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breathlessly as her strength waned. Her voice grew hoarse, and her head lolled to one side as she watched Eirik and Sven tend to the most severely injured crewmen.
    Those who could still row took up their oars once more. The jagged shores of an uninhabited sliver of their homeland drifted into view. Branwyn blinked once, twice, as the horizon blurred. If only she could hold on to the blessed circle of light until they reached the shelter of the nearest rocky inlet. If only...
    Blackness descended.

THE CHOICE
    “B RANWYN, come back to me!” A hoarse baritone uttered a string of oaths. “There was no need to spend yourself down to the last drop for us, lass. Sven, I swear if she does not wake up soon, I shall go mad.”
    Eirik’s voice drifted over her with an urgency she’d never heard from him before. Hands stroked her face and arms, eliciting a sparkling shower of lights behind her eyelids and a trail of want and need that ached from her fingertips to her toes.
    Branwyn sucked in a lungful of air and tried to sit up. “Eirik,” she gasped. “Are you hurt?”
    Hands pressed her shoulder blades down onto a bed of soft, thick furs. Anxious blue eyes and a clenched square jaw swam into view.
    “Eirik,” she said again, wonderingly this time. “You are here, and you are well.” Her chest fell on a breathy sigh. What a welcome sight his shredded tunic and half-bared chest was. “I feared—” Her voice broke, and she raised a trembling hand to cup the bruised yet beautiful face that bent over hers. Never had anyone or anything been so dear to her.
    “You are awake,” he choked and covered her hand on his cheek with his scraped and callused one.
    He turned his head slightly. “She lives!” he announced. “Our Branwyn is awake at last.” A male cheer rose. Men surged forward and crouched around her. Several wore slings, and bandages dotted their hands and faces. Alf sported an eye patch.
    Branwyn wondered if all the crewmen had survived, but it would take a few minutes to work up the strength to ask. Her heart was still beating too weakly in her chest over the memory of the lookout sailor sagging over the railing in the crow’s nest. Her breath hitched anew as she fought to block the image of Alf struggling with the same dark mermaid. The leader of the mer creatures had to be a spawn of the devil himself to take so much pleasure in causing such pointless destruction.
    Sven hunkered down on his knees beside her. “I’ve some soup for you, lass, as soon as you feel up to eating.” His wide face was drawn with worry.
    A rare chuckle escaped as she admitted, “I am famished, my friend.” And suddenly she was. A hunger like she’d never known before clawed at the walls of her belly. “Help me, up,” she whispered to Eirik.
    Despite Sven’s protests, Eirik gently grasped her shoulders. Raising her, he drew her against his chest. Warm desire flooded her, but she only had the strength to rest her cheek against his shoulder. For a moment, all she could do was breath, glorying in his scent and strength and nearness.
    A sudden thought had her tensing. She anxiously patted the pocket of her pinafore and was relieved to feel the poke of the elder wood wand tucked inside. Nay, ’twas more than tucked. ’Twas tied by a length of string to her wrist. A new layer of warmth washed over her at the knowledge that these men understood how precious and vital the wand was to her.
    Smoke wafted over her. Lifting her head, Branwyn smiled at the sight of the fire in the center of their gathering. There was hard packed earth beneath her and a protective circle of trees curling like a canopy over the small clearing. Mild gusts of wind sent a cloud of red and gold leaves swirling down upon them. The sun filtered through the branches directly overhead marking high noon, providing just the right amount of warmth to take the bite out of the air.
    Branwyn tipped her face up to soak in the sun’s rays. “Where are we