Burning Up

the ability to take human form.
    Even her brother admitted that time on land kept them safe. Kept them sane.
    “I am visiting,” she explained.
    “You must have friends nearby, then. Or family. You said you live alone.”
    She squirmed on her perch above the horse’s neck. Most men were too distracted by sex to pay attention to anything she said. How inconvenient—how flattering—to find one who actually listened.
    “Family.” Was that enough to satisfy him? “My brother.”
    The horse lurched up the track that climbed the bluff. Water boomed in the caves as the tide rolled in.
    “Older or younger?” the man asked.
    Her brow puckered. She could feel his body heat through her dress along one side, his arm, strong and warm across her lap. Was all this chatter really necessary? He had not talked this much while they were having sex. Perhaps she should suggest they have sex again.
    She eyed the distance to the ground and the cliffs that plunged to the sea. Perhaps not on horseback.
    “We are twins,” she said.
    “You are close, then.”
    The children of the sea did not bind themselves with family ties as humans did. But she and Morgan were among the last blood born of their kind, fostered together in the same human household until they reached the age of Change. For centuries, he had been her playmate, her companion, her second self.
    She nodded.
    “This brother . . .” he persisted, following some linear train of thought, as men and humans did.
    Morwenna sighed.
    “He does not object to your living alone?”
    She grinned. “Oh, he objects. Frequently. Recently. Yesterday, in fact.”
    The arms around her relaxed. “He was your visitor yesterday. The man you were expecting.”
    “Yes. Morgan thinks I should return with him to court to—” Whelp babies, she almost said. “To be with my own kind. He does not think I can make a life for myself here.”
    “So you went to the village today to prove him wrong.” His voice was dryly amused.
    “Something like that,” she admitted. She turned her head to smile at him, pleased by his perception. His brown eyes were steady on hers, flecked with green and gold like the surrounding hills.
    She felt a quiver in her stomach deeper than desire. Inside her something clicked like a key turning in a lock, like a door opening on an undiscovered room. Her heart expanded. Her breath caught in dismay.
    Oh, no.
    He did not know her. He could not know her. He was human and she . . .
    “Tell me about your family,” she invited hastily.
    Get him talking about himself. Men liked to do that. She would rather be bored than intrigued by him.
    “There isn’t much to tell,” he responded readily enough. “My father was a gentleman—a distant connection of the Ardens, as it turned out—who married a merchant’s daughter. I was their only child. They died together of a fever when I was sixteen, and, having no other prospects, I ran off to be a soldier.”
    So he was essentially alone. Like her. She pushed the thought away.
    “Do you like being a soldier?”
    He was silent so long she thought he would not answer. She told herself she was not interested.
    “I liked the order of it,” he said at last. “The sense of purpose. The responsibility.”
    To have a purpose . . . She could hardly fathom it. “My existence would seem very frivolous to you.”
    “Ladies are more restricted in their occupations.”
    “I am not restricted.” She saw the frown forming on his brow, the questions gathering in his eyes, and added, “But I can see the appeal of feeling a part of something larger than oneself.”
    “Yes,” he said. “I did not always like my job. Killing is an ugly business. But I liked doing my job well.”
    How very odd he was.
    How attractive.
    The gray horse crested the bluffs. The sea sparkled to the western isles and beyond. Morwenna lifted her face, letting the wind snatch away her thoughts. The briny breeze mingled with the wool of his coat, the sweat on his skin, the scent of his horse. Sea smells, earth smells, animal smells, blended like water and wine. She drank them in, holding them inside her until the sky spun around her and she was dizzy with lack of oxygen.
    She released her breath on a puff of laughter.
    The man Major was watching her, a bemused expression on his face.
    “What?”
    “Nothing.” He shook his head. “It’s just . . . It’s you.”
    She raised both eyebrows in question.
    “You seem to enjoy things so much,” he