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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 weeks.

    She had been wrong. Even the smooth fabric against her skin failed
    to soothe the itch inside her.

    She did not belong here, in the court of the sea king’s son, where
    considerations of pair bonds and politics lurked behind every smile and
    ambushed every conversation. She did not seek another mate. She did not
    care about court intrigue. Better to have stayed in the isolation of the sea,
    in the independence of her own territory.

    Hurry back, the man had said.

    The thought disturbed her.

    She turned from the window.

    No rug covered the smoothly fitted flagstones under her feet. No fire
    burned beneath the massive mantle. The chandelier suspended from the
    beamed and painted ceiling held no candles. Unlike the children of the
    earth, selkies did not mine or make, grow or spin. Caer Subai