Authors: Virginia Kantra
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal, #Suspense, #General
“Perhaps then I am no longer selkie,” she said softly.
Dylan scowled. “If so, my brother has succeeded where the demon
failed. He has destroyed you.”
Margred looked at him, surprised. She understood him. Once she
would even have agreed with him. Selkies were among God’s First
272
Creation, superior in every way to the humans who strived and prayed
and died.
And yet . . .
And yet.
Her beliefs had changed. She had changed, in her sinews and tissues,
in the workings of her mind, in the depths of her heart. Caleb had
changed her through some strange alchemy of soul. He had inspired her
to courage and taught her to love.
For she did love him, with everything that was in her. But she had
not trusted him. She had not believed in him the way he believed in her,
the way he accepted her, the way he loved her. He had tried to tell her. “
If
you love me, you’ve got to trust me. Trust us. Don’t do this alone
.” But
she had not listened.
“Caleb did not destroy me,” she said. “He made me.”
“Made you human,” Dylan spat.
Margred smiled, her heart suddenly sure. "Yes. Turn the boat
around.”
The thing that wore Bruce Whittaker’s face smiled at Caleb, eyes
flickering over the boat, the dock, the beach. Searching, Caleb thought.
Looking for Maggie.
His hand went automatically to his gun.
“Chief,” said the thing with Whittaker’s mouth.
“Who are you?” Caleb asked.
The eyes widened. Whittaker’s pale gray eyes, dancing with dreadful
enjoyment. “Don’t you know?”
“I recognize the face,” Caleb said, angling his body, easing his
weapon from its holster. “I didn’t catch the name.”
“Oh, very good,” the thing approved. “You may call me Tan.”
273
“Tan. Right,” Caleb said, and shot him.
Or tried to.
The slide clicked uselessly in his hand.
“It won’t work,” Tan informed him. He lifted a revolver—.357
Magnum, plenty of stopping power there, the homeowner’s defensive
weapon of choice—from the powerboat’s console and leveled it at
Caleb’s chest. “This, however, will. Throw your gun in the water.”
Caleb’s grip tightened.
Never surrender your weapon. Keep talking
.
“Nice trick.”
“Thank you. I suppressed the ignition of the primer in the cartridge. I
could as easily explode it in your hands. But I might have use of them
later.”
Them
. His hands? Caleb fought a chill at the thought of the demon
using him. Using his hands.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“You have something I want,” Tan said from the deck of the boat.
He couldn’t touch him. Reach him. Not yet. But like a criminal
impressed with his own cleverness, the thing enjoyed the sound of its
own voice. Caleb could use that. “Maybe we could bargain.”
Tan smiled, a twist of facial muscles that revealed all of Whittaker’s
teeth. “I’d rather hear you beg.”
Caleb’s palms were sweating on the butt of the gun. Blood crusted
his knuckles. “That didn’t work too well for you with your last victim. Or
you wouldn’t be coming after me.”
The demon hissed.
“Come on,” Caleb goaded. “Make me an offer.”
“Your life for the pelt.”
The pelt.
Gold coins shining through the rich, mottled strands of fur
.
Maggie’s hope for escape.
274
Caleb gave a quick shake of his head.
No
. As if he held the power
here instead of a worthless gun. As if he wasn’t staring into the blind,
black eye of a .357 Magnum in the hands of a creature that couldn’t be
killed. “We both know you won’t let me live.”
Tan shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “Then . . . a quick death.”
Keep talking. Keep thinking
. There had to be a way out of this. The
fight never went the way you wanted it. You had to stay flexible.
“And in return, you want . . .”
“The selkie Gwyneth’s sealskin. Yes.”
“Why? She’s dead.”
“Let’s say I want it to . . . remember her by.”
Caleb fought another shudder of revulsion. Something didn’t add up.
The demon had burned Maggie’s sealskin. It didn’t make sense he would
preserve Gwyneth’s.
Like anything about this situation made sense.
Think. Talk
.
“You don’t strike me as the sentimental type.”
“My actions and my nature are none of your concern.”
“I think you fucked up,” Caleb said, deliberately provoking.
Keep
him talking. Distract him. Find an out, an opening
. “I think she died
before you got your hands on her pelt, and now you’re screwed.”
“She was weak.” Tan spat the words. The muzzle of his gun
wavered. “Her death was . . .”
“A mistake?” Caleb prodded.
The demon stiffened. “An inconvenience.”
“So you didn’t want her dead?”
275
“I wanted her
ended
.” He waved the gun for emphasis. “The death of
her body is a bare ripple in her existence. Her people will not care as long
as the bitch can be sea born.”
Caleb eyed the waving muzzle. A gun was only as effective as the
person holding it. “You
want
her people pissed off at you?” he asked,
taking a half step forward.
“Not at me. At you. The children of the sea are too tolerant of
humankind. You overrun the earth, you pollute the water, you violate the
very air, and still the elements suffer your existence. ‘Because the Creator
wills it so.’ ” Tan’s mimicry was savage. “The sea king has wasted
centuries in dreams and denial. His heir is too cautious to act. But they
cannot ignore the deliberate destruction of their kind. Not when their
numbers are declining.”
The demon sounded like a fucking terrorist. As if wrapping an act of
violence in self-justification and a noble cause somehow vindicated the
death of the innocent.
Caleb controlled his anger. “So you disguise yourself as human, kill
a selkie, and hope the humans get blamed.”
“You will be blamed. Your own kind suspect you already. And when
more die, even that selkie fool King Llyr will be convinced of your guilt.”
Tension clamped on Caleb’s neck. Pounded in his temples.
When
more die . . .
Maggie.
He had to stop this thing before it reached Maggie. Before she
realized Whittaker wasn’t on World’s End and came looking for him.
He slid another foot forward, gauging the distance (
too great
) and
his chances (
not good
).
Keep
talking
.
“Why would they care? I’ll be dead. You kill me, that evens the
score.”
Whittaker’s mouth flapped open. For a second, Caleb dared hope
he’d gotten through to him or to the demon possessing him.
276
“Their deaths will not end with your death,” Tan said, rallying. “And
by taking your life, I will convince the selkie prince that our interests lie
together.”
One step closer. All he needed was a distraction. A bird, a boat,
another fucking flare . . .
“Caleb!” Maggie’s cry rang over the water.
Whittaker’s head jerked. Good enough.
Caleb dove low and hard for the lawyer’s stomach and crashed with
him onto the deck.
* * * *
The blast of the shot echoed over the water.
Margred sobbed. “Hurry!”
The boat sprang forward as Dylan summoned his power, calling the
wind to fill the sails. Margred clutched the side with both hands, fear
congealing in her stomach. Fear and guilt. She knew what Caleb faced.
She should never have left him.
Caleb and the thin man— Whittaker?—rolled around the cockpit,
thrashing and thumping into the seats and sides.
At least he was alive. Bleeding? Shot?
Her throat constricted. She could not
see
.
She lurched to her feet to get a better look, nearly pitching overboard
as the sailboat came about.
“Damn it, sit,” Dylan barked.
She dropped to a seat, her heart forcing its way to her throat.
“Hurry.”
Over the rush of wind and water, through the roar in her head, she
heard a scuffle. Fists. Grunts. Something thudded hard against the
powerboat’s console. She flinched.
277
Dylan moved around her, working the lines with tight-lipped grace,
his lean body gleaming with sweat and sunlight. Margred barely noticed
him. All her attention was on the other boat. The other boat and Caleb.
She strained to see him, to touch his spirit, to reassure herself he was
alive.
And then she felt it, acrid as ashes blowing in the wind, ominous as a
stain in the water.
Demon
.
Her heart plummeted from her throat to her stomach. Her hands
twisted in her lap.
Dylan sensed it, too. He looked at her, his face white. “Swamp
them.”
Summon the seas and bury them?
Margred shook her head. “I cannot. Not without capsizing the boat
and drowning your brother.”
“Do it,” Dylan said. “Or I will.”
She snarled. She could hear the sounds of struggle, a gasp, a thump,
a grunt of pain.
Honey, I can handle one middle-aged lawyer
.
But Whittaker would fight with the strength of the possessed. And
Caleb could be hurt. Wounded. Bleeding.
Margred stretched shaking hands toward the dock. “I must bind him.
The demon.”
“How?” Dylan demanded.
She was not listening.
Desperation flooded her veins. Her mind swam with fear. She
pushed her worry aside, diving below the frantic surface of her thoughts,
reaching deep within for the clear wellspring of power that bubbled from
her soul. The magic responded, flowing over and in her like music, like
water, fluid, sparkling, irresistible. Her element. Hers. With a glad cry,
she opened her mouth to drink it in, flung wide her arms to embrace it.
278
The boat bumped into the dock, jarring her concentration.
Dylan swore.
Margred opened her eyes.
Caleb was pinned against the side of the boat, one arm raised to
deflect the demon’s blows. Shot. He’d been shot. His shoulder bloomed
black with blood. His lip was split and bleeding. Whittaker loomed over
him with a fierce, fixed grin, his fists battering, bruising. Hard. Again.
Each dull impact struck her soul. The magic shattered and fled,
leaving her empty, human, helpless. She wanted to throw up.
The demon’s presence reached across the water like a furnace blast.
Her courage dried up. Her resolution evaporated. Caleb warded the
demon’s fists with his injured arm, his good hand wrapped around the
demon’s throat. But blood dripped from his shoulder into the sea, and his
arm trembled. He could not hold Hell at bay forever. He could die. He
was dying.
“Help him,” Margred screamed at Dylan.
Dylan vaulted from the boat.
She stared at Caleb’s fingers gripping, pressing on the cords and
vessels of the demon’s neck. Fighting—still—as the demon battered him
with its fists, as his life blood oozed away. She did not feel any braver.
But she could not let him fight alone. With a sob, she summoned her
pathetic store of human courage, gathered up the remnants of her selkie
magic.
The demon’s punches slowed. It scratched at Caleb’s hands, trying
to pry his fingers from around its throat. Whittaker’s eyes widened and
bulged. His body jerked. Shuddered.
Fire shot to the sky, rushing upward from the boat, a geyser of
orange and red, a gush of smoke. The reflection flickered in Whittaker’s
eyes, as if the fire were in his head, as if he burned from the inside out.
279
Margred flung her arms wide, casting her spirit like a net toward the
flame. Power shimmered at her fingertips. For a moment, magic hung
suspended in the air, sparkling like water droplets.
Dylan raised the gun by its muzzle and wielded it like a club against
the back of Whittaker’s head.
As suddenly as that, it was over.
The blaze died. The demon’s presence snuffed out, extinguished. A
breeze wandered from the sea, sweet and salt, dispelling the mist of
magic. Margred drew her breath on a sob and scrambled over the side,
intent on one thing.
Caleb
.
He staggered upright. Groaned. Whittaker’s body slumped at his
feet.
Relief and pain and tenderness flooded Margred’s chest. Her eyes
swam with unfamiliar moisture. She blinked it away, stepping over the
body on the deck to reach Caleb’s side. She had to touch him, to reassure