Children of the Sea 01 - Sea Witch

creeping over his head. Empty hands, Caleb noted with relief. He took a step forward.
     
    And watched in horror as the figure whirled and leaped into the fire.
     
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    Caleb yelled and lunged forward. His injured leg buckled on the soft sand. He fell to his knees, and the night exploded in stars and sparks and pain.
     
    Breathe. Crawl.
     
    He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear the guy. The guy who jumped into the fire . But he could smell him burn. The stench seared his nostrils and the back of his throat like swallowed acid.
     
    He lurched to his feet, his heart drumming in his ears. Heat beat on his exposed face and hands as he ran toward the bonfire, close enough to recognize the heap on the ground as a body, a woman’s naked body fallen forward on the sand, her skin orange in the lurid light. The image of her—round, glowing, naked—burned his retinas.
     
    His heart stopped.
     
    Maggie .
     
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Five
     
    CALEB PLUNGED TOWARD THE FIRE.
     
    Maggie.
     
    He reached for her. Heat scorched his hands and face. Pain seared his knee. Grabbing her bare ankle, he dragged her away from the hungry flames.
     
    Her hair smoldered. Shit .
     
    He hauled her into his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder. He hoped like hell she hadn’t broken her neck. In the bright moonlight, she looked like the phantom of the frigging opera, half of her face a silver mask, the other half blackened with blood.
     
    Staggering to his feet, Caleb ran with her toward the water, pain stabbing with every step. It didn’t matter, not with Maggie solid and warm in his arms. Warm and . . . alive? He fumbled for a pulse. There, just there beneath her jaw, he felt her life flicker against his fingertips.
    Thank you, Jesus .
     
    The tide was out. He lowered her to the hard, damp sand, a sound escaping his clenched teeth as his bad leg took their combined weight.
    Methodically, he smothered the sparks in her hair with his hands. The small pricks burned his palms.
     
    Airway? Clear .
     
    Breathing ragged .
     
    Circulation . . . The gash above her left eyebrow opened like a sullen mouth. The blood didn’t bother him. Head wounds always bled. But her loss of consciousness worried him. That bastard must have hit her hard.
     
    He stripped off his jacket to wrap around her. The sea whispered across the sand, soaking his pant legs, rushing over her bare white toes and calves. Caleb swore.
     
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    But the cold water revived her. She moaned.
     
    “It’s okay,” he reassured her, even though it wasn’t, even though she was naked and bleeding and whoever the fuck did this had jumped into the fire. “You’re okay.”
     
    He reached for his cell phone.
     
    She bolted upright and rolled away from him toward the fire.
     
    “Hey!”
     
    He threw himself on top of her before she burned herself. She fought him like a wild thing in a trap, writhing and clawing under him. He restrained her with his weight, trying not to squash her, trying not to hurt her, trying to maintain calm.
     
    “Easy,” he panted in her ear. “It’s me. It’s Caleb. Just take it easy.”
     
    She turned her head and bit him.
     
    Jesus .
     
    He clamped her jaw in his hand and squeezed. Not hard enough to bruise—he hoped—but hard enough to get her attention.
     
    “Knock it off,” he ordered.
     
    And just like that, the fight went out of her. She lay under him, stiff as a ten-dollar whore. As a corpse. Fresh blood oozed from the gash on her forehead.
     
    “Maggie—”
     
    “Fire.” She squeezed the word through her teeth. “In . . . the fire.”
     
    He’d thought she had missed her assailant’s dramatic leap into the blaze. But maybe not. Maybe she was even worried about the guy.
     
    Doubt wriggled, a nasty worm under the anger and the fear. She was naked. Maybe
     
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    “I’m going to look,” Caleb said. “But you have to stay here.”
     
    She nodded—as much of a nod as she could manage with his hand still gripping her face.
     
    Releasing her, he limped up the beach to assess the blaze. It shot into the dark night like a beacon, ten feet high and easily six feet across, raging on the edge of control. He was surprised nobody had called the fire department yet. Volunteers lived for shit like this. He scanned the beach.
    At least the surrounding sand and rock provided natural insulation, and the fire had been set far enough from the trees that escaping sparks wouldn’t torch the whole island.
     
    A log broke in the heart