“Don’t go, please, don’t go!”
Ana stroked her damaged skin, her eyes locked on an invisible spot on the floor. She could hear his voice now. The man who had taken her fur. It wasn’t the smooth seductive tones he’d used with her when they first met. No, his voice was ragged, hoarse. It was the voice of someone trying to speak through too much emotion. Too much fear.
“Don’t go, please, don’t go! Ana, I love you!”
His voice had abraded her skin even more than the burns. She’d held her smoking skin in her lap and turned eyes blinded by tears to the man responsible. The man who’d claimed to love her, but who had destroyed everything that meant anything to her. He hadn’t loved her. He’d wanted to possess her, to trap her by taking away the aspect of her life that he couldn’t be a part of. She’d stared at him as if her rage and despair could set fire to him as surely as he had set fire to her very existence.
For several long minutes he’d stared at her face, still begging as he searched for some sign of forgiveness. It had taken a ridiculously long time for his gaze to fall to her hands. She remembered the horror that had blossomed on his face as he finally registered her burned and bloody fingertips, the red scratchy skin that crawled up her wrists. The smell of burning hair had filled the space between them. His eyes had grown wide as saucers, his mouth continuing to open and close with no sound coming out. That was the moment he’d truly realized exactly what he’d done. And in that moment, he must have realized why none of the stories about skinwalkers and their skins ever mentioned someone burning the pelt in front of their victim.
Ana drew in a deep steady breath. She didn’t remember his death with nearly the vivid detail she remembered watching her skin burn. In her memory, she could see every hair whose tip burned a bright fiery orange, could smell the acrid scent of burning fur. She remembered how every fold had felt against her hands as she’d sobbed and smacked the pelt, trying to put out the flames in time. The entire nightmare was etched on her brain forever.
All she remembered of his death was the silence that followed it. She was vaguely aware that she’d killed him, but how she’d done it seemed inconsequential. He didn’t matter.
She rocked back and forth with her skin, knowing it was pointless to fight the tears. With every day that passed, every fur that failed her, every healing spell that didn’t work, she grew a little sadder. She had no skin. She had no family. She had no friends. She had nothing. The healing spell upstairs was her last chance, the final healing spell in her arsenal. If that failed, all hope would be gone. And when that hope was finally gone, maybe then she could use the hemlock in her cupboard to escape this miserable fleshy prison once and for all.
Chapter 4
Brec couldn’t breathe. It was as if the air around him had grown too dense, breathing was like trying to inhale sand. Even the sea air rolling off the water of Chilkoot Inlet couldn’t ease the tightening in his chest. His skin was gone and without it he couldn’t return to the sea. His home, his family, everything he cared about was under the waves and the human body he had now could never survive those icy waters.
He looked at the surface of the water, anxiously waiting for his brother’s head to break the surface and tell him he’d found his skin. Every passing second was agony, winding his nerves tighter and tighter until he thought he’d collapse under the pressure. When he saw the smooth lines of his brother’s head break the grayish-blue waves only to stare at him with a sad almost human expression on his seal countenance, his heart nearly stopped beating. He pointed to himself and then up toward the shops and the seal vanished under the waves again.
“Think, Brec, think,” Brec said out loud, the panic in his voice making the adrenaline spill even faster into his veins. He trudged through the snow, up the path toward the main street. “Where is it?”
“If you’ve been around here long at all, you’ve heard the stories. Devastatingly handsome men coming out of the water, shedding their seal furs so that they can take a human lover?”
He stopped so suddenly it was a miracle he didn’t fall over. Ana’s face hovered in his mind, her words echoing in his ears. At the time, he’d thought she was just flirting, using what she thought was a myth to flatter him. In light of his missing skin, her words didn’t sound so innocent anymore. Anger burned up his spine like the fuse of a stick of dynamite. As a matter of fact, her abrupt departure seemed more sinister now too.
The handshake. Brec cursed himself and stared down at the webbing between his fingers. He never thought about it, never even really noticed it. He spent most of his time with other selkies and to them it was just skin, nothing to draw the eye. Clearly, it had drawn Ana’s. And it had told her everything she needed to know about him.
His anger sped his pace as he trudged through the snow back to Mrs. Downing’s shop. The way Ana talked about her, it seemed she’d been there more than once, maybe the nosey herbalist would know where she lived.
As he trekked through the snow in the human body that was seeming more and more clumsy now that it was his only option, Brec tried figure out exactly why Ana had stolen his skin. Could she possibly believe the old stories? Did she think that stealing his skin would make him stay and be her husband?
Part of his body perked up at the idea of taking Ana as his wife, but it had no effect whatsoever on the heat of his anger. If anything his physical attraction to her only pissed him off more. Beautiful or not, taking his skin had been a mistake. He would not end up like the selkies in the old tales, settling down and having children with the human who stole his skin—spending every day of his life searching for the fur that would let him return to the sea. He clenched his teeth. He may only have a human male’s strength, but she was a human female. He’d make her give him his skin back.
The bells over the door of Mrs. Downing’s shop clanged in his ears, their noise only agitating him even further. He took a breath to yell for Mrs. Downing, but she appeared before a word could leave his lips. Her eyebrows rose and he wondered how much of his fury was showing on his face. Choking back his anger, he twisted his lips into what he hoped was a smile.
“Mrs. Downing, I need your help.”
All traces of suspicion vanished from her face. “My help? Why certainly. Anything for my best customer.”
“It’s about Ana, the woman I was talking with here earlier.”
“Ah, yes, she is a beauty, isn’t she? And a nice girl too, comes in here at least once a week for her herbs. She must be a healer like you, as varied as her stock is.” She paused. “You two have a lot in common.”
The knowing look on the old woman’s face set Brec’s blood to boiling. If only the herbalist knew what his true intentions were for Ana, she’d run screaming in the other direction.
“Yes, we do.” His voice sounded strained even to his own ears. He cleared his throat. “I’d like to,” he groped for the words, “call on her. Do you happen to know where she lives?”
“‘Call on her?’ Such a gentlemanly way of speaking.”
She fairly giggled and Brec clenched his hands into fists, trying to keep his temper long enough to get the information he needed. If there was one thing he should know after all these years, it was that you could not rush Mrs. Downing.
“I don’t recall Ana ever saying specifically where she lives. However, one day Mr. Downing caught twice the amount of fish he usually does and I offered to sell some of the best specimens to Ana. At a fraction of what they were worth,” she added. “Anyway, Ana said she didn’t need any fish. She said she lived right near the shore with no neighbors within a mile on either side. Said she caught plenty of fish on her own ‘private stretch of water.’”
“An isolated cabin by the shore?” Three-fourths of the damn state is “by the shore.” He tried not to let his frustration leak into his voice. “Can you be any more specific?”
“Well, she likely has a wreath on her door that I made her. She’s always purchasing healing supplies, so out of the kindness of my heart I made her a wreath
out of figwort and marsh mallow root to hang on her door. It’ll bring healing energies to her entire home, I told her.” She paused to think. “She rides her snowmobile here. I wouldn’t think she lives that far or she’d hire old Mike to fly her.” She rolled her eyes. “Lord knows the man doesn’t charge nearly—”
“Thank you, Mrs. Downing, you’ve been very helpful!”
He spun around before Mrs. Downing could think of a way to make him stay longer and bolted out the door. Hope took the edge off his anger and his mind spun with the new information as he ran to the shore. She lived by the water, close enough to ride her snowmobile here. The wreath on her door would make things easier, but even if it wasn’t there it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Micah should easily be able to organize a search party to swim along the shore and search for her house. Seals were a common sight along the shore, no one would think twice about a seal popping its head out of the water, or even flopping around in the snow should it become necessary to get a closer look.
His brother was waiting for him in the cove. When Brec entered the cave, his brother slipped off his fur. The strained look of hope on Micah’s face was almost physically painful for Brec to look at. It said more than words what fate waited for a selkie with no fur. His brother was trying to put on a positive expression, but Brec could see the fear underneath. He clutched his hope to him and jogged up to his brother.
“I think I know who took my skin.”
Micah’s eyes flashed and his mouth tightened in a grim line. “Give me a name.”
Cold determination gripped Brec’s chest and he shook his head. He’d had plenty of time to think about the situation on his way back to the shore and one thought had become perfectly clear.
“It’s my skin, Micah. I’ll be the one to get it back.” The muscle in his jaw twitched as he struggled not to clench his teeth. “I’ll be the one to punish the thief.”
Micah pressed his lips together, staring hard at his brother’s face. Brec didn’t need to read his mind to know what he was thinking. This situation clearly fell under the jurisdiction of the warriors. The days when a selkie’s kin waited passively in the water for their own to return to them after having his skin stolen were gone. Now any human who stole a skin in the hopes of getting an attractive spouse to have children and live happily ever after with could look forward to a visit from that selkie’s brethren. He thought of the rifle Micah had just purchased. The victims were armed now.
He knew his brother could order him to give up the name—could take the matter completely out of Brec’s hands. Tension sang in Brec’s shoulders and his emotions tumbled violently in his head. What would he do if his brother wouldn’t let him handle this? It would take him forever to find Ana on his own without his brother’s help. Frustration bit at his gut. Still, he couldn’t just stand back and let Micah handle the whole thing either. It was his skin, dammit. He should be the one to get it back.
Micah let out a deep breath and Brec tensed even further.
“What do you need from me?” Micah asked simply.
Relief crashed over him, washing the tension from his body for one glorious moment before the reality of his situation seized him all over again. Micah’s acquiescence to his wish couldn’t completely overcome the panic and anger over the theft of his skin, but it helped.
“I need you to organize a search party. I’m looking for a home along the shore with no houses for at least a mile on either side. There may be a wreath made of dried herbs hanging on her door. A woman lives there alone. She has white-blonde hair just past her shoulders, she’s about five foot eight, maybe five-foot nine.”
“Anything else?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Frustrated, Brec raked a hand through his hair. Now that he said it all out loud, the information he had sounded weak and pathetic. “It’s not much to go on, is it?”
Micah clapped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s plenty. We’ll find this woman and before you know it you’ll be beneath the waves where you belong.”
Brec’s throat constricted as his brother began to slip his seal-skin back over his shoulders. “Where do I stay until then,” he whispered, not even ashamed when the threat of tears burned behind his eyes. For someone who may have just lost his entire world, he thought he was holding up very well.
His brother enveloped him in a fierce hug and Brec took the comfort he offered. His older brother may have a twisted idea of what was best for him, but when it really counted Brec knew he would always be there. He buried his face in his brother’s neck, inhaling the scent of the sea mixed with the familiar musk of seal. What am I going to do if I can never go back?
Fear and overwhelming despair crashed over him, mercilessly pounding down on his spirit. He tightened his hold on his brother. Micah held onto him, offering him the strength and support he needed to keep from falling to the ground under the weight of his circumstances. Brec squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the tears back as he struggled to pull himself back together. He had to stay calm. His brother was giving him a chance to handle this and he had to show him he was up to the task. With one last squeeze to let his brother know how much he appreciated him, Brec pulled away.
When he finally looked at Micah’s face, his brother’s countenance was full of the confidence every warrior seemed to wear when going into battle. For the first time Brec could remember, that expression inspired gratitude in him instead of jealousy.
“Give us an hour,” Micah said briskly. “Cruise the shops. Use your skills to help people if you can. Manannan helps those who help his people, building a little good will may help us.” His gaze softened. “If we don’t find her in an hour, you need to find an inn to spend the night. There are some pearls in my chest, you can sell them to the jeweler next to Mrs. Downing’s shop and use that money for room and board.”
Because if you stay outside in human form you’ll freeze to death. The words hung unspoken in the air, but the weight of them still sat heavily on Brec’s lungs. The thought of spending the night on land, far from Orkney the selkies underwater home, made the human skin he wore feel uncomfortably tight. He fought to keep his composure as he followed his brother to the shore, but the closer it came to the time his brother would return to the water without him, the harder it was to breathe. As always, his brother seemed to know how he was feeling. He gave him a fierce hug and then, like ripping off a Band-Aid, threw on his seal skin as he ran toward the water. By the time he hit the surface he was a seal again.
Brec’s body jerked as his brother dove under the water. The instinct to run after him was so strong it brought a gasp from his throat. He raised his arm slightly, as if he would dive into the sea in his human body and just pray for his seal skin to magically return. For a second, he hovered there, not able to move forward and not able to stand down. Stuck between water and land.
When the moment finally passed, his body sagged with the weight of reality. He couldn’t go back to the water. Not yet. Clenching his jaw, he fought back the tears as he started the walk back to the shops with a heavy heart. His entire body ached as if it knew something was wrong. Suddenly his human form had become painful. He clutched the bag of herbs tightly in his hand, mentally going over what he had and who he would be able to help. Micah was right, he needed all the help he could get and if he focused on the problems of others for awhile, maybe the gods would take pity on him. He sent a short prayer to Manannan, begging the sea god to have mercy and give him back his skin.
It turned out good intentions didn’t hold up well under mind-numbing fear and the overwhelming weight of depression. By the time he’d walked from the shore of Chikloot Inlet to the main street of Haines, the bag of herbs hung limply in his grasp. All thoughts of helping others took a backseat to a horrifying parade of doubts.
What if Micah couldn’t find Ana? What if she destroyed his skin, or lost it? He stumbled, almost falling to his knees on the icy sidewalk. What if Ana wasn’t the one who had stolen his fur and the real thief had vanished
without leaving any clues behind?
“Brec, are you all right?”
Brec stared up at the man standing beside him, barely able to see him through the haze of his own misery. The face looked familiar . . . Bob?
“I’m fine,” he nodded, shoving himself back to his feet. “Thank you, I’m fine.”
“Just goes to show that no matter how long you live here, Mother Nature can still knock you on your ass if she wants to, eh?’
Brec struggled to pull his lips into a smile, forcing a short laugh. “That’s the truth,” he agreed weakly.
‘Bob’ smiled at him and gave a little wave as he walked away. Brec watched him go. Bob was a human. Had always been a human. He didn’t know what it was like to cut through the water like a knife, swirling along with the currents in a dance only the sea could move to. He didn’t know the joy of finding treasures buried in the sand, pearls and baubles dropped by careless tourists. Brec’s throat tightened. He didn’t know what he was missing.
He walked around town like a zombie, barely able to keep his gaze from wandering back to the sea. He couldn’t even bring himself to go into the shops, not wanting to be closed off anymore than he had to from the water. He tried to keep an eye out for people to help, but he couldn’t. It was impossible to tear his mind from the waiting, from the thoughts of what would happen to him if his people couldn’t find Ana.
Under His Skin Page 4