Children of the Sea 01 - Sea Witch

not?
     
    “Yes.”
     
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    He passed her a blue bowl full of fine white sand and a spoon.
    Tentatively, she added a heaping spoonful to her cup.
     
    Ah . Better.
     
    She added more. Better still .
     
    She added a third spoonful, and closed her eyes in appreciation.
    Heaven .
     
    Sighing with satisfaction, she set down her cup. “Thank you.”
     
    Caleb regarded her, a quizzical expression on his face. “Don’t mention it.”
     
    He slid a plate of eggs and toast in front of her. Margred picked up her fork.
     
    He poured himself coffee and sat down facing her. “We have to talk,” he said.
     
    She paused with her fork halfway to her lips. “You don’t make that sound like a good thing.”
     
    A laugh escaped him. “Yeah. Well. If it helps you, it’s a good thing.”
     
    A pause, while her breakfast cooled.
     
    “You can trust me,” he said.
     
    He looked so dear. So earnest. So . . . safe, with his jutting jaw and serious green eyes.
     
    “I do,” she said.
     
    As much as she was able, she amended to herself.
     
    Caleb reached across the table and clasped her hand. His hand was firm and steady. The mer were sensual creatures, but they rarely touched outside of mating or nursing offspring. That warm, strong clasp was oddly . . . comforting. “Then I need you to tell me the truth.”
     
    “The truth,” she repeated cautiously.
     
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    “Tell me what happened the other night.”
     
    “I don’t remember.”
     
    The cool disappointment in his eyes was worse than a slap.
     
    “No, really,” she insisted. With an effort, she forced her mind to go back. Selkies lived immersed in the sensation of the moment. It was not their way to dwell on past unpleasantness. But for Caleb’s sake, she would force herself to recall.
     
    “I had just . . . arrived on the beach when I was attacked. Struck.”
    Her lip curled in self-disgust. “I must have made it easy for him. I am not usually so unaware.”
     
    “Him.”
     
    “My attacker.”
     
    “You’re sure it was a man, then.”
     
    She frowned. “I assumed . . . There was movement.” She flapped her left hand in the air just behind her head to demonstrate. “Above and behind me. I thought . . . It would have to be a man. Or a very tall woman.”
     
    Who smelled like fire spawn .
     
    Best not to tell him that.
     
    “Okay, that’s good,” Caleb said. She blinked. When had he pulled out his notebook? “So, you never saw him. His face.”
     
    “No,” she said definitely.
     
    “But you can guess who it was.”
     
    What . Not who.
     
    “No.”
     
    Caleb’s eyes, green and steady, held hers. “You notice anything else? A sleeve, maybe. A shoe. Anything.”
     
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    She shook her head. “I was stunned. I fell. I do remember—”
     
    Caleb’s attention sharpened. “What?”
     
    “It’s nothing.”
     
    “Tell me.”
     
    “A smell,” she admitted reluctantly.
     
    “A smell,” he repeated. “Can you describe it?”
     
    A demon smell . No, she couldn’t say that. But she had promised to tell the truth. “It was . . . very pungent. A burning smell. Like sulphur.”
     
    “The bonfire maybe,” Caleb suggested.
     
    She shrugged.
     
    “What was he burning?”
     
    “What?”
     
    “The other night, you said . . .” Caleb flipped pages in his notebook.
    “ ‘I need what he took from me . . . in the fire.’ What did he take from you, Maggie?”
     
    “I don’t—”
     
    —remember .
     
    But she couldn’t say that, she had promised not to say that, they had a deal. “I can’t say.”
     
    “You weren’t wearing anything when I found you.” Caleb’s voice was gentle.
     
    She bit her lip. “No.”
     
    “You want to tell me about that?”
     
    She had stepped out of her pelt. She remembered folding it, hiding it in a recess in the cliff. Heart quickening in anticipation, she had
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    approached the curve of the rock, when she heard—felt?—the attack explode out of the dark behind her, slamming her onto the rocks. Pain burst in her head. She crumpled. And felt the fierce, consuming will of another licking at her flesh, rolling over her like smoke. She fled its possession into unconsciousness.
     
    Shuddering, she pressed her fingers to her head.
     
    “Can I get you anything?” Caleb asked, his voice gentle. Inexorable.
    “More coffee. Water, maybe.”
     
    She swallowed. “No. No, I am fine.”
     
    “Your clothes,” he prompted. “What happened to them?”
     
    “I took