Children of the Sea 01 - Sea Witch

pay.
     
    He knew better now than to imagine one night of sex was a good basis for commitment or even compatibility.
     
    But this was different. Maggie was different, lush and full of life, uninhibited, uncalculating, generous in her love-making.
     
    Caleb shook his head, disbelieving and flat-out grateful at the memory of what she’d done. What they’d done together.
     
    But he was different, too. This time, he was determined to have an actual relationship with all the trimmings of a normal life, phone calls and flowers and family visits.
     
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    He winced, thinking of his father hunched over the scarred kitchen table, scowling into the bottom of a whiskey glass. Okay, a visit with his family might be pushing things. But at least he could take Maggie out, spring for dinner and a movie.
     
    Make love to her in a bed.
     
    Caleb rubbed his knee, glanced toward the tree line. When she came back, he had to get her phone number.
     
    The fire hissed and popped. The sparks rode the updraft into the dark.
     
    It was a long time before he accepted she wasn’t coming back.
     
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Four
     
    WAVES BOILED OVER THE ROCKS AT THE SELKIES’ island
    Sanctuary. White veils of spray caught the afternoon sun. Drops glittered in the air like diamonds. Farther out, long lines of whitecaps rolled, their crests curling over the deep blue green—the horses of Llyr, running before the wind.
     
    Standing alone in a tower room in Caer Subai, Margred listened to the crash and roar of the tide. The mingled scents of land and sea, life and decay, climbed to her window like the rose vines in a fairy tale.
     
    She stared down at the foaming sea, a discontent inside her as cold and sharp as the wind blowing through the un-paned windows.
     
    She pulled her velvet robe, a relic of a fifteenth-century queen, around her. Not for warmth, but for the comfort of its rich texture. She had hoped being here in Sanctuary, among her own kind, would still the restlessness that had roiled her these past three weeks.
     
    She had been wrong. Even the smooth fabric against her skin failed to soothe the itch inside her.
     
    She did not belong here, in the court of the sea king’s son, where considerations of pair bonds and politics lurked behind every smile and ambushed every conversation. She did not seek another mate. She did not care about court intrigue. Better to have stayed in the isolation of the sea, in the independence of her own territory.
     
    Hurry back, the man had said.
     
    The thought disturbed her.
     
    She turned from the window.
     
    No rug covered the smoothly fitted flagstones under her feet. No fire burned beneath the massive mantle. The chandelier suspended from the beamed and painted ceiling held no candles. Unlike the children of the earth, selkies did not mine or make, grow or spin. Caer Subai was
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    furnished with the salvage of centuries of wrecks: Viking gold and Cornish iron, silk hangings from France and wooden chests from Spain.
    The platters and goblets on the table were all of gold, and the high stone walls were covered with tapestry scenes of the Creation: a stylized wave, the dark, the deep, a dove, their bright silks preserved by the magic that seeped from the ancient stones like mist and lay like shadows in the corners of the room.
     
    The children of the sea did not interfere with the ships that traveled over their ocean. But everything that fell beneath the waves was forfeit, human lives and human possessions both. Selkies plucked mortals from the wreckage when it pleased them, delivering the survivors safe to shore.
    Whatever else pleased them, they brought here, or stored in sea caves in their own territories.
     
    On past visits, Margred had delighted in the treasures of Caer Subai.
    Her gaze rested on the fireplace, fancifully carved with sea monsters and mermaids, its whimsical design a testament to the artistry of its maker . . .
    and the odd humor of the prince. But now everything seemed faded.
    Spoiled. Tarnished. Flat. She should return to the sea.
     
    No . The thought formed like a fog, unsubstantial and enveloping.
    She should go back to the man . Caleb .
     
    Footsteps sounded on the tower stairs. “Margred?”
     
    She shivered at the deep-timbred voice. It almost sounded like . . .
     
    “Are you alone?” A tall, male form appeared in the arched doorway.
    He was dressed in rough fisherman’s clothing, canvas pants and a shirt, that did nothing to disguise his extraordinary