Authors: Katherine Irons
Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal, #Fantasy, #Chick-Lit, #Mythology
Seaborne (17 page)
Immediately, her breathing relaxed and the terror faded. She should have been afraid of this new phantom, but she wasn’t. Hadn’t she called him up? With a sigh, she let her body go limp, molding her limbs against his, opening her eyes wide to take in the glorious scene around her.
A school of cod swam by, hundreds of them, their scales flickering iridescent colors through the water.
“Morgan needs you,” came the voice in her head. They were going deeper. She could tell by the way the light faded. She could still see well enough, but the water here felt cooler.
“Morgan needs me?”
“I’m taking you to him.”
“Who are you?” she demanded. It was her dream, after all. She should be in control, not this Nazi fish man. “Do you have a name?”
Amusement vibrated from his chest. “I do, but there’s no need for you to know it.”
She reached up and touched his face. What had she been thinking? He wasn’t a monster. He was a man, cleanshaven, high cheekbones, square chin, lovely, classical nose. What had made her think he was other than human? She glanced down at the big hands that held her. No webs, simply strong, broad hands, the hands of a man who did manual labor, rather than sat at a desk.
“I insist you tell me your name,” she said.
He laughed. “You’re not in a position to demand anything of me, Claire.”
“You know my name.” He dove even deeper. Strange fish that she didn’t recognize drifted past. There was a squid and, not far away, a small shark. “Who are you?” she repeated.
“What’s important for you to know is that Morgan is ill. He’s been calling for you. If you will help him to the best of your ability, I’ll return you safely to your home.”
He stopped swimming. Just below and to the left, Claire saw what appeared to be the opening to a large conduit or tunnel. Water rushed into the mouth of the hole, swirled, and was sucked down.
Suddenly, she was afraid. “Tell me that we’re not going down there.”
“Close your eyes and hold tight.”
In an instant the current caught them. Claire screamed as they were caught in the whirlpool, tumbled over and over, and were pulled down into utter blackness.
CHAPTER 17
T
he force of the water was so great that Claire could hardly bear it. She’d always hated the dark, and this plunge into the roaring abyss seemed endless. Disoriented and terrified, she clung to her guide, too frightened to cry out. Down and down they plummeted, twisting, tumbling, carried on by the intensity of the powerful current.
he force of the water was so great that Claire could hardly bear it. She’d always hated the dark, and this plunge into the roaring abyss seemed endless. Disoriented and terrified, she clung to her guide, too frightened to cry out. Down and down they plummeted, twisting, tumbling, carried on by the intensity of the powerful current.
If this was a dream, it was time to wake up. And if it wasn’t, she was lost beyond redemption. Her heart galloped and bucked as though it would burst, and her courage wavered. She was seconds away from total surrender to the nightmare, ready to let the rushing water suck her down, when they splashed into a calm eddy. Rays of light warmed Claire’s face as they bobbed to the surface, and she opened her eyes to see a broad river bathed in a kaleidoscope of ever-changing colors.
She gazed up, expecting to see sky and clouds, but there was no familiar sun and no blue heaven. Instead, the vast curving roof of this strange world shimmered a pale emerald swirled with ribbons of jade. Shining gold stars, larger and closer than any star she’d even seen, drifted across the emerald sky, borne on an unseen tide. On either side of the river, great forests of towering trees crowded the banks, gnarled roots sprawling down the mossy banks to vanish into the cool, clear water, massive limbs twisting and stretching toward the distant stars. The leaves of these trees were of varied shapes and sizes, some whimsical, others starkly beautiful. Not even in Ireland had Claire seen so many shades of green.
She bit her forefinger, first to make certain she was solid, and second to find some point of reference to counter the odd sensations she was experiencing. What seemed like air around her moved and flowed like water, but liquid so clear and transparent it was invisible… . Water that she breathed as easily as she’d inhaled the ocean breeze on the cliff at Seaborne. How soft this water felt against her skin, how comforting. It seemed to her like some magical cream that would wash away all traces of fear and sorrow.
“What place is this?” she asked as she twisted to face her mysterious escort. She could see him all too well in the radiant light. He bore some resemblance to her mysterious Morgan. This man’s hair was as blond, though longer, his features as magnificent, but his eyes were not Morgan’s eyes. There was more than a hint of predator in these icy green eyes, and she instinctively sensed that beneath the mask of protector coiled a waiting menace.
“The worst is over.” His gaze bored into hers, probing, searching out her deepest secrets. “You did well,” he said. “Don’t fail Morgan now.”
“Do you make a practice of never answering questions?”
The corners of his sensual mouth turned up in a faint smile. “Not if I can help it.”
She waited.
“This is Shar-nehey-wah, the sacred caves of the serpent-people.”
“Serpents?” A ribbon of fear curled in the pit of her stomach. This was definitely a nightmare, and she wanted to wake up. The sooner, the better. She shivered. “You mean serpents as in snakes?”
He glanced to her left. She followed his line of sight and recoiled as she caught a glimpse of a face peering up at her from beneath the surface of the river. For the space of a heartbeat, black, almond-shaped eyes stared into hers. And then, with a splash, the face was gone. She looked back at her guide, wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her. The water seemed deep, but it also appeared that she could see a long way down into the green depths. If there had been someone or something, how could they vanish so quickly? Impossible in reality, less so in a dream, she supposed.
“They’re curious, but none will hurt you here,” came the amused voice in her head. “We are as strange to them as they are to us. Just don’t expect a welcoming basket of fruit. There is a saying among my kind that those of the serpent race are born old and cantankerous. Each can tolerate no company but his own. How they make peace long enough to breed is a mystery to me.”
The river had grown noticeably narrower, and now Claire could make out shapes moving among the trees. Sinewy bodies, some green, some silver, others brown with yellow patterns. She couldn’t tell what sort of creatures they were, whether humanlike, reptile, or animal. She saw dark, piercing eyes … glimpsed muscular arms, but no legs. Instead they appeared to have thick, trunklike tails that ended in fins like a mermaid’s.
If these were the serpent-people, they wore little or no clothing, and every inch of skin appeared painted or tattooed in fantastic and multicolored designs. Most wore close-fitting hoods that made them appear even more snakelike. But as she stared at them, they were inspecting her, so much so that her skin prickled with the burning sensation of being watched.
She’d been studying the serpent-creatures so intently that she hadn’t realized that her protector had carried her out of the river and onto a white-pebbled beach. Beyond, a path through the trees opened up, and he followed it, striding along as though her weight was nothing to him.
“Put me down,” she said. “I’m capable of walking.” And she was. How or why, she couldn’t fathom, but she knew that she’d left her paralysis behind at Seaborne. She wanted to feel the joy of walking under her own power, longed for it as a thirsty plant needs rain.
“It’s not much farther. We’ll make better time, this way. And no one will snatch you off the path for a better look.”
“Right.” She exhaled softly. That made sense, she supposed. The serpent-people were here as well. She could catch glimpses of spooky eyes peering through the foliage. They gave her the shivers.
As her captor walked on, she stared wide-eyed at the unfamiliar, large-leafed trees, the shaggy trunks that seemed enveloped in thick moss, and the curtains of hanging vines that bore an odd-looking but sweet-smelling purple fruit.
“Don’t touch it,” he warned. “And whatever you do, don’t eat it. Your legs will fuse into a swimming tail.”
Her mouth gaped. “You’re not serious?”
“No.” He laughed. “The fruit is wabi, and it’s delicious.” He plucked one from a low-hanging branch and handed it to her.
Claire accepted his gift warily. The pineapple-shaped object was thin-skinned and gave off a delightful odor, something between vanilla bean and strawberry. She wanted to taste it, but … She wasn’t sure she could trust him. What if she did grow a tail?
As if reading her mind, he chuckled, leaned close, and took a bite. Purple juice ran down his chin and he wiped it away. “Coward,” he teased. “And I was beginning to think you were an exception to your race.”
Claire took a deep breath and nibbled at the wabi. It was wonderful, irresistible. Quickly, she took another bite, chewed slowly, and savored the rainbow of exquisite flavors.
“What do you think?”
“Mmm.” She finished off the fruit and licked her fingers.
“It does have one side effect,” he added. He met her gaze and arched one perfect gilded eyebrow.
“Yes? And what is that?”
He grinned wickedly. “It’s said to stimulate the sexual appetite.”
Claire opened her eyes. Strange, because she couldn’t remember closing them, couldn’t remember feeling sleepy. They were no longer moving through the trees with golden starlight sparkling through the leaves. Instead, the trees were gone, and she was surrounded by a misty, dark haze. From somewhere in the distance, she heard an owl hooting, and nearby, the muffled cadence of a drum. Her guide still had her in his arms, but he was standing, muscles tense, alert for what she couldn’t tell.
She felt strangely relaxed, as though she’d slept for hours. One by one, her senses came alive: touch, hearing, smell. She stretched and peered up at her guide through heavy-lidded eyes, suddenly aware of the scent of his hair and skin… . Suddenly she was all too conscious of the feel of his warm flesh pressed against hers.
“You really should tell me your name,” she coaxed.
Okay, so this was her dream, and she’d been kidnapped from her bed in the middle of the night by some strange superhero. Or villain. Whether he was her hero or a dastardly evil ogre was yet to be proved, but he had arms to die for, washboard abs, and shoulders too wide and glorious for any flesh-and-blood man. Not to mention that he smelled good, sexy good, curl your toes and scream for mercy good. All sorts of X-rated fantasies began popping up in her mind like bubbles in a glass of expensive champagne.
She slipped an arm around his neck. Muscles there too, not football line backer solid-as-a-brick-wall, but panther-quick, I-can-bench-press-a-jillion-pounds-and-never-crack-a-sweat muscles. Danger radiated from him, but she sensed that she had nothing to fear. Claire nestled her cheek against his chest and smiled up at him.
He groaned. “I warned you about that.”
She giggled. “About what?” She trailed her fingertips down over his collarbone. If he was a superhero bad guy, he came in a nice package.
“Cut it out.”
She ignored his warning. “I have to call you something.” She teased his chest with the tip of her tongue. “Don’t I?”
“Claire!”
She stiffened. Someone had called her name from the surrounding darkness. Not someone—Morgan! “I’m here,” she cried. “Where are you?”
A fur-swathed figure glided from the shadows, a turtle-shell rattle in one hand. She couldn’t tell if the newcomer was one of the serpent-people or not. He wore some sort of long robe that brushed the white oyster shells carpeting the floor. If he had a tail rather than legs, it was hidden.
As he grew closer, Claire made out fierce black eyes in a masked face, a towering headdress of fur, shells, and bone. The drumbeat and the primitive garb suddenly made sense. Not a snake-creature, she realized, but a Native American tribesman in full regalia. A little hazy on his time period, perhaps, but a man, nevertheless. She breathed a little easier, suddenly aware of the smell of wet fur, scorched feathers, and fresh-turned earth.
“The high shaman,” her escort murmured. “It wouldn’t hurt to be on your best behavior. He could transform you into a giant oyster if he took a mind to.”
“Right.”
Her companion’s expression remained stern. “Absolutely accurate.”
She looked around, ignoring superhero and the masked Indian’s bobbing head and the rattle being shaken in her face. “Morgan!” she called. “Where are you?”
Seemingly satisfied, the shaman shuffled aside, motioning to an alcove in the cavern wall. For this was a cave, Claire realized, thinking that they must be deep in the earth, perhaps even under Seaborne itself. The surroundings were cooler here than in the forest, and it smelled damp and musty, like the caverns she’d explored in France where she’d visited a Neanderthal burial site.
Abruptly, Claire’s guardian lowered her to the ground and released her. She wobbled, got her balance, and stood solidly. Once she was certain she wasn’t going to fall on her butt, she glanced back at him, but he’d already vanished in the thick fog, stealing away without a sound.
She didn’t need him anymore anyway. Her dream had moved on. Hadn’t it? Morgan was nearby. All she had to do was find him in this dark fog. “Morgan!”
“Claire.”
His voice, weak, but his voice. She moved toward the sound, breathing a sigh of relief as she made out a faint glow directly ahead. “Keep talking,” she urged. The floor was uneven under her bare feet. There were shells everywhere : oyster, clam, mussel shells, conchs, some large ones she didn’t recognize. Shells were pressed in patterns into the wall and enormous shells held bubbling water.
“Here.”
She took a few more steps and saw him in the semi-light. He lay stretched out on a thick bed of green moss with only a fur blanket covering his lower half. It was her Morgan. There could be no doubt. But he looked terrible, his face lined, his blond hair and brows streaked with gray. He seemed stricken by some sudden and virulent illness making him appear far older than he was.
“Oh, Morgan.” She went to him, kneeling beside him. She grasped his hand, as tears clouded her eyes. He felt cold to the touch, almost damp. “What’s happened to you?” She pressed light feathery kisses to the back of his knuckles. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in a hospital?”
She knew how foolish that sounded the moment she said it. He was a dream. She’d conjured him up. A dream man didn’t need a hospital. She was all he needed. Just like in the fairy tales. All she had to do was kiss him to bring him back to life.
A lump rose in her throat, and she was overcome by her desire to touch him … to feel him warm and solid. She knelt on the edge of the bed, took his face between her hands, and kissed his mouth. “Oh, Morgan. I’ve missed you.” His lips were cool, but they molded to hers, warming as the seconds passed. And as they kissed, the magic rushed back, filling her with an overwhelming desire for this man.
He uttered a soft moan. “Claire. Are you real?” He stroked her cheek, caught a lock of her hair and brought it to his lips. “Is it you? Not some trick of my mind?”
“It’s me,” she assured him. “I’m here and everything will be all right now. I promise you.”
It seemed the most natural thing in the world to lie down beside him, to put her head on his shoulder and wrap her arms around him. “I waited and waited,” she whispered, “but you didn’t come.” Her heart pounded; her pulse raced. She couldn’t lie still, had to get closer. She wanted … yearned … “Morgan, Morgan, I thought you’d gone away for good.”
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