Children of the Sea 01 - Sea Witch

cracked like lightning, blinding, scorching.
     
    Not the human body he inhabited, of course. But she had definitely reacted to his presence, his essence, within. She must die .
     
    No, the man thought, horrified. What . . . ?
     
    He dug his fingers into his temples as the mother of all migraines threatened to burst his skull. His stomach lurched. He fought for control, bile burning his nose. Saliva pooled in his mouth.
     
    He must be hallucinating. He clung to that rational thought. He wasn’t opposed to all killing. Hell, he’d argued in favor of capital punishment. But he never thought . . . He never would . . .
     
    Sparks detonated in his head, danced in his vision.
     
    Nononooo . . .
     
    He fell to his knees, still clasping his head.
     

     
    The gannet rode the currents of air as easily as a selkie in the water, white wings shining like sails in the sun, yellow head cocked to follow Margred’s progress. At one with its element, it floated, graceful and free in the cool blue sky.
     
    Landlocked and sweaty, Margred stopped to glare upward. Stupid bird.
     
    The sun beat on her head and chest as she pushed through a tangle of beach roses and blackberry bushes. Trailing canes hooked her skirt and hair. Thin scarlet scratches sprang up on her arms. Midges swarmed, attracted by the scent of blood.
     
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    She wanted the sea, the rhythm of the surf, the rocking of the waves, the freedom of the water. She wanted to plunge and dance in the depths, to glide like the gannet. She longed to be herself again, not this clumsy two-footed creature stumbling over the coarse grass, bleeding and beset by insects.
     
    Beyond the golden crest of the hill, the ocean glittered like a promise. But she could not see the beach. Where was the gannet leading her?
     
    The thicket thinned to clumps of prickly juniper and spicy bayberry.
    A wind skipped over the hill, stirring her hair, refreshing her spirit.
    Margred lifted her face to the breeze.
     
    The land fell away to wrinkled rock dotted with glasswort and goldenrod and then to stony beach.
     
    Margred breathed deep, the smell of the earth infused with the salt of the sea, gazing down at a cove cupped like water between fingers of rock.
    The waves winked in the sun, teasing. Tantalizing.
     
    There, at the water’s edge, standing by a tide pool of swaying brown rockweed, Dylan waited alone.
     
    Without Conn.
     
    And almost without clothes, Margred noted with a ripple of new awareness. Human awareness. A pair of low, wet, ripped shorts hung from his narrow hips in an apparent concession to modesty. Hers? Or his?
    Dylan might be the prince’s creature now, but he had been raised human for thirteen years.
     
    His dark hair was sleeked back, touching his broad, bare shoulders.
    His bare feet balanced on the rocks.
     
    So she had one advantage, at least. She had shoes.
     
    She crunched in them over the pebbled beach.
     
    At the sound, Dylan turned. He made a move toward her, quickly checked.
     
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    Selkies did not touch, even in greeting. Only to fight, or to mate, acts of possession as much as passion.
     
    You do not own me , she had told Caleb. Any more than Antonia owned her cat.
     
    Was he looking for her? Margred wondered suddenly. Worried about her?
     
    She pushed the thought away. She had other things to worry about.
    Like his brother.
     
    She stopped, raking her hair back from her hot face. “You could have chosen a more convenient meeting place.”
     
    Dylan shrugged. “This is convenient for me. There’s a private island a few miles east of here—an easy swim, in either form, and undisturbed, if you don’t count the birds and an occasional kayaker. I keep a few things there.”
     
    “Is that safe?”
     
    “Safer than here, apparently.” His gaze narrowed on her forehead.
    His mouth formed a flat line. “Is my brother beating you already?”
     
    Self-consciously, Margred fingered the bump at her hairline. “Your brother saved me. Or didn’t Conn tell you?”
     
    “The prince keeps his own counsel always.”
     
    “Yet he sent you.”
     
    Dylan bowed. “As you see.”
     
    “Why, if not to help?”
     
    “To find out what happened to you. The muc mara’s account made no sense.”
     
    “So Conn sent you on a family visit.” She watched him stiffen as that arrow struck home. “Why did you not tell me Caleb was your brother?”
     
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    “Why didn’t you tell me you were shagging him?” Dylan shot back.
     
    Beneath that