Children of the Sea 03 - Sea Lord

Caroline called. She went to change the sheets today, and his bed hadn’t been slept in.”
    The brothers exchanged a look.
    “Thank you, Edith,” Caleb said. “Close the door on your way out, would you?”
    “But Caroline—”
    “Tell her I’ll be along to take her statement as soon as I’m finished here.”
    Edith sniffed. The latch clicked softly behind her.
    Dylan propped a hip on a corner of Caleb’s desk.
    “What do you know about this?” Caleb asked.
    “Less than your clerk, obviously. I went to the inn, and he was gone.”
    “Maggie? Regina?”
    “Are fine,” Dylan said. “I stopped by the restaurant on the way here.”
    Caleb released a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. “Lucy?”
    “She stayed home sick today.”
    Caleb frowned. “Again?” Even when they were kids, Lucy had never missed more than a day of school in her life. Caleb sometimes thought the classroom provided the stability their home life had lacked.
    “Have you seen her?”
    Dylan nodded. “This morning. She said she was feeling a little better. Apparently our father made her some tea.”
    “ Our father?”
    Dylan’s lips twisted. “That’s what she said.”
    “So, everybody’s accounted for,” Caleb said slowly. “Everything’s all right.”
    “Not everyone,” Dylan said. “Not Conn.”
    “He’s off my turf. Out of my jurisdiction.”
    “And it doesn’t bother you he left without telling us.”
    “He’s selkie. That’s what selkies do.”
    Dylan lifted a brow. “Still sore about our mother, little brother?”
    Caleb’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t about our mother.”
    “The prince thinks otherwise. If the prophecy is true—”
    “If he gave a shit about the prophecy, he would have stuck around.”
    “Unless he couldn’t,” Dylan said. “I would know if the demons broke through my wards. But something must have happened to call Conn back to Sanctuary.”
    The bad coffee feeling came back to burn in his gut. “That’s his problem,” Caleb said grimly.
    Dylan’s flat, black gaze met his. “Until it becomes ours.”
    The boat flew before the wind, rising and falling with the waves, its sails nearly at right angles to the hull, wing on wing. Conn’s hair whipped his face.
    He bared his teeth, enjoying the rush and control, the speed as heady as freedom. His presence at the helm was hardly necessary. Magic drove the wind that filled the sails. But he liked knowing he had not lost his touch with the sheets, despite the centuries since he’d last left home.
    The island burst from the surrounding sea between the deep kelp forests and swirling sky, solid as an anchor. Shining like a dream.
    Sanctuary.
    A possessive ache tightened his chest. He squinted through the strands of his hair, trying to see his home Page 37
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    through the eyes of a stranger. Through Lucy’s eyes.
    The green hills had faded with the passing of summer, but today the sun had pierced the mists and magic to glaze the ancient towers with light. Rock spray sparkled like flung fistfuls of fat diamonds. A cloud of sea birds drifted around the southern cliff face, crying a faint and far-off welcome.
    Would the girl sleeping belowdecks appreciate the cold, stark beauty of his island? How could she not?
    Unbidden, her words blew back to him. “ I didn’t ask to be brought here. You need to take me home.
    ”
    Conn’s hands tightened on the wheel, his light mood dropping like the wind. He was as bound by his duty as she was by her destiny. Her fears and his own regret were equally irrelevant. There could be no turning back, he thought bleakly.
    For either of them.
    He heard her before he saw her, the scrape of the hatch, a soft footfall. He smelled her, human, female, sweet.
    He turned his head.
    Lucy clung to the rail, legs braced against the swell. He had an impulse to go to her, to steady her with a hand beneath her elbow. But the selkie did not touch. Only to fight or to mate, acts of possession as much as passion.
    She would not welcome his assistance anyway. In the cabin, she had recoiled from him, from the touch of his fur.
    Yesterday she had found an enormous yellow rain slicker and navy overalls in one of the lockers to replace the warmth of his pelt. With the jacket hanging below her knees and the sleeves rolled back from her wrists, she looked ridiculous, appealing, and very, very young.
    Old enough , she had said.
    For sex? No