Daybreak (21 page)
Fabric tangled over her head. She whipped off her cloak and lost it to the current. Fighting for calm, she concentrated on the glimmers of magic. On one boat was Zhara’s, a pale green. On the other she found Reynard’s light brown cast, like very dry soil.
As long as she could see them, she could find the surface again.
But she was too distant now. Too far to swim for it. The shore was her only answer.
Where was Tru? She searched for that familiar ripened wheat aura—the same color as his lion’s fur.
She kicked hard. Then harder still. Fatigue set into her muscles in the form of a seizing cramp. Her legs shuddered, losing coordination. Air turned toxic in her lungs. She burned from the inside out.
With all her strength, she sent out a mental shout. Hopefully she could reach Zhara and Reynard.
Go now, get to safety!
She broke the surface. A huge gulp of air righted her dizzy brain. She bellowed Tru’s name before sinking back down. The urge to open her mouth and inhale was nearly overpowering. Salt water filled her mouth.
Conscious thought fizzled.
I teleported into the ocean. Not my smartest move.
I teleported into the ocean. Not my smartest move.
Hands grabbed beneath her arms. The unmistakable comfort of Tru’s aura enveloped her in a golden glow that held the darkness at bay.
He bobbed into view.
“The boats are leaving!” The downpour almost consumed his words.
With no time to explain, Pen threw an exaggerated gesture toward shore. “Swim!”
Never had the urge to give up dogged her harder. Years had passed since she’d pushed her body to such a limit. Each pull of arm over arm seemed to do nothing. The shore loomed just out of reach between the waves.
But Tru didn’t give up, which meant she sure as hell wouldn’t. The unfamiliar feeling that she worked beside an equal competitor egged her on. No one tested her as much as he did. No one pushed her as hard.
The calm she found felt like casting. She couldn’t look up or down. No rituals now. She drew power from the strength of each precious breath. Her thighs cramped and her lungs felt pounded by a boxer’s fists, all watery, bloody bruises.
Something brushed her foot. Another stroke . . . another touch, just against her toes.
The beach.
She dug deep for one last push. Walking first, then crawling, she hauled her weary body onto the sand. She curled over as her stomach balled like a fist. But she managed to keep from vomiting.
Tru collapsed next to her, his face turned toward the sky spitting fury. “What . . . the fuck . . . happened?”
Pen wanted to touch him, if only to reassure herself that they’d both survived. But cold and fatigue kept her still. She simply hugged the sand and waited for something to give—the storm or her will.
Eventually, as one, they stumbled to their feet. He reached for her hand. That simple gesture flayed her fear, revealing more steel beneath. Always more steel. She didn’t break, not when others depended on her.
For the moment she chose to pretend Tru needed her.
The beach was deserted. Lightning cast eerie flashes down its long, unbroken stretch. Tall waves bit at the shore like hungry mouths.
“This way,” she said, giving his hand a tug.
Just like when she’d been little. Always knowing where to go to find shelter.
She was hungry. So hungry. A whole evening’s worth of spells had left her depleted. Colorful spots that weren’t auras hovered in her line of sight.
“Are you sure? Pen, there’s nothing here!” The wind stole his words, but his expression revealed doubt.
With what felt like a smirk—although she didn’t have the energy for it—she nodded toward a rocky outcropping two hundred meters distant. Trees whipped on every side, but the ledge deflected the brunt of the storm. She knelt before the small opening.
“In we go,” she said.
She shimmied through the narrow gap between two boulders. Once inside, she realized that the structure was likely man-made. No way these chunks of granite had always been part of the beach.
Tru stuck his head in, but Pen felt it more than saw. The black was absolute. A hard shiver overtook her as he crawled inside.
“Lost my cloak,” she said, teeth chattering. She hunched into a ball. “I’ve had it for eight years.”
For some reason, that made Tru laugh. He collapsed on his back, his shoulder pressing against her hip. “We almost died.”
He curved onto his side and wrapped around her. After the first press of chilly cloth, she luxuriated in the deeper heat of his skin. The embrace felt right . . . easy. Arms and hands, legs and torsos—they curled into each other, both shivering from cold and exertion.
And fear.
Pen hadn’t been so afraid for her own safety for a long time. And to have Tru beside her was equal parts terrible and wonderful. She wanted him safe. Safe and gone, if need be. But always safe.
“What happened?” he whispered against her temple.
She told the story with as much detail as she could recall since the impression faded with time and sleep.
A growl rumbled out of Tru’s chest. “Someone was trying to kill you?”
“I couldn’t see, not exactly. But I felt his intent. He wanted me dead.” She shuddered, but not from the cold. “I don’t know if he’d have done it then. I panicked and ’ported.”
His hand on her upper arm went still. “I saw that. You were there—then not.”
“And the boats?”
“They just took off, dammit.”
“That was my decision. It’s okay.”
After describing the distress call she’d flung toward Zhara and Reynard, she tucked her forehead against his chest. She felt tiny compared to Tru. His heartbeat matched hers, still half frantic.
“Typical,” he said against her temple. “Are you ever selfish?”
“I have you here alone, don’t I?”
He ignored her attempt at flirtation. “Arturi put you up to this?”
The scorn in his voice rang stronger than she expected. She harbored her own doubts about her old friend’s motives, but Tru’s unspoken criticism made her feel defensive. As if she needed to protect Finn, or at least the memory of what he’d been to her.
“Arturi only wanted to prove to me that I could lead. I guess he was right.”
As the lightning crashed and the winds raged, she shared the essentials of the last two weeks on the island. Tru reciprocated with the details of his time at an . . . orphanage? She couldn’t concentrate.
“But the fact is someone tried to kill you,” Tru said. “Arturi went fishing for a traitor. In the process, he loses you and keeps a killer on the island. And no one will know so long as we’re stuck here.”
God, he smelled good. Even now, drenched in salt water, he was the man she remembered. Two weeks didn’t seem long in the scheme of a life. And she’d done her best to make that time productive. Moving on from him and what they’d shared. But the primal draw of his body was too much to ignore.
She burrowed into his arms. Her teeth scraped the skin along his upper chest. He groaned, tensed. For a second she thought he would push her away. Instead he found her buttocks and kneaded deep handfuls.
She was floating. Floating still. Like she was out on the waves.
“Pen?” The sharpness of her name dragged her out of that alluring darkness. “Pen, answer me.”
“Here.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
A sick fog crept over her thoughts. Nothing made sense.
“Morning,” she said. “Before the boat ride to the mainland. I couldn’t eat more. Stomach too jumbled.”
“And you used your magic all night long.” He gave her a little shake. “Pen?”
“Yes,” she repeated, the word slurring to a stop. “All evening.”
“Stay here.” He took his body away. His warmth.
Pen clutched after him in the darkness. “Tru! Where are you going?”
“Hunting.”
“The hell you are.” She grabbed his hand in the dark, holding it between her breasts. “You answer me the same question. When was the last time
you
ate?”
you
ate?”
His silence didn’t mean the little cave was quiet. Waves and wind snarled just outside. “Also this morning.”
“Best case, you manage to shift and go hunting. But you’ll be weak. And you’re still bleeding.”
Long fingers found her face. He framed her cheeks between his palms. The warmth of his breath touched her just before his lips. He offered a soft kiss. “And what would you have me do, hmm? Let us starve?”
“Let me heal you first.” She gripped his shoulders, deep into that lean muscle. He was impossibly solid, as if he could take a brick to the face and still grin. “You can hunt better. Be back here by morning.”
He hesitated. “I hate to leave you.”
“It’s that or we both slip into exhaustion. No food. No way to replenish our bodies.”
“You’ll freeze to death.” A panicky note she’d never heard from Tru edged into his voice.
Tru whipped off his clothes. Whatever he had, he piled on her in wet layers. “I’m going to go get food.”
“No, wait!” She wouldn’t let go of his hand. “One more kiss.”
Touching his way back, Tru found her mouth. She tunneled her fingers into his hair and clutched tightly. He was warm and vital and colored with that gentle golden glow. As always. And she needed him safe. She kindled the magic, but he broke away, glaring.
“Goddammit, Pen!” Lightning lit him from behind. “That’s not happening. And if you
ever
use magic on me again without my permission, we’re done. You owe me a fucking apology for last time.”
ever
use magic on me again without my permission, we’re done. You owe me a fucking apology for last time.”
“Sorry,” she murmured, feeling sleepy. “Nothing to lose now.”
If Tru replied as he crawled back out into the storm, Pen didn’t hear. She let the blackness have her.
TWENTY-TWO
Tru was furious.
His wounds weren’t serious, and he’d hunted under worse conditions. Shifting helped, accelerating the recovery period. But more than that, he was furious with her all over again . . . for what she’d done before he left camp and what she’d just tried to do again. It hinted at a lack of respect for his free will, and that would be a problem. No matter the tugs of attraction, he couldn’t be with someone who treated him that way.
Worry gnawed beneath his anger. They could deal with conflict once they were safe. She’d slip into a coma if he took too long, and that made his hands shake. He was the only thing standing between Pen and a slow death. People shouldn’t depend on him; it didn’t end well.
Not your fault,
the lion said.
the lion said.
Maybe not. But something didn’t have to be true to seem true.
Humans.
The lion radiated disgust.
Let’s hunt.
The lion radiated disgust.
Let’s hunt.
Outside the cave, he slid smoothly into animal form. Raindrops spattered his fur. He shook, disgruntled, but remembered his mate was denned up, weak with hunger. That explained why he wasn’t curled up beside her in the warm cave. He padded out over the sand, up toward the dunes covered in scrub. He sniffed, lifting his head into the wind.
Seawater, rotten vegetation, damp wood. Sand. In the distance, new scents beckoned. They made his mouth water, bright with temptation. He loped off, muscles limber. The lion let out a low rumble of pleasure that he was finally permitted to run, even if he didn’t belong on this windswept beach. Like Tru, he’d learned to adapt.
Waterfowl. Rabbit. Squirrel. Not big enough game, and the first were too hard to catch. Deer would be good, but he was too close to the ocean. The lion couldn’t range far. His female was starving.
He ran all the way to the distant trees, tracking a red scent, warm and delicious. The meat would be tangy on his tongue. His mouth watered.
The wild boar slept some ways off, tucked beneath the shelter of two intertwining trees. Ordinarily the lion would be wary of the huge creature with powerful tusks. But it lay quiet and unaware. Why would it expect to find a big cat hunting there? In the end, the fight was more like an execution. He crushed the boar’s throat with powerful jaws, and ate. No niceties, no time. He towed the rest of the carcass back to Pen. That took a little longer than his kill, and his mouth ached by the time he dropped the boar outside the cave.
Weak and dizzy, Tru shifted, dressed in his damp clothes, and went about gathering firewood. It wasn’t easy finding pieces dry enough to catch, but fortunately, the rocks had sheltered a few bits of wood at the base, perhaps blown in by a prior storm. The small pile wouldn’t last through the night, but he only needed to cook enough meat to take the raw off. Efficient despite his worry, he used one of Pen’s remaining knives to skin a portion of the boar and sliced the meat into strips.
More time trickled by as he struggled with the fire. Eventually he got the wood to catch and went to work. Because Tru had cut it thin for quick cooking, the meat was soon ready. Ducking down, he entered the cave and found Pen pale, far too still. His hands shook as he checked her pulse. Weak. Thready. But present. His head swam as he ate in desperate gulps. It wouldn’t help her if he passed out.
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