Sea Struck (Lupine Bay Book 3)

by Maribel Fox

  That seems like a splendid idea, really. I’ll let them know about the missing ghost and whatever weird power source is under the bay, and the Faerie Queen and her court can clean up the mess while Callie is none the wiser.

  Mind made up, I feel pretty good about going home and heading to bed. This time tomorrow, none of this weird shit will be my problem.

  16

  Henri

  The fight is over just as quickly as it began, and it doesn’t seem that Miles is any worse for the wear at the end of it. I stick close to tell him what a coward the other man is, but he looks right past me, turning to the third who intervened.

  There’s a tug, and I’m pulled away from the scene, feet dragging over the ground, then sinking through until I’m ankle deep in dirt, my leash now in the hands of someone else.

  The scoundrel who attacked Miles stumbles off in disgrace and I’m compelled to follow him, whether I choose to move on my own or not. He’s managed to get his hands on the shard by some twist of fate, and there’s no way for me to inform Miles. There’s nothing for me to do but go along for the ride, though I do make the choice to keep myself hidden. I don’t know what the imbecile is up to, but better to observe him in secret while I can.

  Once he’s into the tree line, the stumbling drunk straightens, his posture near perfect after being awkwardly slouched only a moment ago. He continues walking, but now his gait is even and unhurried, not the inebriated shambling from before.

  Could he have been faking his level of intoxication?

  To what end?

  I don’t recognize the man, but Miles did. The two of them seemed to have history, and if I were to lay coin down on it, I’d guess it has to do with Callie.

  She’s trouble.

  Women always are. That’s why I stick to boats.

  And how’d that work out for you?

  If there’s anything worse than being stuck between dimensions for centuries all alone, it’s being stuck between dimensions for centuries with yourself.

  Still, I’ve got a point. I wouldn’t be in any of this mess if it hadn’t been for that last boat I stole.

  But what exactly was I supposed to do? I went from fighting for my life in le ouragan to be in some other plane of existence or some crazy shit.

  So yes, I may have stolen a ship, but does that mean I deserve this? No one should be forced into such a never-ending lifeless existence.

  Who am I meant to plead my case to, though? There is no court handing out judgments. I had to accept that long ago.

  No one to come to my rescue, either.

  I should have remained content on the beach. At least there I could be near the other stones, more freedom to move about. With only this one shard tying me to this place, I can’t stray far, which means like it or not, I’m spending my time positively riveted with whatever this idiot is up to.

  Joy.

  The thief moves through the woods, down a hill further inland toward shops and houses I’ve seen only a scant few times when Nora’s encouraged me to come with her. This man seems to know his way around well, though, navigating the shadows with a natural ability that’s at odds with the awkward show he put on while fighting Miles.

  What is his scheme? There must be one, but he really doesn’t seem all that smart.

  A puzzle to be sure.

  Soon we’re at the only establishment I have any real familiarity with: a restaurant Nora calls ‘the diner’.

  It’s more casual than any place like it I’ve seen, but that’s not a large sample. It’s also bright, and full of unfamiliar noises. When Trenton walks in, I’m so taken with all of it that I take a moment to notice he’s re-adopted his drunkard facade.

  As I predicted, at least part of this revolves around the girl; she sees him and the mood in the whole room shifts, his too. Callie stands, but not fast enough to ward off his advance, and soon he’s shouting obscenities in her face.

  Anger like I haven’t felt in centuries wells up, a geyser ready to explode. Lights flicker inside, and outside, there’s lightning flashing over the bay. Is that my doing? I don’t know, but I’m ready to see if I can erase this sad excuse of a man.

  My fingers crackle with live energy, and I feel that if I touch him, he’ll certainly feel it. I don’t know how serious it will be, but I can hope it will bring him to his knees.

  Callie is surrounded on all sides by other men, clearly coming to her defense against the spineless jellyfish snarling at her. Before I’m able to try to use my powers — whatever they may be — the bodyguards are escorting him out of the diner, Callie looking on worried and confused.

  Why do I want to stay behind and make sure she’s all right? She looks shaken, looks like she could use a set of warm arms around her to make her troubles disappear.

  Something you can’t provide, remember.

  It’s a painful reminder, but one I’ll do well to keep close at hand. As beautiful and intriguing as Callie is, she’s spoken for, and I’m not exactly in any state to fight for her affections.

  I’m sure as hell not going to support anyone other than Miles going after her though. Certainly not this cold-blooded sheep after that little performance.

  I don’t know what it was meant to do other than upset Callie, but the man goes directly from the diner back to the woods surrounding the inn where he attacked Miles.

  And there he waits among the trees until there are voices coming down the path. Callie and one of her protectors from the restaurant. Callie enters the home safely, under the watchful eye of her escort, and I let out a sigh of relief, glaring at the man with my stone.

  Whatever he had planned, he’s been thwarted. Good. The thief remains silent while eavesdropping on a conversation being had out in the lush garden surrounding the lodging.

  “What’dya want to talk to me about?” the flame-haired man from earlier asks the other, a swarthy dark Spaniard.

  Out on the open seas, this would be a very different encounter. I don’t spare shots for Spaniards or Englishmen. Bastards the lot, but we’re not on the open sea, and I’ve got more to gain from listening to them.

  “There was another attack last night,” the dark fellow says, glancing around like he expects he’s being listened in on, but neither men look in our direction. It’s unfortunate that the thief isn’t discovered. I’d love to see him get what’s coming to him, but they seem unaware of his presence.

  “Same as before?”

  “Sí, human, drained dry. I think we might have a real problem on our hands amigo.”

  “Aye, Ava’s already worried that the locals are going to get suspicious.”

  “It’s vamps. Has to be right?”

  “Wouldn’t be so sure. Too many strange beasties running around of late, can’t pin anythin’ on anyone yet.”

  The pair walk around the garden, rounding the side of the house until their voices are too faint to hear, even carried on the ocean breeze.

  I curse the fates again for sticking me with this useless lump, longing for the embrace of the water instead. There’s nothing I can do short of startling him by appearing, and somehow I doubt he’ll be any more cooperative about taking me back to the beach than Miles was.

  For hours he waits in the woods, prowling outside the inn with shifty eyes trained on the golden windows. Callie’s in there, on a large rug in front of a fireplace, books open all around her. She’s laying on her stomach, a position that pushes her breasts up to her shoulders, her knees bent so her feet are up in the air, calves bare, shapely and pale where her pants have fallen to her knees.

  The longer she stares at the books, the heavier her eyelids get until her head begins to nod too. She’s falling asleep hunched over the books, and I start to wonder what this plouc is planning. I don’t want to make myself known to protect Callie, but if he tries to hurt her, I’ll…

  Well, I don’t know what I’ll do, because I don’t know what I can do, but I’ll do whatever I’m able to save her.

  Another strange man
enters the room and Callie doesn’t make a move. This one is darker than the Spaniard, dressed in the fine clothes of an heir who’s never had to work He extinguishes the fire, covering Callie in a fur-lined blanket before darkening the room the rest of the way.

  She seems well cared-for here, and I try to convince myself she’s not in danger — and I’m not helpless to stop it — while this bastard stays lurking outside like a buzzard waiting his turn.

  After some time has passed and the house is dark and quiet, the thief with my shard creeps up to the house and approaches a window, trying it, finding one unlatched on the first try.

  These people are too trusting.

  The thief enters, nimbly navigating in the dark since he had so much time to survey the layout before now. He nears Callie and I feel energy crackling along my surface, readiness coiling up into a tight spring inside me, prepared to unleash the moment he touches Callie.

  The man doesn’t touch her though. He moves around the room quickly, gathering up the books and papers surrounding her. He collects the research she’s been working on and I’m powerless to stop him.

  I could appear, scare the living hell out of them both, but I’m concerned about what the man might do to her if he knows he has a witness. And I’m not exactly confident in my abilities to manipulate the world around me. I can touch the shards, make them move sometimes, but I don’t have luck with anything else.

  Some protector.

  I may not be able to help her now, but perhaps there’s something to be gained from following the man and learning what he’s up to.

  Not like I have any say in the matter anyway. He’s picked up more shards from Callie, giving me a bit more of a leash, but not near enough to get to the water. For now, I’m stuck with this imbecile, might as well learn what I can from the dreadful experience.

  17

  Callie

  I’m shivering when I wake up, colder than I’ve been in a while. I pull the blanket around me tighter but shifting makes me realize I’m not on a soft mattress, instead on the hard floor, in complete darkness. The warm cozy fire that kept me company all night while I researched is gone and dead and the lounge is freezing. Colder than it should be for just the fire being out.

  A sudden burst of wind howls through an open window and I shiver again.

  Who the hell would leave a window open this time of year? Maybe someone thought I got too hot with the fire going?

  I’m a little embarrassed about falling asleep in the middle of the B&B’s lounge, but I appreciate the thoughtful touch of someone putting a blanket over me while I snoozed. A little shake on the shoulder would’ve been appreciated too, but some people don’t react well to being woken up, so I don’t begrudge anyone for not wanting to risk startling a stranger who might wake up swinging.

  It’s cold enough that the tip of my nose hurts, and I sniffle as I hurry over to the window with the blanket pulled around me like a furry cape.

  I pull the window shut, and instantly there’s a little wave of relief as the cold stops pouring in.

  But I’m not warming up. There’s a cold, sick feeling in the bottom of my stomach, and I can’t say why. Waking up with the window open is weird, but this is a pretty old house, and it’s windy out. Maybe it opened on its own.

  The answer doesn’t ring true, and it’s not until I flip on one of the lamps that I realize why.

  It’s gone.

  It’s all gone.

  All the books from Bathory, my laptop, the maps Miles and I marked and planned on, even the jar I’ve been keeping all the sparkly blue shards in. It’s all gone without a trace.

  Someone cleaned me out, and they knew just what they were coming for. The rest of the place is untouched.

  Suddenly the blanket around my shoulders takes on a much more sinister tone. Is it a message of some kind?

  I know who would’ve sent such a message, but I don’t know why. Why would he be after my research when according to him there’s nothing there? It doesn’t make sense, and it’s too much for me to try to wrap my head around right now.

  What I know more than anything is that I feel incredibly violated. I wasn’t just robbed. I was robbed while I slept. I was probably drooling on one of the books the bastard stole. That’s how close he was. It’s enough to make my skin crawl after the last couple of encounters we’ve had. I don’t even want to think about what else he could have done if he was motivated.

  But that just raises more questions, and the hairs on my arms are standing up, my pulse racing at the idea that something could’ve happened, and no one would even know about it until morning. I didn’t even have the wherewithal to be scared, to scream, anything. I just slept through it.

  Through losing everything.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  More importantly, what the hell am I going to do?

  I can’t stay here. I know that much. I can’t stop shivering and it’s not from the cold. I doubt he’s going to come back tonight, but how do I know he’s really gone? What if he’s in my room waiting for me? It’s nearly one in the morning and I don’t want to wake up the whole house right now. I don’t think any of them are in any kind of danger.

  It’s me Trenton has an issue with.

  What am I going to do though? Where can I go?

  I’m sure Dad would let me in, especially after our recent reconciliation, but the thought of spending the night with him after explaining all this gives me more anxiety than just staying here would.

  I know where I want to go, and I know that I’m already subconsciously working on my justification for why it’s the only place I can go, but do I really need a reason? Do I think he’s going to turn me away?

  Guess there’s only one way to find out.

  Even as I climb on my bike, I know I’m not thinking clearly. I know that in the light of day I’d probably handle everything differently, but not now.

  Right now, I need to be with Miles.

  He’s the only person in the world I can imagine feeling safe with right now, and I hope that — at least for tonight, all things considered — we can put aside the past to enjoy each other’s company.

  Deep down, I don’t really have any doubts that Miles will open his door for me and welcome me in. But on the surface, when I’m staring down the length of his ridiculously dark dock, I’m petrified he’s going to turn me away and leave me out here alone to face everything.

  It doesn’t help that the boat rocks as I try to step onto the deck.

  Or maybe my legs are that wobbly?

  I don’t know how I made it here in the dark so quickly. I wasn’t thinking, and if I was, I probably would’ve considered that biking alone at night after being robbed isn’t exactly the sanest response.

  Am I supposed to react sanely after what just happened to me?

  I feel lost, like I’m walking in a dream world, but the deck of Miles’ Roanish is familiar enough to me now that I make it to his door through the ringing in my ears and the pounding in my veins.

  I match the rhythm of my pulse with the knock; thump thump thump. There’s a little deck light by the door, dingy and yellow, but I’m thankful I’m not just standing here in the dark while I wait for him to answer the door.

  I’m not in any kind of mood to wait, so I knock again, faster this time, still matching my pulse.

  “Come on Miles,” I mutter, bouncing on my toes, hugging my waist tight. Maybe it was stupid to come here. Maybe I should’ve just woken up one of the guys and gotten them to check my room before going to bed.

  A wave jostles the boat, and I clutch the door jamb for support just as the door swings open. In the grimy yellow light, Miles squints at me, eyes barely slits, face shadowed with short stubble that leaves me tongue-tied for just a second.

  “Cal?” he asks, scowling like I’m the strangest thing he’s seen in a long time. “What time is it? What are you… What happened?” his eyes widen, his posture straightening to his full height.

  The way he
just knows that something’s wrong breaks me. I held it all together this long, all the way down to his private little cove. But now, face to face with Miles, the feeling of relief and safety washing over me, there’s no way the dam can keep holding.

  “Hey, hey, come on in,” he says, seeing my bottom lip quiver, eyes brimming with tears.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here, I—”

  “Come on,” he says again, grabbing my hand, tugging me with him down the stairs below deck.

  There’s no resisting him. Not when I’ve come this far. Not when it feels so good to have his fingers laced with mine, lending me his strength. I struggle with the steep stairs, but Miles is in front of me, so he doesn’t see it and I have time to look slightly more composed by the time he turns to me.

  Without saying a word, he turns on the light, and then he’s moving to the tiny stove and setting a kettle on to boil.

  “Sit,” he says when he turns back, scowling at me for still standing at the base of the stairs.

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

  I feel frozen. Like I’m in someone else’s body or watching the story from afar. I’m not sure why I thought being with Miles would make anything better, but the weird thing is that it does. As panicky as I am right now, as confused and overwhelmed, the tightness in my chest that made every breath painful on the ride over here is gone. I can actually take deep breaths, and I manage a good one when I finally sit down like he tells me to.

  He doesn’t say anything, and I can’t seem to find my voice, so it’s just the two of us in the quiet of the boat, the hiss of flames under the kettle, the faint whisper of waves outside all the sound between us until the steam starts whistling.

  A minute later, he’s handing me a steaming mug of pinkish tea that smells like oranges and berries.

  “It’s herbal, won’t keep you up,” he says, taking the seat opposite me. His main seating area is a half-moon booth and table combo that can morph into a couch or spare bed as needed. The engineering of furniture for small spaces is always impressive to me, but I know I’m only thinking about the furniture because I don’t want to look up and face Miles’ silent questions.