by Anne Stuart
And then he'd abandoned her.
She didn't think he knew she was standing there, and she was in no particular mood to alert him, when he spoke without looking up. "Someone left the key turned on," he said in a cool, emotionless voice. "The battery was run way down, but I should be able to get it working. I'm going to have Willie drive you into town."
"You can't."
He raised his head to look at her then. The same, exquisitely beautiful face, the same haunted eyes. She didn't know how to reach him, and she was beyond trying.
"You have to leave, Katie," he said, his voice tight and controlled. "I can't give you anything you need, surely you can see that? The sooner you get out of here, the better. Willie's a decent driver—he'll get you into town…"
"Willie's dead."
He just stared at her. "He can't be," he said flatly.
"Oh, he is, all right." Katie's voice was high-pitched, bordering on hysteria, but there was nothing she could do about it. "He was dragging me upstairs, telling me all about the horrible things he was going to do to me, how he was going to kill me, when your parents terrified him into falling down the flight of stairs. He smashed his skull in, among other things. He's very dead."
"My parents," he echoed, staring at her.
"Mrs. Marvel is looking for us. She's going to kill both of us if she can."
"Unless my parents conveniently decide to stop her, as well?" O'Neal murmured in a dry, disbelieving voice. "Don't do this, Katie. I don't know whether what you're saying are lies or pathetic fantasies, I only know that Mrs. Marvel wouldn't hurt a living soul, and there are no such things as ghosts."
"No such things as creatures who change from man to beast at will, either?" she asked him.
He didn't even blink. "I'll drive you to town myself," he said. "You need to get away from this place, and then you'll realize how ridiculous all of this is."
"She's not going anywhere."
Mrs. Marvel's down-East voice was as warm and cozy as ever. She was standing at the far end of the garage, her tightly bound gray hair mussed from the incessant wind, her flowered rayon housedress soaked with rain. And blood.
She held a gun in her hand, a large, nasty one. And she looked very dangerous indeed.
O'Neal straightened slowly, staring at her through the murky light, staring at the gun. "Mrs. Marvel…" he said.
"Willie's dead, you know," Mrs. Marvel said. "That bitch probably told you already, but you probably didn't believe a word she said. You don't have much sense when it comes to the real world, O'Neal. You don't seem to realize how it operates. Money rules."
"Money?"
"That's why I'm here. That's why my boy and I have always been here. You bring in treasures and we remove the best of them. But you're not going to be bringing up more jewels from the sea, are you? And my boy's dead. She killed him."
"It was the ghosts…"
"Shut your face!" Mrs. Marvel hissed. "Don't you be giving me none of your lies. I've lived with that idiot boy of mine, telling me his stupid tales of sea creatures and such. I'm not going to start hearing about ghosts, as well."
"I didn't kill Willie, Mrs. Marvel," Katie said urgently, knowing that gun was pointed directly at her now. "I'm so sorry…"
"I'm not. He's been a trial to me for the last twelve years, more trouble than he was worth. But you've taken care of that, haven't you? I don't have to worry about anyone anymore." She chuckled, so softly the sound barely carried over the screaming wind.
"What are you going to do with us?" O'Neal hadn't moved from behind the car, and he seemed almost unnaturally calm in the face of murder.
"Kill you, of course. You're going to take a nice walk to the cliffs and jump over, the pair of you. At least you'll get to die in each other's arms, like Romeo and Juliet. Until the sea tears you away from each other." She laughed again. "I'll have to do something about dragging Willie's body down there, as well, but I'll wait till this storm passes. He always was a big boy, and I don't fancy trudging out in the rain."
"But the storm will wash any traces of blood away," O'Neal pointed out helpfully.
"True enough. But no one's going to be coming out here checking on things. You've made it clear that no one's welcome. I'll go into town next week for supplies, same as usual, and tell them everything's just fine. And then I'll take my own sweet time, packing up whatever's handy, before I leave this place for the good life."
"Which you so richly deserve," O'Neal murmured.
"I could shoot you now," Mrs. Marvel snarled.
"Then you'd have to drag me to the cliffs."
"I could leave you here to rot. As a matter of fact, I don't see why I don't do it…"
"If we drown there won't be evidence of foul play, and they'll be less likely to come after you," O'Neal said casually. "If the authorities find bullet-riddled corpses they're going to start wondering what happened to you, and they're going to be making a real effort to find you."
"Ah, you're a clever man, O'Neal," Mrs. Marvel murmured. "I hope you don't think you have a chance in hell of surviving out there. It's a fullblown hurricane. You'll drown, and your girlfriend with you, and chances are they'll never find what's left of your bodies."
"But if they do, wouldn't it be better if we didn't have any bullet holes in us?" he persisted.
"Much better." She gestured with the gun. "Come along, then. It's been a busy morning, and I haven't had my second cup of coffee. Let's finish this so I can relax."
Katie stared at her with horrified fascination. "What about Willie?"
Mrs. Marvel smiled at her. "He won't be needing any coffee, dearie."
Katie stood frozen, unable to move, when O'Neal came up beside her and took her hand in his. His skin was cold, as well, but the strength of his grip took her out of her sickened torpor to look up at him.
"It'll be all right," he said gently.
Mrs. Marvel's coarse laugh echoed through the garage. "That it will, dearie. You'll be in a better place than this vale of tears. Come along with you." And she gestured ahead of her with the gun.
Katie walked with O'Neal, taking odd comfort in the tight grip of his hand, and she didn't flinch when he pushed open the door. The wind caught it and flung it back against the building, filling the stall with the hurricane's fury.
"There's a banshee out there, Mrs. Marvel," he said, raising his voice above the noise of the storm.
"What's that?"
"A creature of the dead. She comes to collect lost souls, and she wails outside the windows where death comes calling."
"Then she's come to the right place," Mrs. Marvel replied tartly. "She'll have her hands full with Willie and the two of you. I don't imagine she'll want to waste her time with a sweet, harmless old woman like me. Keep moving."
They could barely stand beneath the force of the wind. O'Neal put his arm around her, pulling her tight against his body, and headed out into the storm, and Katie had no choice but to stay with him. Within the shelter of his body she couldn't see Mrs. Marvel, she could only hope the fierce wind would grab her squat, evil body and toss her into the ocean, but she doubted providence would be that kind. Mrs. Marvel was firmly of this earth, and it would take more than a hurricane to blow her vicious presence away.
She could feel the beat of his heart next to her face, rapid but steady. Beneath the cold and wet she could feel the warmth of him, the strength of him, and it brought her an irrational sense of peace. She wanted to call out to the ghosts, but she didn't say a word. What could they do? Mrs. Marvel wouldn't be frightened into falling as her son had. Mrs. Marvel wouldn't even see them.
Katie tripped, almost sprawling in the mud, but O'Neal caught her, pulling her up again, his hands strong and gentle. She couldn't even see his face through the blinding sheets of rain, she could only duck her head and cling to him as they made their endless trek to the sea.
Suddenly he stopped, gripping her tightly, and she felt his hand on her hair, pushing it away from her rain-soaked face.<
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She had the momentary hope that Mrs. Marvel had lost her way, had tripped and fallen beneath the force of the wind. And then she heard the roar.
The sea was like an angry beast, hungry for human sacrifice. The noise of it was deafening, terrifying, and she looked up at him in despair, knowing his face was the last thing she would see.
He cupped her face with his hands and put his mouth against hers. "I love you," he said. "Trust me."
She couldn't hear those words beneath the howl of the storm, but she heard them in her heart, and she nodded blindly.
Mrs. Marvel was screaming at them, the words swallowed by the wind, and there was the crack of a gun being fired. O'Neal wrapped his arms around Katie, wrapped his body tightly against hers.
And together they went over the cliff, down, down, into the mouth of the hungry sea.
She couldn't breathe, but it didn't matter. Water surrounded her: icy, icy water, slapping at her, dragging at her, and she was alone. The cruel storm had ripped O'Neal away from her clinging arms, and she was alone in the ocean, and she was going to die.
It was so cold. So very cold and black, and she knew she should simply swallow that water and give in. Fighting would only prolong it. What had Fiona told her—drowning was a peaceful way to go? This didn't seem the slightest bit peaceful, it was cold and terrifying and she didn't want to die.
Something brushed past her, and she hit at it in terror. It knocked against her again, thrown against her by the force of the storm, and she struggled.
Don't fight it. Fiona's voice, in her head. Put your arms around him.
Around whom? She couldn't even see in the blackness of the sea, but this time when the large object knocked against her she didn't fight back, she reached out.
It was the seal, sleek and strongly muscled. And she wrapped her arms around his neck, barely realizing what she was doing. A moment later they had reached the surface, and she took in deep, painful gulps of air, choking as the waves sent more water down her throat.
He was a strong swimmer, her seal, but the force of the hurricane was powerful, too, and she wondered whether they would die together. She tried to see how far from shore they were, whether there was any chance they could make it back to safety, but through the sheets of rain things looked strange, ravaged, and she had no sense of where they were.
Hold tight to him, Fiona said. And Katie held on. Tightly. Trusting. Knowing who it was.
The noise around her was deafening. The scream of the wind tore at her, and she wanted to close her eyes and scream, as well, when a new noise, deep and thunderous, rose above the wail of the storm.
She looked up, just in time to see the sharp jut of land collapse into the sea with a roar so powerful that the very ocean shook with it, taking the house and everything with it. The wave of water caught them and hurtled them beneath the surface again, rolling over and over, and all she could do was cling to her seal, bury her face against his wet, sleek hide and hold on.
Time disappeared. The icy water had taken her beyond pain, beyond numbness, into a strange shadow world of fog and ice. Her mind barely functioned, and she was grateful. She knew his body was strong and powerful, and she knew that she had to keep her arms locked around his neck, no matter what. If she did nothing else, she had to somehow keep her grip, even when she could no longer feel her hands, her arms, feel any part of her body but the warm animal hide of the seal beneath her.
He would take care of her, and she would let him. This time she couldn't save herself, she had to let go and allow someone else to take the burden. She had to give herself to him, more deeply than she had last night. Last night she had given him her body. Today, in the cold dark death of the storm-chased ocean, she gave him her soul.
She dreamed. She thought she must have died. All around her the sea grew more peaceful, and roses seemed to float beside her. It was darker than ever, and while the waves still slapped at her, her head was now sheltered from the incessant rain. She could hear it in the distance, but she was protected now, and she sighed, ready to release her death grip, ready to sink beneath the icy waves and dream forever.
His nose was cold, wet and whiskery as it jabbed into her back, and she opened her eyes in shock as she started to slip beneath the surface. They were in some sort of cave, and the seal was nudging her, no, shoving her, toward a shallow ledge just above the rising water.
She used the last of her energy to swim to the rim, clinging to it with numb hands. But there was no way she would be able to pull herself up onto it.
Her frozen hands slipped, and she went under the water, coming back up sputtering. "I can't," she said.
The seal was barely a foot away from her, floating in the icy water with effortless grace, watching her. There was no censure in his eyes, just patience.
She tried again, scraping her hands along the sharp rock as she slid back down. She wanted to cry, but she was past that, and she didn't want to die sniveling like a baby, like a weak, helpless ninny.
She turned and looked at the seal. She could drown, and he would drown with her. She knew he would. It was almost impossible for a seal to drown—they could stay underwater for ages—but this one would manage it. If she didn't do something to get herself out of the death-grip of the icy sea.
She looked into his feral eyes. "Help me, Jamie," she said, her voice hoarse from the salt water. "Get me out of here."
A moment later he disappeared beneath the dark, churning water, smooth and graceful. And gone.
He erupted beneath her, and her body exploded from the water as the seal's bunched muscles propelled her. She landed on the stone ledge, hard, banging her hip and knee, smashing her elbow, and she didn't care. She was free from the sucking stranglehold of the carnivorous ocean, and all she could do was cling to the solid rock and weep.
Chapter Sixteen
« ^ »
It was a long time before she realized he was there, sitting at the far end of the narrow ledge. A pile of wet clothes lay on the ledge beside him, but he was naked, his head buried in his arms.
She barely had enough strength to pull herself upright, and she was afraid he would ignore her. The water was lapping close to the edge of the stone shelf, and it narrowed and led off deeper into the cave, into water and darkness, with no visible escape. As far as Katie could see, they hadn't cheated death. They'd only postponed it.
It was quiet in the cave, hushed and still. O'Neal lifted his head to look at her, and even in the darkness she could see the wariness in his eyes.
She wanted to touch him, to cross the few feet that separated them, but there was an invisible shield around him, keeping her away. So she had to make do with words.
"How?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking with the cold. "How could it be possible?"
He didn't pretend to misunderstand her. He simply shook his head. "I don't know. No one knows. It doesn't happen very often. Every fourth or fifth generation one of us is born, and there's no warning, no reason. Just the curse of the sea, visited on the dark O'Neals."
"Curse?" she echoed, shivering. "I'd think of it more as a gift."
She might as well have told him she was the Virgin Mary. He stared at her in astonishment. "Gift?" he echoed in disbelief.
"Of course," she said. "We'd both be dead right now if it weren't for your gift and the fact that Mrs. Marvel is too unimaginative to believe in such things."
"It didn't do my family any good."
"Oh, Jamie," she cried. "It did. It kept you alive, to love and remember them. To go on with your own life. You couldn't save them, but you saved me. Twice. I don't imagine they'd think it a fair trade…"
He lifted his head to look at her through the dim light, and he smiled faintly. "And what does my ghostly family have to tell you about that?"
Fiona's voice danced in her head. This is the way it's supposed to be, Katie. Whether we like it or not, this is what's right. You're the one he'll spend
his life with, grow old with, ha
ve babies with. We're long dead, and it's past time he let us go.
She was shaking from the cold so hard she thought her bones would rattle through her skin. "They say it's all right," she said. Except that the words came out shattered with her uncontrollable shivering.
He crossed the narrow ledge to her. "I know," he said. "Deep in my heart, I know."
"Are we going to die?"
"No." His voice was firm.
"People die from hypothermia, you know," she said between her chattering teeth.
"You won't. I'll warm you." He began unfastening the buttons on her sodden shirt, and she stared at him in disbelief as he slowly, methodically stripped the clothes away from her. His hands were warm against her icy skin.
"You think this will help?" she gasped, as the cold air hit her wet skin.
His smile was slow and utterly mesmerizing. "I can think of only one way to warm you. I'll simply have to make the ultimate sacrifice and make love to you."
"No," she said, panicked, as he reached for the fastening of her jeans.
He paused, looking up at her. "No?"
"I can't do it," she said in her shivery, miserable voice. "I can't have sex with you again. I can't make love with a man who doesn't love me, even to save my life."
His smile was slow and sultry, and immediately the heat began to build. "Then we don't have a problem," he said, and pulled her cold, half-naked body into his arms.
He was warm. For the first time he was the bringer of heat and fire, warming her, bringing life back to her chilled skin, melting the ice that seemed to encase her. He kissed her, and his mouth was cold and wet, like the sea, and she wanted more. Everywhere he touched her, heat followed, and she wanted to be naked with him, entwined with him, hot with him, burning up.
The rock ledge was hard beneath them, but she hardly noticed. His skin was wet and salty, and she pressed her mouth against his chest. His hands touched her everywhere, warming her, setting her on fire. She reached for him, her hands clumsy and desperate in her need, and he covered her, like a blanket of fire.
