Sea Fever (14 page)

was a line of dark spruce and then the shore, black rock breaking white

water, and then the ocean glimmering as far as the horizon, the white

caps’ plumes running before the wind like the horses of Llyr.

The wind drummed in Dylan’s ears. Doubt ate at his heart.

He was not anyone’s choice to stand against the power of Hell. He

should summon a warden, send for instructions, ask for advice.

Assuming Conn would hear and answer.

Assuming help would come in time.

The wind snickered, snatching at Dylan’s clothes and hair. The

waves raged like his heart.

He didn’t need this. He didn’t want her. He had witnessed firsthand

the wreck of his parents’ marriage, the tangled net of love and obsession

and resentment that had dragged his mother from the sea. He would never

give a woman that kind of power over him.

That did not mean he could not use his own power to find Regina.

To save her.

He had always been adept at small magics. He could summon a

wave, a woman, a breeze. For convenience, for amusement, for spite. But

no significant outcome, no significant other, had ever depended on his

skill before.

“You try being responsible for somebody besides yourself sometime,

and we’ll talk.”

Indeed.

The cross was in his hand. He spread his arms against the wind,

annoyed to notice his hands trembling.

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He gazed down on the sea, polished and pocked as a sheet of

hammered silver. The waters of the ocean ran through him, his mother’s

blood, his mother’s gift. The magic of the ocean was his birthright.

He planted his feet on the rock. He stretched his arms, opened his

mind, and invited the sea in.

Power rose like fog from the surface of the water, moist, heavy. He

felt it envelope him, stream over him and into him, pour down his throat

like wine and pool in his loins like lust. His mind spun as the power

surged, seeking an outlet. It filled him to overflowing; spilled from his

throat on a cry: “Regina.”

So he called her, by her name and by his knowledge of her, her flesh

and her spirit, and by the power of the totem in his hand.

Regina.

The wind in the trees replied. A bird soaring over the waters replied.

The quickening of his own heart answered him.

Clenching his hand on the burning gold of the cross, Dylan plunged

from the sunlit hill and into the shadow of the trees. He was already

loosening his belt when he reached the shore.

* * *

Regina stumbled in the dark, at the limits of her strength, driven by

terror and the rising water. The cold current dragged and hissed at her

knees, soaked her jeans, weighted her sneakers. If she took off her shoes,

she would cut her feet. If she didn’t take them off, she could drown.

A whimper escaped her. She set her teeth. She couldn’t drown. She

had to get home to Nick. Oh, Ma, I’m so sorry. Nick . . .

She had to keep her head above water. She had to find the chamber’s

highest point. If only she could see. She sloshed through icy water,

patting and slapping the cave ceiling, her fingers like frozen sausages.

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The ceiling rose away from the wall. She followed its slope, dazed

with cold, disoriented in the dark, her fingers fumbling, sliding, touching .

. . nothing.

She bit back a scream. There was a— She groped. A hole overhead.

She patted. A passage, a chimney in the rock, wider than her shoulders,

wider than her whole body, on a level with her wrists. Her heart pounded.

If she could pull herself up there, if she could climb . . .

She scrabbled at the edges of the hole, clawing frantically at the

rock. Stones dislodged, sliding and striking her head and shoulders. The

water lapped and sucked at her legs. She jumped, grabbed, and slid.

Jumped and slid. Jumped, grabbed, and caught a handhold in the passage

above.

Her arms screamed. Her shoulders protested. She hung there for long

moments, a dead weight with battered, bleeding hands. Her feet dangled

in the water. She felt it churning around her ankles, cold, cold, coming for

her. Her breath sobbed. Come on, come on. Think of Ma; think of Nick.

She kicked with her feet, twisting like a kid in gym class under the pull-up bar. Please oh please oh please oh . . .

Up. She scraped her elbow, wedged her ribs on the edge of the hole.

Her blood drummed in her ears. She did it. She made it. She was gasping,

huffing, sweating, although she couldn’t move her fingers or feel her toes.

She pulled in her stomach, struggled to bring her knee up—

And fell.

A cry ripped from her broken throat, a squawk of rage and despair.

No.

Cold water, cold, closing over her head.

She thrashed, flailing at the water, bumping her hip, her knees, her

elbow against the rocks.

The rocks. She located bottom; pushed off, dragging her feet under

her; and stood in water up to her waist.

Water streamed from her hair, streamed in her eyes. She drew great,

gasping, shuddering breaths, wrapping her arms around her waist as if she

could hold in her heat, hold herself together.

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She shivered violently, her teeth clacking together. It wasn’t fair,

goddammit. Nick was growing up without a father. He needed his

mother.

She could not control her shaking. She stretched her arms over her

head and groped again for the edge of the chimney. Had Jericho brought

her down this way? Loweredher down? How much time had she wasted

feeling her way in the dark?

She was disoriented, dizzy from her fall. The water was deeper. She

set her teeth and waded, feeling the rock ceiling overhead.

Something brushed against her leg. A rock. She ignored it. Again.

Something large and long and low, moving fast through the water. The

surface churned.

She screamed and stumbled backward, windmilling her arms for

balance. Oh, God, oh, no, oh—

“Regina.” Dylan’s voice, warm in the dark.

She was hearing things, imagining things. Nick’s face. Her mother’s

voice . . .

She turned her head wildly, frightened, freaked out, straining her

eyes against the blackness. Her teeth chattered.

“Regina?” Closer now, questioning.

She was losing her mind. She was losing it.

Something touched her shoulder. She jerked and struck out.

Whatever, whoever it was, simply pulled her close, trapping her

sluggish, useless arms between them, wrapping her in a strong, warm

embrace, murmuring, “It’s all right now. It’s all right.”

Dylan’s voice. Dylan’s scent.

She was hallucinating. Had to be. But he felt solid and warm and

real against her, and she was cold, so cold, and alone. She buried her face

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against his chest, wet and slippery smooth, burrowing against him. He

was strong and warm, close and . . . naked?

She jolted as he held her, as he stroked her hair. “Where—” Her

voice was a croak. She coughed and tried again. “Clothes?”

He was silent.

Maybe she’d offended him.

Maybe he wasn’t there. Like her mother. Like Nick.

“Sorry. Dumb question. My fantasy,” she babbled, holding on to

him. Don’t leave me alone. “Why wouldn’t you . . . be naked?”

“Regina.” His voice was shaken with laughter or something else.

“Are you all right?”

“Lost . . . my mind.” The words ripped her throat. “Unless . . . you’re

here?”

“I’m here.” His voice flowed over her, deep and reassuring. “You’re

fine. We’re going to get you out.”

Her head wobbled. She let it drop against his chest. The relief of

having someone here, someone warm to lean on, was unspeakable.

“How?”

“We’re going to swim through the tunnel.”

His words roused her to doubt. If he were really here, if he were

really real, wouldn’t he be wearing . . . Her confused mind stumbled

among options. Diving equipment?

“How did . . . you find me?”

Another moment of silence. “It doesn’t matter.”

He sounded like her mother. Her dreams of her mother. But maybe

that didn’t matter either.

“Regina.” His tone was sharper now.

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Her arms were tight around his waist, absorbing his warmth. “Mm?”

“We need to go. You need to hold on to me.”

He was so warm. If he were a figment of her imagination, would he

feel so warm?

“Am holding you,” she slurred.

“Not like that.” He broke the circle of her arms, makingher murmur

in protest, her body bereft at the loss of his heat.

She heard splashing and then he thrust something into her hand.

Wet, soft, flowing . . .

Seaweed? She pulled her hand away.

He caught her wrist; forced it back to the thing between them.

Her fingers splayed. Flexed. “What . . . ?”

“A sealskin. I need it to take you through the tunnel.” She stroked

the wet fur. She could not feel an end to it in the dark.

“— go underwater,” he was saying. “Not a long way, but it will be

quicker if I Change. Can you hold on?”

Her limbs felt too heavy to move. Her fingers were fat and numb.

Regina took a deep breath and thought of Nick. Hold on. She just had to

hold on a little longer.

She nodded, forgetting Dylan couldn’t see her in the dark.

“Good girl,” he said, taking her cooperation for granted. “This way.”

He put his arm around her waist to lead her forward. And maybe he

could see after all, she thought dazedly, because he guided her without

any trouble deeper and deeper into water up to her breasts. Up to her

neck. She began to shake against his arm, hard, deep tremors that hurt her

bones. She was so cold now that the water felt warmer than the air, but

she felt its pressure in her chest as if she were already underwater. Her

womb contracted. He was taking her into the water. Under the water. She

couldn’t breathe.

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She stopped, her hands curling protectively over her stomach.

“It’s all right,” Dylan said.

“I’m not . . .” But she was afraid. Horribly afraid. “The baby.”

“Baby,” he said without inflection.

She didn’t, couldn’t, answer him. She stood there, her teeth

chattering, shaking like a dog in the dark.

He turned her into his body. His fingers stroked her cheek. He

cupped her face in his hands. Was he going to kiss her? Now? Why not?

She wanted him to. Either he was here— the only man who had ever

showed up when she needed him— or she was dreaming. Let him kiss her

before the water took her.

His breath skated over her eyelids, over her lips, hot, drugging, salty

sweet. She stood a little on tiptoe, wanting to be closer to him, but he

slipped away. She felt the sealskin again, in the water between them,

moving with the current, heavy against her legs.

“Hold on,” he said.

And then he was gone.

She cried out in shock and loss, reaching for him, stretching her arms

through the black water. The sealskin flowed under her hands, thick, soft,

fluid. Her fingers curled reflexively. Hold on. His voice? Hers?

The pelt rolled with the water, assuming weight and form, muscle

and mass. Her hands dug deeper in its folds. It was huge. Warm. Pulsing

with life. The sleek fur glided under and against her like a dog nudging

for attention. A really big dog. She caught her breath at the feel of the

solid body under her hands, and it pulled her off her feet and under the

water.

A confused rush filled her ears, filled her head. She couldn’t think.

She barely had time to be afraid. She was weightless, warm, buoyed up

and supported by the powerfulbody surging under hers, by the water

streaming and bubbling over and around her. Her mind churned. Her grip

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tightened. The darkness grew gray and then gold and then erupted in

dazzling light.

Sunset spilled over the rocks, and Regina sprawled beached on a

block of granite with the day going down in banners of pink and gold on

the horizon and a massive thing . . . shape . . . warm, black, sleek . . .

beside her. She blinked. Gasped. Raised her head. Pushed up on her

elbows.

A violent fit of coughing seized her. Helpless, she heaved, spasms

squeezing her chest. Her head exploded. Her lungs rattled. Tears leaked

from her eyes.

When she forced her lids open again, Dylan knelt naked at her side,

and the sealskin lay empty on the rocks.

She passed out.

* * *

“You can go in now,” the doctor said.

Finally. Dylan stood.

He hadn’t known when he carried Regina into the clinic that he