Children of the Sea 02 - Sea Fever

seal trick is actually pretty useful.”
     
    “Like Lassie saving Timmy in the well,” Dylan said.
     
    Regina narrowed her eyes. She recognized that jeering, defensive tone. She was the mother of a son, after all. Dylan was less certain, less in control of himself and the situation, than he would ever admit. Part of her wanted to reassure him, the way she would have soothed Nick. And another part of her resented having to try. She was tired and battered and pregnant and her throat hurt. He was here not because he wanted to be,
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    not because he wanted her, but because the baby she carried could be part of some otherworldly power struggle.
     
    If it’s selkie and female.
     
    And if it wasn’t, he’d be gone. Which meant she’d be right where she was before, on her own, raising her child, her children, alone.
     
    She pushed back her chair. “The appointment’s at ten.”
     
    “I will come with you,” he said instantly.
     
    Like he cared.
     
    He didn’t, of course. She couldn’t let the sweetness of his offer seduce her into thinking she could rely on him.
     
    “I’m not asking you to. But I thought I’d tell you in case there are any tests the doctor could do. Or shouldn’t do.”
     
    “The child was conceived in human form. It may be human. It will appear human, in any case, until it matures.”
     
    At thirteen. Her mind boggled at the thought of guiding a half-human adolescent— boy? girl?— through sexual maturity. How would she manage?
     
    How had Dylan?
     
    “Great.” She managed a smile. “I wasn’t looking forward to explaining to my mother why I had a fish tank next to the crib.”
     
    A shadow chased across his face. His eyes were stormy. “Regina . ..”
     
    She pulled her sweatshirt tighter around her. “Not now. Please. I’m.”
    Exhausted. Frightened. Overwhelmed. “Going to turn in. I’ll see you in the morning.”
     
    *
     
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    Dylan glared at the blank white door that led to Regina’s bedroom.
    She had accepted his explanation. She was prepared to tolerate his presence and protection. That was enough.
     
    He didn’t expect her to seek his company or his comfort. In a matter of weeks, he had destroyed her peace, endangered her life, and strained the limits of her belief. She needed time to recover, recover and sleep.
    She needed space.
     
    He could understand. Wasn’t that what he wanted, too? What he’d always wanted. No human expectations, no messy emotional entanglements. To live forever in the license of the sea with its endless moods and changeable weather and endless, changeable sexual partners.
     
    Never mind that the one he wanted had just gone to bed without him.
     
    He imagined her undressing, taking off her bulky sweatshirt and soft black pants and sliding between the sheets alone. He should be in there with her. If he were in there, he could reassure her. He could put his hands on her, all that smoothness, all that delicate softness, taste the salt of her skin and the tartness of her mouth, slide hard deep inside her, pink, wet, his . . .
     
    He broke off, breathing hard, appalled at what he was thinking and thinking it anyway.
     
    Not his.
     
    He was not his father, to lay claim to another living being. He was not his mother, to sacrifice the freedom of the sea for sex.
     
    He was selkie. And he was sleeping on the couch. For tonight, at least.
     
    Satisfied with his decision, he grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch; and heard a whimper of distress from Regina’s room.
     
    Hell. He threw down the blanket and went to her door.
     
    She lay with her back to him, curled on her side like a child. Her hair was dark and messy on her pillow. He couldn’t see her face or her breasts, not even much skin, only her smooth, slim shoulder, her pale, tender nape, the delicate bump at the beginning of her spine.
     
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    Longing shivered through him.
     
    She jerked and muttered. Dreaming, he guessed.
     
    “It’s all right,” he told her softly, standing in the doorway.
     
    “Nicky,” she croaked.
     
    “He’s fine. He’s here,” Dylan said, feeling like a helpless jerk. “I’m here.”
     
    She moaned.
     
    He’d had it with being helpless. He didn’t even think about staying uninvolved.
     
    He crawled into bed with her and took her in his arms, and she buried her face in his neck.
     
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Twelve
     
    DYLAN’S BODY WAS WARM, SO WARM, AND Regina was cold, her toes and fingers freezing, the pit of her