Children of the Sea 02 - Sea Fever

“I’ll come with you.”
     
    “Not a good idea,” Caleb said. “I’ll do a quick patrol, visit the encampment. Somebody may have seen him. You need to stay here in case Nick shows up. Or calls.”
     
    “He can’t call if he’s been kidnapped,” she snapped. If he was drowning. “I’m going.”
     
    Dylan shook his head. “I will be faster without you.”
     
    She had never felt so helpless, so scared. Her heart was heavy, her arms ached with the weight of her missing child. “But—”
     
    “Trust me,” Dylan said.
     
    She met his intense, black gaze. Did she? Could she? She’d never wanted to rely on anyone, on any man. Then again, she’d never known another man like Dylan.
     
    She had trusted him with her life. And her heart. But could she trust him with her child?
     
    She stretched out her hands. “Please. Bring him back to me.”
     
    *
     
    Dylan stood on the cliffs, clutching a ragged stuffed bear with a draggled red bow. Nick’s. Before he left, Regina had given him the toy, fear in her voice and her heart in her eyes. “Bring him back to me.”
     
    217
     
    The sun bled over the bruised sea, staining the clouds like dirty bandages. In half an hour, they would lose the light. While Dylan could see well enough in the dark, the human searchers Caleb had mustered could not.
     
    Somewhere, Nick would be in the dark, alone.
     
    At least, Dylan hoped the boy was alone.
     
    In his mind, he saw the selkie Gwyneth. Not as he’d known her in life, a small, voracious blonde with slumberouseyes and a sharp white smile. But as he’d last seen her in death after the demon Tan was done with her, her flesh torn and purpled. The image chilled Dylan’s blood.
    The thought of Nick— a human child, Regina’s son— in demon hands, in similar circumstances, made him break into a cold sweat.
     
    His hand closed hard on the bear as if he could squeeze Nick’s whereabouts from plush and stuffing. Memories clung to the matted fur like the scent of laundry soap and baby shampoo. Traces of Regina, her laughter, her love, a quick and careless hug. Traces of Nick, sick and sleepy, snuggled and secure. But none of those warm and hazy impressions yielded a clue to the boy’s location. The bear had a connection to Nick; Dylan did not. He could not use the toy as he had used Regina’s cross, to fix on its owner.
     
    Spreading his arms, he shut his eyes and tried to call up Nick’s thin face against the dark.
     
    He emptied himself, pouring out his power like water on the ground, straining for a hint, a trace, a sign. He could feel Nick’s absence throbbing in his head like a missing tooth or the pain of an amputated limb. His senses sharpened and expanded. He could hear the wind in the trees and the water on the rocks, the yammer of a gull, the putt of an engine. He could smell the scents of juniper and bayberry, the tang of rockweed and saltwater.
     
    But he could not sense Regina’s son. Nothing shouted “Nick” at him, nothing smelled like “boy.” Only the rush of the waves, the scent of the water . . .
     
    Dylan’s breath hissed. The rush of the waves.
     
    218
    The tide was rising.
     
    Cold settled in his bones. He had to find Nick. Now.
     
    *
     
    Regina scoured pots and prayed as if she could save her son through sheer application. Scrubbing kept her hands busy and her mind occupied, distracted her from the pain in her back and the ache at her heart.
     
    Hail, Mary, full of grace . . .
     
    Regina took a deep breath and attacked a crud-encrusted pan, struggling to ignore the silent phone, the crawling clock, the anger and panic simmering in her chest.
     
    It wasn’t fair. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
     
    From the moment the delivery nurse had laid Nick’s downy dark head on Regina’s breast, she’d negotiated a bargain with God. She would take the five miserable months of morning sickness, the twenty-six long and lonely hours of labor, nights of no sleep, years with no sex, in exchange for this miracle. Her boy.
     
    Regina would do anything, endure anything, sacrifice anything, in return for her son. Anything to keep him. Anything to keep him safe.
     
    Regina plunged another pot into the sink. Except she’d screwed up.
    Literally. She’d had sex. More than once. She’d left her child to go off with Dylan, and now Nick was gone.
     
    She hadn’t protected him. She couldn’t even join the search. All she could do was wait by the phone and trust Dylan to find