Shining Sea

by Mimi Cross

  I don’t have the will to keep them open. Don’t have a will at all.

  His music is profound—a work of art that will endure forever. At the same time, it’s a forgotten song, the music of antediluvian rituals. There’s the rhythm now: Step, stop. Step; stop.

  He draws me closer, until my body is against his—

  And I don’t care if I live or die—as long as I can be with him now.

  He, too, is halfway out of the water, floating effortlessly in the whirling waves. Projected onto the inside of my eyelids is the image of his torso. Broad shoulders, a flat stomach with muscles that ripple like waves on a quieter day.

  In my mind’s eye I stare at his hip bones, then look slightly lower. No shimmering scales, and yet—

  He is the man from my nightmares.

  “I thought you were Logan,” I mumble, a blissful fog filling my mind. “You look just like him—how?” My voice doesn’t stand a chance against the wind, but still he answers—

  “Twins.”

  Even with my eyes closed, I know he’s smiling. I hear the curl of it.

  Feeling the pull of him now, I’m more than ready. I am waiting.

  And just like that—I know. It’s him. The details—they don’t matter. Nothing matters.

  I am waiting. And he is waiting.

  I turn my head—

  He places his full lips on mine. Quick as a flash of light, the thought of Bo crosses my mind—

  Then burns away under the kiss of the Siren.

  Our bodies snake together, curve and crevice, neck and arm, waist and hands—hands . . .

  He draws back—

  That only makes me want him more.

  But suddenly he laughs, and my eyes fly open to see him lifting his face to the black sky.

  “Your breath is sweet, intoxicating, even, but this is far too easy. Where is he? Your ever-present hero.” Nick’s sterling eyes skim the surface of the sea. Scan the sky.

  The heat of his body clashes with the cold of the sea. Will I die burning in his arms? Or will the well-earned hypothermia finally claim me?

  I don’t care, but through a nebula of lust I wonder, Bo, will I ever see you again?

  Nick’s head jerks down and his eyes burn into mine. “You’re Calling him!”

  The words seem to echo out over the water, reverberating inside me, and something in the tone of his voice—or maybe the words themselves—break the Siren’s spell—

  Nick Delaine is holding me—Nick Delaine is a killer!

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I sputter. Bitter anger crawls up my throat like bile. Of course I want to live! Have to live.

  “You do know. Go ahead! Draw him here, and I’ll kill you both!” With a sound like the highest tide thundering in, immense white wings emerge on either side of his torso, branching above us. The water turns to turbulent froth as he kicks—

  And lifts me into the air.

  He sweeps me through the sky, holding me tightly along the length of his body, his low laugh filling my ears. In an instant we’re at the top of the lighthouse where he sets me down roughly on the wet deck and I slip, nearly fall. As I regain my footing, I instinctively press my back against the white bricks of the tower. He watches me with mercury eyes as my gaze darts to the door that leads inside. The storm rages around us.

  My gaze slips to his hips. His legs, where they emerge from a frayed pair of shorts strewn with sand and bits of kelp, are powerful looking—

  There’s no trace of the snakelike appendage from my nightmares.

  “Not as pretty as a Summers boy, but maybe I know better what you want.” He steps closer, his hands moving to the top of his shorts, his voice hissing beneath the sound of the storm. “Something serpentine.”

  “You’re horrible—crude!” But I haven’t forgotten the most recent dream, the humiliating craving. It makes partial sense. My subconscious had kept the truth from me, the dark chimerical being who visited my dreams looked like Logan. He looked like Logan but was Nick. Nick—he’d been in my room. And the wings, they’d been his—

  “Crude? You’re about to die, and you’re worried about manners? Oh, Miss Arion, I’ve been so polite, gone so slowly. I could have had you on the cliff, or at Seal Cove. Or Smith Street—you were practically home. I could’ve taken you the rest of the way. I still can.”

  “No!” My heart thuds against my ribs.

  The Siren comes closer. “How does the expression go? Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you—?” His low voice is an invasive vine, coiling, twining inside me. I can’t speak. “Arion, don’t be like that, play along.”

  “Stronger,” I manage to stutter. “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

  He clicks his tongue. “That’s not it at all.” It seems as if his cinereous eyes might start a fire. “The expression,” he says, his lips near my ear, “is whatever doesn’t kill you, makes you scream.”

  A branch-like bolt of lightning electrifies the sky. He laughs. “It’s the screams, during the screams, that’s when a victim’s breath is sweetest. I love the screams of women—they’re so delicious. But men have a greater lung capacity, so sometimes I prefer them. Men, women, boys, girls—I like to make them scream, or”—he tilts his head to one side—“simply knock the wind out of them.”

  He shrugs. “I enjoy dropping people from high places. When they hit the water, or the ground, out comes the breath—in a big whoosh.” He smiles—Logan’s smile—and fingers a lock of my hair. His dark hair is a tangle of wild tendrils, mossy seaweed twisted among the long strands. “Like a seagull dropping a clam on a jetty. You must have seen gulls dropping shells on that seawall of yours?” He looks down past the edge of the platform, then brings his mouth close to mine. “Smash,” he whispers. I feel his breath on my lips.

  “Do you like watching the gulls, Arion? I used to enjoy watching the birds on the beach by my house, I used to enjoy lots of things—when I was human.” His last words seethe with anger, hatred. It’s obvious he hates himself, hates his “condition,” but most of all he hates the Summers, and finally, I truly understand why. They did this to him.

  “What do you enjoy, Arion? Besides cockteasing my brother?” Shock must have shown on my face. “Oh, I know all about you and my twin. But do you know about Logan and my girlfriend? My brother’s a charmer, but be warned, he’ll break your heart.”

  My entire body is quivering with fear, but I can’t help being fascinated by the number of misunderstandings that have taken place. Does Nick Delaine really think Logan is to blame for Beth falling in love with him? Does he truly believe Bo and his family are responsible for killing him? They saved his life! I start to shake my head. He misreads me.

  “No, you can’t tell me differently; I’ve been listening to you for weeks and weeks. So I know what you want. And girls love my brother, same way they loved me.

  “But Summers seems to think he has your heart.” Nick places a hand on my chest, working his fingers into the loose weave of the wet wool, already stretched far beyond its original shape. “Bo Summers. That voice. But Bo’s holding back, isn’t he? He has to. My brother, he’d give you everything. I know him. But it’s understandable, why you’re—torn.” He yanks the sweater until the neckline plunges. Slowly, he trails his fingers up to the hollow of my throat.

  His hands are intelligent looking, beautiful, like his face. Logan’s face. Logan’s hands. He brings his hands to my shoulders now—squeezes, releases—an expression of indecision? Hope soars inside me.

  Then he tugs on the silver chain, lifts the pearl. A strange smile crosses his lips.

  “Seems you’ve recently decided on Bo, but you may change your mind. The two of them really are so different from each other.” He stares at me. “But you’re so very different yourself, Arion. Where did you get your Siren Song?”

  His metallic gaze moves to my mouth. My hope blows away on the wind.

  “You intrigue me,” he says. “When I pushed you from the cliff, were you co
nsidering suicide? Hmm? Because you went over the edge so very easily—just the touch of a feather, one soft feather of mine.” He brings his wings forward, crossing his arms, running his fingers through the tips of the lustrous feathers. “Just one, against your cheek, a whisper of something silky, and over you went.”

  “You—” But I bring my trembling voice up short, because suddenly, Nick’s eyes actually seem to see me, and I can see him, the man inside a monster—the boy.

  “Your singing was so sweet as you took your little nature walk, then stood atop the cliff looking, and looking . . . but when you fell, nothing. I’ve never seen anything like it, not in this entire long year I’ve spent in hell!” His eyes seem to catch fire now, burning white hot—and just like that, the man is gone, and there’s only the monster. He puts his hands around my neck.

  “No scream,” he hisses. “No cry.” He shakes his head. “Very disappointing. Then your boyfriend leapt up out of the sea, like some damned dolphin. Of course he wasn’t your boyfriend yet, was he? He took his time there, and you know why. He was afraid of what he’d do to you. Same thing I’d like to do.” His fingers tighten and he scowls. “I had no idea he was nearby that day. You’ve twisted my Siren senses more than once, Arion Rush.

  “You—you and Bo. You should both thank me, don’t you think? I played matchmaker—and now you both have so much more to lose! Without my little nudge, your paths might never have crossed. Or maybe they would have. He was listening to you, wasn’t he? Oh, right—that’s why he didn’t hear me for so long!” He pushes me away.

  I fall—then manage to right myself. But even in my panic, I recognize the truth. Because of me, Bo had been distracted. He didn’t pick up Nick’s Signal until it was too late, until the boys from the Lucky were gone, until the kayakers’ dead bodies were left posed like puppets on the Summers’ property.

  My teeth rattle like the bones I’ll become. Or will they be smashed in the fall this time? Clearly, Nick intends to drop me from the gallery deck.

  “Fortunately for me, your boyfriend’s busy today. So we can try again.”

  “Not without a fight.” I clutch my wet sweater to my soaking skin.

  “That sounds fun—but slightly unrealistic.” He gives a short laugh. Logan’s laugh, when something isn’t funny. “I want you to try a little harder this time. Just give yourself over, the way you do when you sing, when you play your guitar. Don’t look so surprised. The air current is sweet outside your window. I like to float, and watch. So what do you think the big secret is, about music? Can it save your soul? A soul,” he muses. “Do you think I still have one of those?”

  He doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll stay close this time, my lips on yours . . . all the way down.” He runs his thumb across my mouth, and his voice grows rough. “A little practice? So we do it right this time.” Then his lips are on mine. My efforts to push him away are nothing. He simply leans in—the weight of his body crushing me against the wet wall. His tongue slips between my lips—

  Instantly I feel the pressure. A painful sucking, starting in my throat, becoming a terrifying tightness in my chest. I try to kick, move my arms—but Nick has me pinned to the bricks. My eyelids flutter shut.

  My heart is racing, my mind searching—

  But there’s no answer. Pinpoints of light dart in the dark behind my lowered lids . . .

  He jerks his mouth away—sagging against me, his hands still gripping my hips. I gasp for breath.

  “How does he do it? How does Summers stop—and leave you with your life?”

  My splotchy vision clears and I meet his eyes, the crashing waves of silver and black—

  Suddenly he grabs my wrist. “I’m going to take you now—are you ready?”

  And, as if I’m as light as one of the feathers from the wings he caressed so sensually, he lifts me high above his head—

  And throws me to the wind.

  And this time as I fall, I do what he wants.

  I scream.

  BLACK SEA

  A heartbeat later, Nick’s body slams into mine—

  He clamps onto me, viselike.

  His wings move faster as he takes control of the rate at which we fall, his arms and legs bars of a cage that surrounds me. We slow slightly—

  And he covers my mouth with his.

  Squeezing my lips closed, I try to turn my head— But he holds me with one arm, bringing his fingers to my mouth, prying it open, shoving his tongue in. Pressure.

  It feels like my lungs will explode—or collapse.

  Earlier Nick mentioned hell. Now I’m sharing it with him.

  My mind splits off . . . I’m singing in the church choir, dragging palm fronds down the aisle. Sparse a cappella melodies mingle with the medieval harmonies . . . All the singing I’ve done . . . won’t give me the extra breath I need to live through this.

  Each day we breathe about twenty-five thousand times, maybe thirty thousand . . . the sucking sensation, it hurts. My thoughts start to stumble over one another as my brain becomes deprived of oxygen. Breaths come in pairs . . . except for the first breath, and the last.

  But what’s another breath or two? The fall is sure to kill me.

  I close my eyes. The last thing I see will not be Nick Delaine with his maniacal eyes shining like the moon—the moon, spinning out of orbit. Instead I picture Bo’s face, marveling for one last time how his eyes hold the sun at their centers . . . the sun, surrounded by water, the deep greens and blues of the sea . . . the sea . . . is black.

  BREAKWATER

  Half in, half out of the stormy Atlantic, I cling to the breakwater. Waves crash against my back. Desperately trying to catch my breath, I clutch at the crevices of the wet black boulders, the rain stinging my face. On my right hang the remnants of an old lobster trap. To my left is a crab trap, a disintegrating fish head tied at the center.

  That’s why he left me alive—I’m bait. Bait for Bo.

  Killing me isn’t enough. It never has been, or I’d be dead by now. Jordan was right, I’m one of the birds. But more importantly to Nick, more horribly, I am the stone.

  Bo. I told him to leave, and I meant it. I can’t be with him—not anymore. But I also can’t help hoping he doesn’t fall for Nick’s trap. I don’t want him to die, no matter what he’s done, and I have no doubt that Nick intends to kill him.

  With an intense effort, I haul myself up—one rock, then another, clinging, climbing. Partway out of the water, now all the way out, I will myself to crawl up the side of the soaking seawall. It feels as if I’m dragging my body behind me, that I’m somehow a foot or two in front of myself, looking back on a burden, this body, so numb it no longer seems like my own.

  Nick’s body is half man, half angel. His mind belongs to a beast. Where is he?

  My arms tremble—I can hardly feel my feet. But I continue to climb, the sharp edges of the rocks slicing my hands. Even though I can’t see it in the rain, the path that runs along the top of the breakwater can’t be far above me now. Uttering a string of obscenities plus a prayer, I stagger to my feet. My ribs feel bruised—or broken. Every breath jabs like a knife.

  The path is an inch out of reach now, the rail just above it.

  Flinging my arms up—

  I grasp at the air. My palms slap down hard on the wet granite as I fall—my left ankle catching between two rocks. For a second, I give up, one leg bent beneath me, the other trapped.

  Leaning my forehead against the granite, I don’t know which is colder, my skin or the unyielding stone. Then the wind screams—and I yank my leg free with a cry of my own.

  Scanning the sky for Nick, I assess the jagged gash in my calf just above the edge of my boot. The cut is bleeding heavily. Struggling to stand, I put my weight on the leg and yelp—but finally, reach the top.

  Flash. In the dark of the day, the beam of the lighthouse cuts through the clouds. But how is that possible when—

  No, the light comes from the end of the seawall—Bo!

 
The storm mimics midnight. Silhouetted against the black sky, Bo looks luminous. His back is to me, his great wings extended as he battles the Cimmerian creature who Called to me so convincingly, and in so many ways.

  But it’s my Song—my swan song—that’s lured Bo here today, just like Nick planned.

  And knowing that, I can’t run. Bo’s saved me more than once from this same monster—in return, I suspected him, feared him, and doubted his love. Even now his stunning Song fills my ears, my very veins. Maybe Jordan is right about this too—maybe I’ve reached the point where I can’t live without Bo’s Song. Or maybe I love him. Despite what he is, despite that we’re over. No matter the reason, I have to do something.

  Can I distract Nick? He said my Song had thrown off his Siren senses before.

  Planting my feet, I stare into his sterling eyes, willing my own eyes to blaze. Adrenaline fills me and I open my mouth, screaming into the wind—

  “Stop!” My voice tears through the air—

  Then dissolves into sky, into clouds so thick they look like roiling smoke.

  My gift, my Song, is nothing compared to the hatred of Nick Delaine, whose eyes flash like a blade now as they lock onto mine. And this time, instead of feeling his gravitational pull drawing me toward him, the invisible will of his terrible Siren Song pushes me back.

  Sliding toward the edge of the seawall, I lean forward, trying to resist—

  He and Bo continue their combat, two strange angels. Wings moving at odd angles, sharp, misguided scissors. Their Songs sound as if they’ve been orchestrated by the sea and the soaking sky, a merciless sky, that continues to dump rain so cold it feels like ice, on a sea so unpredictably wild, it serves as a mirror for this unforgiving Siren who will not stop until he kills one of the only boys who could be like a brother to him. It’s true; who else can understand Nick at this point? Logan wouldn’t recognize him as his brother if he saw him now.

  If only Nick had waited, if only he’d let the Summers save him—save him completely. If only he hadn’t fled from the one family he can ever really belong to. But in his fury he bolted, only to return in order to destroy Bo’s life, and mine, which will in turn wreck the lives of our families. I can’t let it happen.