far. You need a flashlight?”
“No,” she said truthfully. “I can see well enough.”
Even in human form, her eyes were better adapted to the dark than his.
Caleb caught at her hand as she turned away. She looked back at him, trying and failing to resent his hold on her.
He smiled. “Hurry back.”
She did not, could not, answer. But she owed him . . . something.
Stooping, she kissed him one last time. His lips were dry and steady.
Sweet.
35
She straightened, her heart drumming in her ears.
As she picked her way through the trees to the shore, she felt his gaze like a touch on her back.
Caleb watched her go, fighting the urge to call her back. After two rounds of vigorous sex, the girl probably needed to powder her nose or catch her breath or wash up or something. Although he didn’t know anybody crazy enough to brave the water in May without a wetsuit.
But then, he’d never known anybody like Maggie.
It wasn’t her willingness to have sex with a near stranger that made her unique.
Hell, that was how he’d met his ex-wife, in a smoky bar in Biloxi, Mississippi. The Last Call was a hunting ground for lonely soldiers from Fort Shelby in search of pool and pussy—not necessarily in that order—and local girls trolling for free drinks and husbands.
Sherilee, with her tailored slacks and expensive perfume, had seemed a cut above the regular clientele, a bank teller out slumming for the night with her girlfriends. Back then, she’d thought Caleb’s uniform was cute and his taciturn Yankee silence sexy. He’d thought . . . Who was he kidding? He’d been far from home, estranged from his family, and staring down an eighteen-month deployment in the desert. They hadn’t done much thinking. Or talking either. They’d gotten married right before he shipped out, and he was pretty sure Sherilee had regretted her decision before she’d even finished spending his imminent danger pay.
He knew better now than to imagine one night of sex was a good basis for commitment or even compatibility.
But this was different. Maggie was different, lush and full of life, uninhibited, uncalculating, generous in her love-making.
Caleb shook his head, disbelieving and flat-out grateful at the memory of what she’d done. What they’d done together.
But he was different, too. This time, he was determined to have an actual relationship with all the trimmings of a normal life, phone calls and flowers and family visits.
36
He winced, thinking of his father hunched over the scarred kitchen table, scowling into the bottom of a whiskey glass. Okay, a visit with his family might be pushing things. But at least he could take Maggie out, spring for dinner and a movie.
Make love to her in a bed.
Caleb rubbed his knee, glanced toward the tree line. When she came back, he had to get her phone number.
The fire hissed and popped. The sparks rode the updraft into the dark.
It was a long time before he accepted she wasn’t coming back.
37
Four
WAVES BOILED OVER THE ROCKS AT THE SELKIES’ island
Sanctuary. White veils of spray caught the afternoon sun. Drops glittered in the air like diamonds. Farther out, long lines of whitecaps rolled, their crests curling over the deep blue green—the horses of Llyr, running before the wind.
Standing alone in a tower room in Caer Subai, Margred listened to the crash and roar of the tide. The mingled scents of land and sea, life and decay, climbed to her window like the rose vines in a fairy tale.
She stared down at the foaming sea, a discontent inside her as cold and sharp as the wind blowing through the un-paned windows.
She pulled her velvet robe, a relic of a fifteenth-century queen, around her. Not for warmth, but for the comfort of its rich texture. She had hoped being here in Sanctuary, among her own kind, would still the restlessness that had roiled her these past three
“No,” she said truthfully. “I can see well enough.”
Even in human form, her eyes were better adapted to the dark than his.
Caleb caught at her hand as she turned away. She looked back at him, trying and failing to resent his hold on her.
He smiled. “Hurry back.”
She did not, could not, answer. But she owed him . . . something.
Stooping, she kissed him one last time. His lips were dry and steady.
Sweet.
35
She straightened, her heart drumming in her ears.
As she picked her way through the trees to the shore, she felt his gaze like a touch on her back.
Caleb watched her go, fighting the urge to call her back. After two rounds of vigorous sex, the girl probably needed to powder her nose or catch her breath or wash up or something. Although he didn’t know anybody crazy enough to brave the water in May without a wetsuit.
But then, he’d never known anybody like Maggie.
It wasn’t her willingness to have sex with a near stranger that made her unique.
Hell, that was how he’d met his ex-wife, in a smoky bar in Biloxi, Mississippi. The Last Call was a hunting ground for lonely soldiers from Fort Shelby in search of pool and pussy—not necessarily in that order—and local girls trolling for free drinks and husbands.
Sherilee, with her tailored slacks and expensive perfume, had seemed a cut above the regular clientele, a bank teller out slumming for the night with her girlfriends. Back then, she’d thought Caleb’s uniform was cute and his taciturn Yankee silence sexy. He’d thought . . . Who was he kidding? He’d been far from home, estranged from his family, and staring down an eighteen-month deployment in the desert. They hadn’t done much thinking. Or talking either. They’d gotten married right before he shipped out, and he was pretty sure Sherilee had regretted her decision before she’d even finished spending his imminent danger pay.
He knew better now than to imagine one night of sex was a good basis for commitment or even compatibility.
But this was different. Maggie was different, lush and full of life, uninhibited, uncalculating, generous in her love-making.
Caleb shook his head, disbelieving and flat-out grateful at the memory of what she’d done. What they’d done together.
But he was different, too. This time, he was determined to have an actual relationship with all the trimmings of a normal life, phone calls and flowers and family visits.
36
He winced, thinking of his father hunched over the scarred kitchen table, scowling into the bottom of a whiskey glass. Okay, a visit with his family might be pushing things. But at least he could take Maggie out, spring for dinner and a movie.
Make love to her in a bed.
Caleb rubbed his knee, glanced toward the tree line. When she came back, he had to get her phone number.
The fire hissed and popped. The sparks rode the updraft into the dark.
It was a long time before he accepted she wasn’t coming back.
37
Four
WAVES BOILED OVER THE ROCKS AT THE SELKIES’ island
Sanctuary. White veils of spray caught the afternoon sun. Drops glittered in the air like diamonds. Farther out, long lines of whitecaps rolled, their crests curling over the deep blue green—the horses of Llyr, running before the wind.
Standing alone in a tower room in Caer Subai, Margred listened to the crash and roar of the tide. The mingled scents of land and sea, life and decay, climbed to her window like the rose vines in a fairy tale.
She stared down at the foaming sea, a discontent inside her as cold and sharp as the wind blowing through the un-paned windows.
She pulled her velvet robe, a relic of a fifteenth-century queen, around her. Not for warmth, but for the comfort of its rich texture. She had hoped being here in Sanctuary, among her own kind, would still the restlessness that had roiled her these past three
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