In the Veins of the Drowning(60)

“There are no more transactions between us, remember?” he said in a husky whisper. “You’re deserving because I say you are.” Slowly, he raised his hand to my face. His touch was feather light as it dragged from my cheekbone, to my neck. I leaned into the warmth, relished the sensation of his touch.

“Are you upset I kissed you? On that beach by the village.”

I closed my eyes, remembering, then shook my head. “No.”

Relief enveloped him. A low, hungry groan filled his chest, and in one swift movement, he scooped me into his lap. He wrapped my legs snugly around him. Heat cascaded through me as his fingers twined through my hair, curled into a fist, and tugged. “Good.”

For a moment, we sat like that, his strong body held between my thighs, and stared. His eyes were torrid; his breath rolled over my sensitive lips. I was a heartbeat away from begging when he lowered his mouth to mine.

His kiss was decadent, slow, and the world around me fell away.

I was lost to the softness of his lips, the firmness of his body, the languid heat of his tongue. I made a desperate moan when his teeth scraped over my bottom lip. He showed no restraint, and still, I wanted more. I rolled my hips over his and went nearly mad from the sound he made. His strong hands roved to my back, and lower, then to the front of my shirt where he raced to undo the clasps.

“I need to see you.” His lips met my shoulder, my neck. He nipped at my earlobe and made his way back down toward my nearly bare chest when an icy shock of water wrapped around my buttock, my thighs.

We both gasped. Our bodies jerked. “What the fuck—”

Out of the shelter opening, the dark gray sky glowed with the faintest morning light. The storm still raged, but through the rain, I could make out the Mage Seer’s grass-roofed hut and the outline of a small, hooded figure on the rocks. Her arm was extended toward the sea. The wave she’d sent to us began to flow back in a curve of white foam, like a beckoning finger.

Theodore gripped my shoulders with determined force, as if he meant to keep me.

The sun had come. It was time to sever my bonds.

We stood with our toes at the water’s edge. Silent. Staring across the channel at the unmoving figure. Storm clouds clotted the sky beyond, like towering, stony peaks. They reminded me of Nemea’s mountains.

Beside me, Theodore’s breaths came tight, shallow. If I laid my hand over his heart, I was certain I’d feel it strike with the force of a forge hammer. I was wet and cold but the heat of him, the pressure of his fingers, the softness of his lips, still clung to my body. Haunting me. I prayed that the severing ritual would excise that too.

The figure on the rocks raised her arm. The motion was inhuman, both jerking and strangely fluid at once, as if she were moved by something other than her own muscle and sinew. With the flick of her wrist, the water in the channel slid away from our toes as if it was a cloth being pulled slowly across a tabletop.

“She’s a Siren.”

Theodore nodded beside me. “Her father was Varian.”

“But she’s not a Goddess, is she? How can she command the water without touching it?”

“That’s her magic. Her spell work,” he said, grimly. “If a Mage Seer has any Gods’ power, they can amplify it with magic. But where it costs us nothing to use our power, the cost of magic is great.”

The water had receded enough for us to cross, revealing the rocks and shells speckling the seafloor. Neither of us moved. I glanced up at him. At the beautiful, defined line of his profile. His eyes had glazed, his look remote. I wondered if he was thinking of the last time he’d been here. If he and his father had stood side by side like this before crossing, rough salt wind making their eyes water.

Worry swarmed me like beetles over a corpse. I’d rather eat the sand I stood upon than force him to do such a thing again. I took a reluctant step forward. Then another. Finally, Theodore’s boot crunched over the wet sand behind me, only to stop a moment later.

I spun. “You all right?”

He nodded too quickly. His features were drawn, hands fisted at his sides. I stepped back and lifted one of his fists. He tried to pull it back, but I held tight. Gently, I worked his fingers open and ran my hand over his. He watched me with a look that was both wonderous and bereft. “We may have muddied things for ourselves up there,” I said, “but it—you gave me comfort.” I wove our fingers together. “I would like to do the same for you now.”

Hard fingers squeezed around mine and he raised my hand to his lips. He placed a kiss on my knuckle. We started across the seafloor, hand in hand.

“You are picturing a woman like you,” he said when we were halfway across. “She’s not. She is ancient and time hardened. Emotion doesn’t rule her, only her poisons do—only her magic.” He tugged on my hand, made me look at him. “Do not make the mistake of thinking she will do right by you.”

I gulped. “I won’t.”

When we reached the edge of the holm, the sea slowly trickled back in behind us, nipping at our heels. The rocks were slick and steep, and our wet boots slid over bright green algae, over pebbles and sand, until finally we stood in the little clearing before her door.

It was warped and hung crooked. The large gaps between its slats had been filled with dried plants and pitch, the metal sashes had long been corrupted by rust, but it was sturdy still. I reached for the rough latch, then stopped.