by Jami Gray
“Caught the last ferry in from Anacortes.”
The tension she fought so hard to lose came back in a heartbeat. For her maternal uncle to make an effort to come out did not bode well. Her hands tightened on her mug, and her jaw locked. It was difficult, but she managed to keep her voice level. “You can’t stay here.”
“Can’t leave until the morning ferry, and you choose the one spot without a hotel or B and B.”
Damn him. He was a master game player, one she had no hope of ever outmaneuvering. Why did she even try? She glared at him, but the effort was lost as he continued to stare out over the inky stain spreading across the waters. “Why are you here?” Each word escaped with a snap.
His head turned slowly until he faced her. The light spilling from the small cabin behind her and the last gasps of dusk brushed over his face, carving illusions of emotions she knew damn well he’d never show. “He’s coming back.”
Her heart stalled, then picked up a panicked pace. He was Gavin Durand, the man she led straight into a nightmare because she trusted the wrong person. A nightmare he was still fighting.
“You need to be there when he arrives.”
Guilt rushed in and wrapped choking hands around her throat. Under it, shame coursed. She turned back to the water and brought her shaking mug to her lips. The incoming storm clouds crept closer. Winds nipped over the water and curled around her, leaving the tea’s warmth useless against the chill in her veins. When the cruel grip of memories eased, she choked out, “I’ve done enough to him. He won’t want me there.”
“I want you there.” There was no give in her uncle’s voice.
“Is that an order from my Captain?” Because if it was, she could dance around his command, but not outright ignore it. She used up all her markers with her last stunt, and she wasn’t in a hurry to lose her position as one of the elite Wraiths. Her uncle ran the twelve member, highly secret, highly specialized team of Kyn who kept the nightmares from tearing through humans and Kyn alike. They were already down one man. If Gavin didn’t make it back completely, they’d be down two. Take her out of the equation and things would get dicey quick. The Kyn might not be as plentiful as the humans, but there were enough monsters out there to keep the Wraiths hopping.
“No, but I didn’t take you for a coward.”
There was no controlling her flinch as his words left a mark.
Mulcahy blew out a breath, and ran a hand over his jaw. “You can’t avoid him forever.” Then he muttered, “Correction, maybe you can, but it won’t do you or him any good.”
Bitter remorse rose, and her lips curled. “Says who?”
“The voice of experience,” he offered, wry amusement taking the edge off his answer. It unsettled her when he pulled shit like that, sounding as if he cared. Before she could respond, he kept going. “Things are going to get worse before they get better, and I’m not willing to lose anyone else because of it.” This time, all amusement had faded, leaving simple truth.
“How much worse?” Because if anyone could see the future, she wouldn’t put it past her uncle, one of the oldest, most secretive Kyn she’d ever met. She learned the hard way if he said something was barreling toward you, you had two choices—gear up or get gone. Personally she was all about the gearing up, not much sent her running. Except maybe facing Gavin.
The wind died. A deeper quiet flowed in to fill the void. Even the sound of water licking along the sand disappeared.
Into the silence, his voice emerged with a prophetic cadence. “Our world won’t stay in the shadows much longer. Humans have short memories. They’ve forgotten about our kind, and why we’re behind their fairy tales. Instead, they see only the results of our natures, and they fear what we are and the power we wield.” Thunder rumbled over the water, darkness taking over completely as the impending storm clouds pushed closer. The tide surged in with a hiss.
“Some want it,” she added, not that he needed the reminder.
He nodded. “We’ve managed to keep our presence from the general population, but it won’t last. When we’re finally exposed, we can’t afford to have divisions within our ranks. A cracked shield will shatter under the weight of fear and mistrust. The Wraiths can’t afford internal division, which means you need to suck it up and work with Durand. Sooner rather than later.”
Logically she understood where he was coming from, but she wasn’t ready. Not yet. No way could she mend that tear without first facing the rips bleeding inside her. “Why don’t we let him make the decision on when that moment should be? He deserves that much.”
Instead of agreeing, he studied her, as if seeing beneath skin and bone. “And in the meantime?”
Damn him for pressuring her, but she knew it was coming, knew she needed to do it. So she would give him this, instead of her promise to be there when Gavin returned. “In the meantime, I’ll work with Cheveyo.” Between the two men, Cheveyo, the intimidating witch and head of the Northwest Magi house, was the lesser of two evils.
He dipped his chin in acknowledgement and together they watched the storm crawl in.
Raine leaned against one of the porch’s posts as she stared into the storm-drenched darkness. Drizzle fell, easing from its earlier deluge, and the waves weren’t ravaging the cove’s edge so much as snapping at it. In the small two-room cabin behind her, Mulcahy slept. Or, at least, occupied a bed behind a closed door.
Sleep didn’t bother to visit her.
She stared out into the night, feet bare against the cold wood, jeans damp from the blowing precipitation, hands fisted inside the lined slicker keeping the weather’s edge away. She’d come here for peace, but his arrival had screwed that six ways to Sunday. So much for a vacation. Hell, she only wanted a break, but since he brought all the shit she was trying to leave behind along with his damn overnight bag, she was screwed on that front, too. She sighed.
Something moved out by the edge of the cove. A darker shadow against the night. Every sense on alert, she didn’t move, didn’t react, simply watched. Against the dark backdrop of the water and cloud-covered night sky, it was hard to determine who or what stumbled along the sand. The muttering of the waves almost drowned out a soft cry. She raced off the deck and crossed the distance before it faded. Sharp rocks and scattered driftwood bit at her bare feet, but didn’t slow her down.
As she closed in, the shape sharpened into a child. A very scared child crawling on her hands and knees at the edge of the water. Raine slowed, then stopped a few away, sinking into a crouch. Children weren’t her forte, but terror held this little girl in tight, merciless claws. It screamed from the big eyes peeking from behind tangled hair, and the tiny body shaking so hard, Raine worried she might shatter any second.
Instead of reaching out, Raine sank her hands into the sand in front of her and kept her voice soft. “Hey, there.”
The little one whimpered and ducked her head, curling her spine.
Seeing that sliced Raine deep, and she fought to keep her anger at whoever created such a reaction out of her voice. “Shhhhh, I’m not going to hurt you.” She continued to croon reassurances, calculating her best approach. Water crept up the sand, and washed over the girl’s wrists and knees. “It’s too cold for us to be here. Can you come inside with me?”
Instead of an answer, another shiver wracked the small body.
Shrugging out of her slicker, Raine inched closer, crooning nonsense, not wanting the child to bolt. Finally, she was close enough to lay her hoodie over the girl. On a vicious gust of wind a harsh, guttural cry whipped through the night, and Raine barely had time to brace as the little girl threw herself into Raine’s arms. The lined slicker acted as a blanket. Her face burrowed against Raine’s chest, muffling her raspy whimpers. Another brutal gust hit, and the fading rain took on new strength. Raine’s T-shirt didn’t stand a chance.
Gathering the girl close, Raine rose and dashed back to the cabin. She burst through the door, kicking it closed behind her. Away from the reemerging storm, the
sounds falling from the child’s mouth broke through the quiet, tearing through Raine’s normal stoic demeanor. They mixed with haunting memories of another girl and another time, and left both the woman and her armful shaking, lost in their separate nightmares.
“Raine?” Her uncle’s baritone curled around her. Warmth settled on her shoulders, dissipating the chill of the past and anchoring her in the present.
Mulcahy turned her.
She blinked, bringing him into focus.
A small frown furrowed his brow as he took in what she held. “Who’s this?”
Raine shook her head and reached for words. Finding none, she coughed and finally managed, “Not sure, but she was stumbling down the shore.”
Wind battered at the door, rattling the knob before knocking along the windows. Mulcahy looked out the dark pane of glass.
Raine caught an uneasy shadow crossing his face. “What?”
When he turned back the shadow was gone, probably just a trick of light. “I’ll grab a blanket from the bed. Take the child to the bathroom. No telling how long she was out there and we need to get her warm.”
Dipping her chin in acknowledgement, Raine followed him down the short hall. They split halfway down, her to the bathroom, him to his room. The girl’s trembling had slowed, but not stopped, so Raine sat on the edge of the porcelain tub and shifted the girl to one arm. With an arm free, she ran water in the tub, keeping the temp warm, but not too hot.
As the tub filled, Raine slipped from the tub’s edge to the floor. Better to be on solid ground when she unwrapped the little one. She finally managed to get the jacket off, uncovering shifting shades of brown and darker strands of…was that seaweed? Gently snagging a strand, she held it up. Yep, seaweed. Completely puzzled, she muttered, “Where did you get this?”
Another raspy whimper vibrated against her chest, and the tiny hands twisted in Raine’s wet T-shirt. The child’s quiet desperation tunneled devastating cracks under Raine’s emotional walls. “Hush little one, you’re okay. I’ve got you.” Her words were soft, her hands gentle as she began to untangle the child. A difficult maneuver as she kept trying to crawl into Raine’s lap. “Okay, kiddo, we have to get these wet things off you.”
Utilizing a rare patience, Raine divested the girl of the oversized slicker. As she held one small hand, she noticed a fine webbing between the delicate fingers.
A sound at the door, brought her head up as her arms gathered the girl protectively close. Her uncle stood in the doorway, blanket in hand. “Is she hurt?”
At the sound of his voice, the little body pressing against her shivered hard. Raine shook her head. “Not from what I can tell, but she’s scared out of her mind.”
He handed over the blanket. “Here, I’ll watch the door while you get her warm. Someone might be looking for her.”
Unable to quell her unsettling sense of unease, Raine murmured, “Don’t let them in.”
Instead of honoring that with a response, he simply arched an eyebrow.
“Right.” She set the blanket on the floor out of the way. The soft click of the bathroom door closing echoed through the bathroom as she grasped the girl’s shoulders and pushed back gently until there was room between them. She made shhing noises until the girl’s harsh breathing slowed, and the time between shudders lessened. When she was sure the child wouldn’t face plant against her chest, she adjusted her hold, one hand support the girl’s back, the other carefully moving the long, wet strands of hair back until she could see her face.
Deep pools of darkness stared back and Raine sucked in a sharp breath. What the hell? It wasn’t the swallowing black of fear, but as if the girl’s entire eye, including the sclera, were dipped into fathomless ink. “Selkie.” The word slipped out on a whisper.
Thick lashes drifted down, lifted, and thin fingers dug into Raine’s arms. “He took our skins.” Sorrow and fear added depth to the childish whimper. “Mama said to run. I ran.”
Locked deep where memories couldn’t hurt, the guilt under the last two words struck an old chord. Raine squeezed one small hand. “You did the right thing.” Needing a moment to recalculate her next step, she reached back and turned off the water. The tub was half-full.
Selkies shared much with their seal counterparts, such as an affinity for salt water versus fresh, which meant the bath may not be the best move. Better to let the child decide, than accidentally do more harm. “Bath or blanket, kiddo?”
With an unexpected lean, the little girl nabbed the blanket. Raine’s quick reflexes saved her from smashing face first on to the floor. It took a few moments to get her wrapped in the blanket, but once she was covered, she sat in Raine’s lap, still and watchful. As hard as it was to hold the little girl’s stare, Raine managed. Time for introductions. “My name is Raine, and the man who was just here, is my uncle.”
The girl dropped her chin, small white teeth nibbling her lower lip. Raine didn’t press, simply waited as the girl worked through the wisdom of sharing. It wasn’t long before her spine straightened with determination, and her head lifted, a bit of bravado adding a flush to her pale cheeks. “Maris.”
Raine’s lips twitched. Someone had a liking for Latin, since that was a direct translation of ‘sea’. “Maris, it’s nice to meet you.” Now came the hard part, finding out who the hell was after her. “Can you tell me what happened?”
With impeccable timing, another hard gust battered against the small window above the tub, and what little color Maris’s face held, seeped away. Her alien gaze snapped to the window even as she inched closer to Raine. “He’ll come for me.”
Cradling the back of Maris’s head, Raine tucked her close, the soft blanket brushing her jaw while Maris’s jagged breathing sent warm puffs over her skin. “He’ll have to go through my uncle and me, sweetie.”
“He’s meaner than a sea snake. Even daddy says so.”
From the quaver in her voice, sea snakes were her epitome of fearsome. “Right then, so we’ll just have to be extra careful.”
Shifting the girl’s weight, Raine tightened her hold and got to her feet, not that she had to hold on too tight. With her arms and legs locked around Raine, Maris could give an octopus a run for its money. “We’re going to go into the front room so you can tell your story. Then we’ll figure out what we’re going to do next, okay?” Because if anyone knew how to deal with a traumatized Selkie child, her uncle would.
Maris nodded without lifting her head. Raine walked down the short hall to the front room to find Mulcahy, arms crossed over his chest, shoulder braced on the frame of the front window, frowning into the blind surface. Taking in his position and the raging storm outside, Raine chided, “Really think that’s a good place to stand, Mulcahy?”
He turned away from the glass and watched as she settled on the couch with Maris. “I’d rather know who’s coming up my steps than wait for them to barge in.”
He pushed off the wall and walked over, his attention focused on the little girl huddled in Raine’s lap. He slowed, then crouch in front of them until his face was level with Maris’s. The hard lines of his face eased, and a spark of wonder crept in. He held out his hand. “Hello, love.”
Stunned by the rarely heard gentleness in Mulcahy’s voice, Raine could only blink and wonder who had replaced the ruthless son of a bitch she knew and tolerated with this man.
In her lap, Maris untangled a hand from the blankets and took his larger one. “Hi.”
Raine was mesmerized as Mulcahy carefully brushed his thumb along the back of Maris’s hand. “What are you doing so far from home?”
For the first time in years, the musical lilt of Ireland whispered through his voice, bringing an unexpected ache to Raine’s chest. She remember that voice, so long ago, trying to ease her tears. Funny how she’d forgotten that. Memories of her mother’s laugh and her uncle’s teasing banter crowded close. Biting the inside of her cheek hard, she shoved it back. Not the time or the place to deal with such things.
“
This is Maris,” her voice came out choked. “Maris, my uncle, Mulcahy.”
“Ryan,” he corrected never looking away from the little girl. “Easier for younger tongues.” He let go of her hand and settled on the floor in front of them, his back resting against the coffee table, one arm resting on a bent knee. “What’s a young lady like you, doing out so late, young Maris?”
Maris’s head turned back to look at Raine, the movement causing the blanket to fall around her shoulders. Those solid black eyes should be difficult to read, but Raine caught the little girl’s question. Offering a small smile, she dipped her chin in encouragement.
Maris turned back to Mulcahy, and blew out an audible breath. “Mom and me came to visit the sisters and play with the llamas. We weren’t going to stay long, just a little while, because daddy’s coming home today and mom needed some vegetables from the market for dinner. We were getting ready to head back, but he was there.” Her tiny shoulders hunched and her voice got soft. “He had our skins. He wouldn’t give them back, and he…” Her voice trailed off as a shudder wracked her body.
Raine’s stomach dropped, as image after horrific image raced through her mind. While Selkies could walk on land for short periods of time, they needed their skins to survive. If some man held them hostage, there’s no telling what Maris’s mother was enduring for her daughter’s safety.
She wrapped her arms around Maris’s waist, tugging her back so she’d feel safe. She rested her cheek against the damp strands of Maris’s hair, the tang of salt water biting her nose. She didn’t want to ask, but they needed to know. “He, what, sweetie?”
A harsh sob escaped the little girl and Mulcahy’s hand curled into a tight fist, even as Raine held her closer.
“He hit mom, over and over until she couldn’t get up.” Maris lifted her face, tears streaming over rounded cheeks. “She was hurt bad, and I couldn’t help. She told me to run, so I did. I shouldn’t have left her, but I was so scared. Daddy’ll be mad I left her.”
