed into Port Clyde before, but he recognized the sights and smells of a working harbor. Beyond the kayaks, tourist cars, and ice cream shops, the waterfront moved with the rhythm of the seasons and the tides.

  By three o’clock, sturdy fishing boats ruffled the blue water, chugging in to offload their catch behind the general store.

  The air was rich with salt and fish, sharp with diesel oil.

  He joined Lara, waiting in line to board the ferry between a couple of hikers and a little girl with a pink backpack.

  Something about Lara—the way she looked or the way she stood, the turn of her head or the pucker of her brows as she squinted into the sun behind him—lodged like a fishbone in his throat. His chest swelled. He couldn’t speak.

  He could barely breathe.

  “We’re here now,” she’d told him. “Together. For the first time in my life, maybe that’s enough.”

  But what if it wasn’t enough? he wondered with a sliver of panic. For her. For him.

  She smiled at him, relaxed, expectant. “Did you find parking?”

  He cleared his throat, rubbed at the burn itching beneath his collarbone. “A couple blocks over.”

  He’d left the Jeep behind a hardware store with the key in the ignition. In Newark, in Norfolk, in Montevideo, the vehicle would vanish within the hour. Even in Maine, he figured it would disappear eventually.

  She raised her brows. “You know the ferry lot only charges five dollars a day.”

  “We don’t know when we’ll be back.” If I’ll come back.

  He pushed the thought away. Concentrate on the moment.

  Live in the moment. They crossed the metal ramp behind a woman dragging a shopping cart. “We can’t leave the Jeep in the parking lot, pointing at the ferry like a bloody arrow,”

  he said.

  She nodded in comprehension. “Because of the crows.”

  “The crows and the cops.” He lowered his voice.

  “They’ll run the plates on an abandoned vehicle.”

  Lara’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think of that.”

  Of course not. His conscience winced. She was a rule follower, not a law breaker.

  “I hope you got rid of the license plates,” she said.

  He grinned, his conscience relieved. What a miracle she was. “Tossed them in a Dumpster.”

  “Good.” The approval in her tone, the trust in her eyes, caused that funny swelling in his chest again.

  They found a place on the upper deck with the hikers and a cable repairman toting a plastic utility bucket.

  The deck shuddered. Machinery groaned. Iestyn’s pulse leaped as the ferry pushed into the waters of the harbor under the gleaming eye of the squat lighthouse, past boats tethered to round white mooring buoys. A curving line of jagged rocks like a broken jawbone slid away to starboard.

  He inhaled, tasting salt, baring his teeth to the wind.

  Christ, it felt good to be on the water again. Too damn bad he was on this floating parking garage instead of under sail.

  But even the stink of fuel and the engine’s vibration couldn’t diminish his pleasure. The sea was what he knew, where he belonged.

  He glanced at Lara, standing beside him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining. A wandering sea breeze played with her hair.

  With everything she’d been through these past two days, she still took his breath away. She had entrusted herself to him. Her body. Her safety. Her future.

  Confusion caught him under the ribs, sharp as a cramp.

  How could he ever leave her?

  How could he ask her to stay?

  The world shifted underfoot as they moved farther and farther from shore.

  No turning back, Lara thought. Every step toward their destination severed her further from her old life and brought Iestyn nearer to his. And when he was gone . . .

  But she couldn’t let herself think about that. Those worries belonged to the future, and she was determined to stay in the here-and-now for as long as she could.

  She watched him brace beside her at the rail, his strong legs set against the chop of the waves, the wind molding his shirt to the hard planes and muscled curves of his body.

  The stitches along his hairline were barely visible. In the slanting afternoon light, he burned like a seraph, his hair fired to sunlight, his skin like liquid gold.

  A great wave of lust and longing seized her by the throat.

  She took a deep breath and held it until everything settled and was still again.

  She would not regret this, she told herself fiercely.

  Whatever happened.

  She could admire and enjoy him without possessing him.

  Like admiring a sunset or an eagle or anything wild and beautiful and beyond her grasp.

  Iestyn turned his head, smiling down at her, the light in his eyes and on his hair, and her heart—her foolish, female, human heart—quite simply tumbled at his feet. He tucked her against him, her back to his chest, his jaw by her ear, and held her while time and the world slipped away.

  Water churned under the prow. Lumps of land rose and fell from view. His heart thudded against her shoulder blades, her breathing slowed to match his breath, until it seemed they shared one heart, one breath, one flesh. She covered his hands where they linked around her waist, trying to hold on to him. Hold on to the moment.

  Until the arms around her stiffened and his heart changed beat.

  “Iestyn? Iestyn.”

  He didn’t respond.

  *

  “Hold on!” Iestyn shouted, his heart hammering in his chest. A wall of water reared on the horizon, gray and terrible as a ghost army, spears of debris held aloft by dirty crests.

  Foam spewed and flew as far as the eye could reach.

  He tightened his grip on the ship’s wheel, his palms burning. Sweating.

  “We have to Change.” Roth thrust the sealskin bundled in his arms at Iestyn. “Now.”

  The heavy pelt thumped to the deck. Iestyn’s pelt. Every instinct he possessed screamed at him to
grab it and go, flee, dive. Abandon ship.

  Madagh barked, barked, barked, the deep, frantic sound echoing Iestyn’s own terror.

  He swallowed the greasy panic in his stomach, prayed he wouldn’t disgrace himself. “You go. The prince trusted me to see the boat to safety.”

  “Prince Conn would not ask you to die for his boat.”

  “His boat, no. Maybe his dog.”

  Kera stumbled over the rope Iestyn had used to tie himself to the mast. “Don’t be stupid,” she snapped. Her eyes glittered. With tears? But selkies did not cry.

  Roth growled. “Not stupid. It wasn’t his idea to turn around.”

  “He agreed. We all agreed. I thought we could help.”

  Kera was a talented weather worker. But her magic could not turn the demon tide. The wall of water thundered toward them under the sun-washed November sky.

  The bow hit the first deep trough and pitched. Spray shot up on both sides. Madagh’s claws scrabbled furiously for purchase on the wooden deck. Kera lunged for the rail as the ropes binding Iestyn dragged and held.

  Chafed and burned.

  The wrinkle on the horizon swelled. Another wave.

  No, land. Another island rising from the slate blue sea.

  Iestyn drew a shuddering breath, struggling to get his bearings.

  Lara stirred in his arms, her slight weight anchoring him to the present. “World’s End.”

  Journey’s end.

  He could not speak. His heart still pounded. His throat burned.

  *

  Iestyn’s arms around her were ridged like ropes. His breath rasped. Lara turned, her own heart quickening in sympathy, a drawn-out, distant roaring in her head like the approaching tide. “Another flashback?”

  She should have expected it. Last night had triggered one, too. Iestyn’s past was crashing in on him, his future rushing in on him like the wave in his dreams, inexorable, inescapable.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He nodded, his pupils wide and unfocused.

  “It’s natural for you to be upset,” she said gently. “You must feel like you’re losing your cohort all over again.”

  His gaze narrowed on her face. “What?”

  “Your friends.” The sturdy boy, the sulky-mouthed girl in his dream. Lara kept talking, saying anything, really, determined to banish that black, blank look from his eyes.

  “I know when Bria left, I . . . What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  “Really? Because you look terrible.” Sweat beaded his upper lip. Beneath his tan, his face was gray. “Maybe you should sit down.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he insisted, irritation roughening his voice.

  She slid her arm around his waist. He resisted leaning his weight on her. But when she nudged him to the seat on deck, he lowered himself heavily onto the bench.

  The cable repairman shifted over to make room.

  “What’s the matter with him?”

  Iestyn ignored him, closing his eyes, all his golden vitality drained away. His head dropped back, exposing the long, strong column of his throat. Just above the neckline of his shirt, his skin was red and inflamed.

  She frowned. Redder than before?

  Gently, she inserted two fingers under the edge of the fabric. Iestyn jerked from her touch, baring his teeth like an animal in pain.

  Her heart wobbled. Shifting to block the cable guy’s vision, she slowly, carefully peeled back the collar of Iestyn’s Tshirt.

  Her stomach lurched. Her vision blurred. She blinked to clear it. The skin around the heth puffed, fresh blisters bubbling on already raw flesh.

  “I think he’s had too much sun,” she said to the cable guy.

  She moistened her lips. “Would you mind . . . Could you get us some water?”

  “I don’t need anything,” Iestyn said.

  “Water? Sure.” The man pushed to his feet, leaving his bucket under the bench. His boots clanged on the metal stairs as he descended to the lower deck.

  “How long has it been like this?” she asked Iestyn.

  “Started . . . When the island came in sight.”

  Men. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He raised his lashes and looked at her. “Because I’m okay.

  I’m breathing, aren’t I?”

  Worry made her sharp. “Barely.”

  Incredibly, his dry lips twitched in a shadow of his customary smile. “Beats the alternative.”

  Yes, it did. But she didn’t know what to do for him now.

  Forcing air into his lungs wouldn’t relieve his pain.

  “We need to take it off. The heth.”

  His lips tightened. “Not now. Your friend with the bucket will be back any minute.”

  She stared at him helplessly. She had to do something to relieve his pain. What would Miriam do? Or Simon?

  Burns were common at Rockhaven. The factory workers called the process of blowing, pressing, and casting glass

  “taming fire.” Jacob was always complaining of firstdegree burns from pausing too long at the furnace or gloryhole, second-degree burns from handling hot glass. The first, best treatment was to plunge the burn in water.

  Which she didn’t have. She glanced at the ocean tumbling out of reach before she stooped and blew gently on Iestyn’s inflamed skin.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to help.”

  “I’m not a steak dinner, babe. You’re not going to cool my meat by blowing on it.”

  She ignored his innuendo, focusing instead on the angry red swelling below his collarbone. “Do you have a better idea?”

  “Yeah. Ignore it,” he said.

  “And it’ll go away?”

  Their eyes met, the memory of last night vibrating in the air between them, the feel of him in her hand, hot satin over stone.

  “Eventually,” he muttered.

  But an idea had sparked. “There’s a sign for water.”

  His brows drew together. “A sign.”

  She nodded. “A rune. Mem.”

  Like the letter M with an extra uptick at the beginning.

  She traced it in her mind, sort of a wave shape. Inside her, power squiggled, rising and falling with each line, a surge of possibility, a downstroke of intent.

  What should be . . .

  She touched a single fingertip to his throat. The contact kindled a quiver low in her belly, a tingle in her fingers and her toes. Down and up and . . .

  His hand, warm and strong, covered hers. She jumped.

  “No spells,” he said flatly. “No magic. I don’t want the demons tracing us here.”

  Her heartbeat quickened. “Then we shouldn’t have had sex.”

  Their gazes locked. Held.

  A corner of his mouth curled. “That was worth it.”

  Warmth flooded her face. “So is this,” she insisted. “So are you.”

  He looked unconvinced.

  “Anyway, we’re in the middle of the ocean,” she said.

  “What are they going to do? Swim after us?”

  All those years, the sea had protected him. Until she found him and brought the demons down on them both.

  “At least let me try,” she said.

  Slowly, his grip on her hand relaxed. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  What can be . . .

  Water was not her element. But she traced the sign of it Water was not her element. But she traced the sign of it carefully on his skin, standing between his thighs, conscious of his blood pulsing below the surface, the ebb and flow of his breath. She imagined water, glasses and buckets and tubs full of water, quenching, cooling, soothing.

  Iestyn’s skin sizzled. Heat flared.

  She gasped. But Iestyn reached up and covered her hand with his, pressing her fingers deep into his blistered skin.

  His thought swelled and supported hers. Water. Briny, cold, and clear,
erupting from the rock to race rejoicing to the sea, bursting from the Creator’s mind, the deep salt dark, moving, utterly free. What must be. Power flowed, his magic, hers, pouring out of her into his flesh.

  He shuddered, a deep, hard spasm like orgasm, his grasp on her hand almost painful. The reverberations shivered from his body to hers, every tremble and quake echoed deep inside her, the aftershock of power like the release after sex.

  Lara sagged.

  Iestyn wrapped his arms around her, almost as if he were protecting her from something. For long moments, neither of them spoke. The ship engines rumbled. A seabird cried and plummeted into the water.

  “That did it,” Iestyn said finally, his voice muffled. His warm breath seared her breasts.

  She eased away from him, far enough to see his face.

  “Do you feel any better?”

  He laughed.

  She caught herself grinning foolishly back at him. “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m good.” He pulled down the collar of his shirt to show her the burn. Still red, but the frightening blisters had subsided.

  His gaze was steady on hers. “We’re good. We’re more together than we are apart.”

  Her heart thrummed. “It’s magic.”

  “It’s more than magic.”

  He cupped the back of her head and drew her down for his kiss. She trembled as their lips met, as his mouth nudged and searched and caressed hers. He kissed her as if he were inside her, as if he knew her, soul kisses, sweet, wet, consuming.

  She pulled back, dazed.

  He smiled into her eyes. “We’re good together.”

  “For how much longer?” The words escaped before she could snatch them back.

  So much for her determination to live in the here-andnow.

  Annoyed with him, with herself, she said, “Forget it. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, she heard boots climbing the metal stairs. She sprang back. The cable repairman emerged from the lower deck, approaching them with a curious look and a bottle of water.