by Nora Roberts
Sasha hesitated, glanced toward the doorway. “I’ve dreamed about him.”
“Yeah, you said.”
“I didn’t . . . not everything.” She’d spoken—or prophesized—about the need for trust, then didn’t give her own. “Out there, on the cliff, Bran and I. Standing there, in a storm. Lightning, thunder, the wind, the sea crashing. He called the storm. He holds the lightning like reins. And we’re together. I don’t just mean on the cliff together.”
“I get what you mean. Why does that worry you? Being with him?”
“Because I’ve never been with anyone.”
“I admit it’ll give you a minute thinking about sex with a sorcerer but . . . Whoa.” Riley stopped herself, turned fully around. “Anyone? Ever? At all?”
“Every time I came close—had feelings, thought I was close to someone—I’d do or say something that ruined it, and they’d step back.”
“First lesson—like the jab. Why are you to blame? Some of the time, sure. We all screw up. But every time it’s you? That’s bullshit and it’s annoying.”
“I’d be the one saying or doing it. I’d forget to be careful, and something would slip. Then I’d be an oddity instead of a person. Or at least an oddity as well as a person. And I’d feel their feelings shift away.”
“That’s on them. I’d say picking the wrong guy’s on you, but you’ve got to try a few on to see what fits. So, maybe you should try him on. You’re no oddity to any of us, and certainly not to Bran.”
“This doesn’t seem like the time to . . . try anyone on.”
“More bullshit. We could lose. I don’t intend to, but you’ve got to factor it in. Do you want to go out not knowing? Think about it,” she said as she heard bootsteps approach. “And cut yourself—and from where I’m standing him—a break.”
* * *
She could think about it, Sasha decided. She wasn’t sure which brought more stress. Thinking about being with Bran or thinking about riding in an inflatable boat, then diving under the water. They both gave her the jitters.
After breakfast, eaten in shifts, she packed sunscreen, an extra shirt, her sketch pad. Then stopped stalling and went to Bran’s terrace doors.
He glanced up from studying the contents of one of his cases.
“Ready, are you? I’m nearly.”
“I wanted to—to thank you. I found the little bag, the charm, under my pillow. And this.” She touched the necklace.
“They helped?”
“They helped.”
“This.” He stepped over, tapped one of the stones on the necklace. “Cobbled together a bit hastily.”
“I like it. I wanted to give you this.” Taking the leap, she opened her bag, and the sketchbook, to take out the sketch she’d laid inside.
His easy smile faded; his eyes sharpened as he took it. “When did you draw this?”
“Before I met you. It was one of the strongest dreams, recurring. I even painted it, felt I had to. I know things can be changed. A different choice, a different outcome. At least some of the time. And I realized by not showing you, I wasn’t giving you that choice.”
“And what of your choice?”
“I made mine. I guess I made mine by giving that to you.” Gathering her courage, she framed his face with her hands, touched her lips to his. “They’ll be waiting for us,” she said, and turned for the doors.
He closed them with a thought before she reached them.
“Do you think I need a sketch to decide if I want you?”
“I thought you should know that, just like the six of us being here . . . It’s all part of it. And you shouldn’t be bound by that, not for something so personal.”
Nerves frayed, she reached behind her, twisted the knob. “Would you open the doors?”
“No.”
“They’ll be waiting for us.”
“They can bloody well wait.” He crossed to her, laid his hands on the glass on either side of her head. “Nervous, are you?”
“You’re deliberately making me nervous.”
“You should be nervous. Be a little afraid as well, of what the man you drew is able to do.”
“You won’t hurt me that way, and I’m not helpless. Not anymore.”
“You’ve never been. My choice? That’s what you’re asking?”
He took her mouth, hard and fast, trapping her against the door with his body, letting his hands mold hers. “That’s my choice. That’s been my choice since you came knocking on my door, eyes dream-struck. It’s not your dreams binding me. It’s you.”
His lips came back to hers, but this time she held on, this time she poured herself into the kiss. “I’ve wanted you since before I met you. I want—”
She broke off at the pounding on the door. “We’re rolling!” Doyle called.
“All right.” But he kissed her again. “We’ll be finishing what we’ve started here, fáidh.”
“Yes.” The laugh fluttered up from her heart. “We will. But now you have to open the doors.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It didn’t look like an inflatable boat. As Sasha’s imagination had formed a big yellow life raft with paddles, seeing an actual boat with motor, covered cabin, benches—and one that remained reasonably steady when she stepped on board—flooded her with relief.
Until she saw the diving equipment.
“Buck up.” Riley slapped her shoulder. “You’ll do fine. What about you, Irish, and the bit about sorcerers not being able to cross water?”
“It’s not can’t so much as would rather not.” He took a small vial from his pocket, downed the contents. “I’ll do fine as well. Who’ll be piloting this thing?”
Riley hesitated, then glanced over at Doyle as he checked over the equipment in the wheelhouse. “Can you handle it?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
“I’ll give you the bearings. That way I can go over the equipment and basics with the novices.”
“Meaning me,” Sasha said. “Shouldn’t someone stay with the boat? I could stay with the boat.”
“That’s what anchors and buoys are for. You’ve dived?” Riley asked Bran.
“A few times, yes.”
“And you?”
Sawyer nodded. “More than a few.”
“I know this,” Annika put in before Riley asked.
“Okay, grab wetsuits, and I’ll get us going.” She walked to the wheelhouse.
Sasha might have been full of doubts, but she reassured herself. She was a good swimmer, a strong swimmer, so if worse came to worst . . .
She stripped down to her bathing suit—a simple black tank, and a far cry from Annika’s microscopic bikini—and busied herself slithering and tugging herself into a wetsuit while Doyle eased the boat out of its slip.
“It’s fun,” Sawyer told her as he zipped up his own. “A whole new experience.”
“It feels like I’ve been having whole new experiences daily since I got to Corfu.”
He grinned, turned to the tanks to check them. “That’s what makes it fun.”
When she saw him lift a harpoon, examine it, she thought he—all of them—had to prepare for more than fun.
“Okay.” Riley walked back on deck, opened the top of a long, low bench. “First dive site’s only a few minutes away. Masks, regulators, belts. We’ll go over all of it,” she promised Sasha. “Captain Bligh up there’s not too happy about it, but we’re going to start with a nice, easy dive. We’re not likely to find a flaming star waiting for us, but it’ll give everybody a chance to—har-har—get their feet wet. Visibility should be good, so let’s everybody stay together-ish—stay in sight. Standard buddy system.”
“I’ve got her, Riley.” Bran took his own dive knife out of his bag. “She’ll stop being nervous once she’s in the water.”
“Will I?”
“Trust me.”
“Let’s go over the gear.” Riley picked up a thick vest. “Your buoyancy control device—BCD. This will hold your tank, and help y
ou maintain neutral buoyancy. That’s the goal. On the surface, you tend to float, so this, being weighted, will help your descent. The deeper you go, the less buoyancy, so it will regulate. You want the science?”
“I think no.”
“You’ve got clips here for accessories and necessities. Regulator gauge, depth gauge, knife. You want to keep everything clipped off and tucked.”
Riley started talking about drag, swimming “trim,” breathing techniques. All of it spun around in Sasha’s head as she stood and the various equipment being explained was attached to or loaded on her.
Doyle cut the engine far too soon.
“Let’s keep it at about thirty minutes, see how it goes.”
“A half hour? Down there?”
“It’ll go quicker than you imagine,” Bran told her as he competently saw to his own gear.
Doyle weighed anchor; Riley tossed out the marker buoy.
“The cave’s due east.” She pointed toward the cliff face. “Sawyer, why don’t you and Annika go in, then Sasha can follow with Bran. Doyle and I should be right behind you. Just take a couple minutes to get used to it,” she told Sasha, and strapped on a BCD.
Sawyer put on his mask, his mouthpiece, and sitting on the side, gave a thumbs-up before rolling backward into the water.
Sasha had time to think—Oh, my God—before Annika laughed, then mimicked Sawyer.
“You can go in feetfirst if you’d rather,” Bran began.
“Ladder on the port side,” Doyle said as he zipped his wetsuit.
“Why don’t I help you down that way?”
Help her, Sasha thought. Watch her, look out for her.
The hell with it.
She clomped over to the side in her fins, boosted herself up.
“Hold your mask in place with one hand. Just roll out.” Bran gave her leg an easy pat. “I’m two seconds after you.”
Before she could talk herself out of it, Sasha shut her eyes and let herself roll back.
It was a longer drop than she’d anticipated. When she hit the water, she let out a short scream, sucked in too much air. She started to kick back to the surface, but Bran was there, taking her hand.
He made a slow, downward movement with his free hand, clearly signaling her to slow down, relax. Though she wanted to go up, go up into light and air, he pointed down, and drew her with him.
Panic tickled at her throat, brought on an odd dizziness. She knew she was breathing too fast—exactly what Riley warned not to do—but couldn’t seem to control it.
Then she saw Annika through the impossibly clear water, doing fluid somersaults with the sunlight cutting through the surface to spotlight her.
Oh, to be that free, she thought, then realized she was—or could be. Nothing held her back but her own fears. Maybe she wasn’t ready for somersaults, but that didn’t mean she had to give up.
She struggled with her breathing—still too fast, but better—and gave Bran’s hand a light squeeze to let him know she was all right.
And finally let herself see the world around her.
The colors, so deep and rich in the coral, the waving plants, the boldly darting fish. So much more than what she’d experienced in the very rudimentary snorkeling she’d done when she’d talked herself into a winter vacation in Aruba some years before.
This time, she wasn’t just looking down at the world—like peering through a glass window. She was part of it.
With Bran she swam along the reef, gestured with wonder when she spotted a pumpkin-colored starfish clinging to a rock. She saw another, and a deep red sponge, and watched a lobster scramble across the sandy bottom as if late for an appointment.
When she saw the mouth of the cave, the panic wanted to rise again. Then Riley streaked by her, glanced back with a quick wave before spearing straight toward the dark, shallow mouth ahead.
Doyle speared through the water after her, might have cut straight into the cave but Riley blocked him.
Waiting for her, she realized, the four of them, with Annika swimming a circle around the other three. She kicked her feet, sent herself forward with Bran beside her.
The six went into the cave, two by two, where the light hung murky. Here, the world was a shadowy green and what lived in it came as shadowed blurs. The blurs became a long, sinuous eel, a pair of octopi with undulating tentacles. The wavering plants hid things, she imagined, that could sting and bite.
She heard the beat of her heart in her own head as she swam through the eerie green light of the tunnel.
It opened, reminding her of the land cave she thought of as Nerezza’s. She looked up, almost expecting to see bats swimming and swooping. Instead she saw light, trees, and stared in wonder at the open ceiling between worlds.
Another octopus, uninterested in them, flowed across the bottom of the cave while a school of silvery fish speared away as one as she reached out a hand to touch. She forgot fear as she explored the madly artistic shapes of coral, the living sponges, the oddly fluid movement of a starfish that left its perch when disturbed.
She thought of the painting she could do if she kept all this in her head long enough to sketch it. She forgot her fears, and for a time the true purpose, in the thrill of exploration.
It surprised her when Riley tapped her shoulder, pointed at her watch, then the tunnel. With a reluctance she hadn’t anticipated, she swam out again with the others.
When she surfaced, the bright flash of sun, the taste of air, the feel of it on her skin disoriented her. She pulled herself up, then stood, mask in her hand, staring at the water. Knowing what lived in it.
“You’re a natural.” Riley gave her a light punch on the shoulder before sitting to take off her flippers. “Up for another?”
“Yes.”
“I think we stick with one or two more, easy ones, today. You didn’t get any sense when we were down there?”
“Sense? Oh. No. No, but I wasn’t thinking about the stars, not once we got going. I should have—”
“I think the pull might come more naturally if you’re relaxed.” Bran handed her a bottle of water. “If all of us are. You enjoyed it.”
“You were right. Thirty minutes went by so fast, and wasn’t nearly enough.”
“You kept trim.” Sawyer grabbed a can of Coke from the cooler and, at Riley’s nod, tossed it to her, got another for himself. “Not everybody who knows how to swim translates it for diving—not right away. This one?” He pulled another Coke out, handed it to Annika. “She’s a freaking fish.”
“It’s fun to swim with friends.”
“The chances of finding what we’re after in the other two caves you’ve got down here are zilch.” Doyle broke out a water for himself.
“That’s how we cross them off the list, and give Sasha some practice.”
“I wish you wouldn’t hold back on my account. I’ll do okay.”
“Yeah, most likely. But what you have to consider is that’s not your environment down there, and you’re only alive down there because you have equipment that makes it possible. If we run into trouble while we’re under, the way we did in the cave up here? Getting out of it’s going to take some experience.”
She turned to Doyle then, shoved a hand over her water-slick hair. “Am I wrong?”
“No.” He drank deep from the bottle. “No, you’re not wrong. And it’s not like we don’t have time,” he said to Sasha.
“But you’re ready to get it done.”
“I’m long past ready.” He shook his head, drank again before he turned toward the wheelhouse. “But there’s time.”
* * *
They dived twice more, and Sasha felt more comfortable each time. But she had to admit, to herself at least, the idea of coming up against a dark god while twenty or thirty feet underwater caused considerable anxiety.
Pain, she remembered. Her dreams had been painted with pain and blood and battle. But she could recall none about drowning.
Maybe that was a good sign.
They headed back in to have the tanks refilled, and by popular vote grabbed lunch in the village. They ate on the sidewalk, keeping the conversation about the dives, rather than their underlying purpose.
The combination of the food, the sun, the voices, the bustle all around shifted Sasha’s exhilaration into a comfortable, cat-lazy fatigue.
Too used to Riley’s driving to worry about it, she half dozed on the short drive back to the villa, imagining curling up on her bed in her quiet room and napping.
“Got some things I want to check into.” Riley got out as the dog trotted over. “Told you we’d be back.” She gave him a good rub. “Same deal tomorrow, so I guess we should work out a strategy, try at least one of the more challenging dives.”
“Can I take the jeep? I want to pick up a few things,” Sawyer explained.
“We were just in the village.”
“Didn’t want to hold everybody up.”
With a shrug, Riley tossed him the keys.
“Can I go with you? Can I shop?”
“Oh, well . . .” But Sawyer made the mistake of looking into Annika’s sparkling eyes. “Sure.”
“Man down,” Doyle commented.
“Later, you can get the coins out, Bran. I’ve got a contact who’ll give Annika a fair price on a few of them. I can sort those out, and we can make that stop before we get on the boat in the morning. You’ll have some actual spending money,” Riley told Annika.
“Shopping money.”
“Yeah, that, too. I’ll touch base with him. Bring that back in one piece,” she added, and walked toward the villa with Apollo.
“Got work of my own.” Doyle trailed off behind her.
“You should pick up some fresh supplies.”
Sawyer shot Sasha a look as he got behind the wheel. “Hell. Yeah, I figured. I’ll work it out.”
“I want new earrings.” Annika jumped into the passenger seat.
“What is it with women and earrings?” Sawyer wondered.
“They’re pretty. Bye.” She waved to Sasha and Bran. “We’re going shopping!”
“May the gods take pity on him,” Bran stated, then took her hand to lead her toward the terrace steps.
“I feel like I should do something productive. It’s not even three in the afternoon.”
“Productive.”
“I should sketch out what’s in my head, what I saw today. The light in the cave. I want to capture that. And I know I shouldn’t try when I feel this lazy.”