Authors: Katherine Irons
Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal, #Fantasy, #Chick-Lit, #Mythology
Seaborne (13 page)
Melqart, the Phoenician god of war, was ancient and rarely took part in the blood sacrifice he set in motion, but Morgan was certain he took pleasure in the killings. Some Atlanteans believed that the life energy sucked from humanoids by the horde was what kept Melqart alive, but that was only conjecture. All Morgan knew was that Melqart represented the darkest face of evil beneath the waves.
Deciding that he needed backup, Morgan had traveled as far to the east as the edge of the Georges Bank where he’d hoped to find someone to carry word to his brothers. Returning to Atlantis himself might mean explaining his actions to his father or crossing swords with Caddoc again. He preferred to avoid both if he could. He couldn’t lie to Poseidon. If the king asked the right questions, he’d be forced to admit that he was seeing Claire.
Morgan found fishing boats, but no dolphins or Atlanteans. He thought he’d caught sight of one of the North American serpent-folk garbed in the outward form of a shark, but when he called out, he got no response. The water was murky and visibility poor, so he couldn’t be certain. It was doubtful that he would have received assistance if he’d made the contact. The serpent-people were recluses, never friendly to any but their own kind, having no sympathy for humans or Atlanteans.
Morgan was about to give up and start the journey home to Atlantis when a deep sound vibrated through the water. Immediately, several large schools of panicked herring swirled past. Acting on impulse, Morgan swam toward the surface and waited, scanning a vast expanse of moonlit ocean. The seas were calm, waves no more than thirty feet from crest to crest. As far as he could see, there were no fishing boats in sight, nothing but dark sky, blazing stars, and a low-hanging, yellow crescent moon.
Morgan paddled lazily in place, waiting. Tiny splashes around him showed the presence of small baitfish. Again, he felt, rather than heard, a dull, thrumming noise. The ocean seemed to go silent for the space of a heartbeat, and then a massive humpback whale exploded out of the water, mouth agape.
Spray flew into the air as the whale dove and breached, rising high and splashing backwards, gulping mouthfuls of fish before plunging deep to begin the process again. Although he was far too large to become whale dinner, Morgan kept well away until the bull’s feeding frenzy slowed to a playful slap of the great wavy tail and a relaxed circling on the surface.
Each humpback possesses a tail fluke pattern all his own, and Morgan recognized this animal as Lodar, one he and his brothers had met nearly a half century ago off the south coast of Iceland. Tonight the whale was alone as he was that day when a pack of killer whales had separated him from his pod. Morgan and his brothers had intervened in the hunt, and their swords had made the difference. The young bull had returned to his family group, battered and bleeding, but wiser.
Now, Lodar had reached his prime. He was over fifty feet long, and the numerous scars on his powerful body proved that he’d learned to defend himself from predators, both human and otherwise. Adult humpbacks were too large to fear Melqart’s demons, but the shades were not above sucking the life out of a whale calf if the mother was young and inexperienced.
Lodar had lost his mate to a Japanese factory ship off Iceland more than two years ago, but he was still mourning her and thus not attached to a pod. Whales in general were reluctant to involve themselves in human or Atlantean affairs, but they possessed a sense of fairness and honor. Conscious of this, Morgan addressed the whale, not in speech, but telepathically.
I see you, Lodar.
The humpback circled again, displaying his black-and-white tail fin, and blowing a fountain of spray.
Morgan listened, willing his mind to accept and translate the message of another species.
Who calls to me?
The picture-words formed with infinite slowness, almost as if they were dredged from the sea floor and constructed of sand, one grain at a time.
Morgan, prince of Atlantis, greets his friend, the mighty Lodar.
Whales were highly intelligent, but touchy. They gave way to few species with good reason.
Whales were highly intelligent, but touchy. They gave way to few species with good reason.
Ah, I remember
.
.
Morgan clenched his jaw against the lightning bolts of pain that ricocheted through his head. It required intense concentration and all his mental ability to communicate with whales, and it always gave him a hell of a headache. His brother Alex had the gift. It was a lot easier for him, but Alex wasn’t here.
I heard of the loss of your mate,
Morgan thought
. I’m truly sorry
.
I heard of the loss of your mate,
Morgan thought
. I’m truly sorry
.
The whale drew near, an eye focusing on him.
As am I
. And then, almost apologetically, Morgan heard:
I remember you as larger, prince of Atlantis.
As am I
. And then, almost apologetically, Morgan heard:
I remember you as larger, prince of Atlantis.
He laughed.
You were younger then, Lodar
.
We were both younger
.
You were younger then, Lodar
.
We were both younger
.
Yes
.
.
The huge mouth opened in what might have been a yawn or a smile, and Morgan saw shreds of fish and seaweed clinging to the whale’s hundreds of baleen plates that substituted for teeth.
Morgan swam closer, noting the barnacles clinging the humpback’s knobby head and scarred and rough body. He was anxious to ask for Lodar’s help, but knew better than to risk insulting the whale by rushing into the request. As difficult and time consuming as the process was, it was necessary to discuss the availability of krill and the number of human fishing-shells that he’d sighted. They asked and exchanged news of other humpback family groups and the attributes of unmated cows in the Atlantic before finally turning to business.
At last, Morgan was able to explain his dilemma and was rewarded with a favorable reply. To settle his debt, Lodar agreed to carry Morgan’s message back to Atlantis to his brothers.
… Which left Morgan free to go where he wished.
“Claire.”
She opened her eyes.
The night-light cast a yellow glow across the floor. Morgan could barely make out her features framed by the pillow, but he could smell her special scent and his heart opened in a rush of joy.
By Atlantean law, it was wrong of him to be here. By law and thousands of years of warfare between Atlanteans and humans, they were enemies, but he didn’t care.
“Morgan …”
He could feel the warmth of her smile … could feel himself being drawn into her net.
He went willingly.
Leaning over the bed, he brushed her lips with his own. He wanted desperately to transport her to the sea where her body would be whole, but tonight, it was impossible. He had no right to carry her to an element where he couldn’t protect her.
Melqart’s shades were still out there. For all he knew, they waited just beyond the surf … hungry … fangs bared … claws honed. Claire was only human and might easily fall prey to their vicious attack.
Her body might be wounded, but her life force was strong. She would be prime bait for death’s shadows. No matter how difficult it was for him to maintain the illusion of being human in her world, he couldn’t risk taking her to his.
“I called to you,” she murmured sleepily.
Her eyes were heavy lidded, her lips full and soft. Her beauty … her vulnerability tugged at him. His throat constricted, and he wondered for the hundredth time if she was the innocent she appeared, or if she possessed the power to lure him to his own death.
There could be nothing between them but a brief time of passion. They were of two different worlds, and they should never have met. As a prince of his people, he had a duty to fulfill, but Claire made him question everything that he thought he knew about humans.
The fever gripped him, burning into his bones, making him desire her as he’d never desired another female. His flesh seemed on fire. He had to possess her. If he didn’t …
Morgan pitted his will against his sexual need. His muscles strained; his loins ached. A sheen of sweat glistened on his body. His mind rebelled at the notion that he couldn’t have her, and his physical body paid the price. It was a struggle to maintain the illusion of a form Claire could accept. If she saw him as he truly was, she might feel terror, and he couldn’t bear to scare her.
But his spell held and so did her human innocence.
“Are we going to swim tonight?” She stretched, catlike, and a smile of anticipation lit her eyes. She was alive, this human female, alive in every cell of her body. But her beautiful legs lay as still as marble columns, her lovely hips unmoving.
He shook his head, trying to keep his voice from showing the passion he felt. “Not tonight.”
“You look tired.”
He felt as though he’d swum from the Pillars of Hercules, but he would do that and more to be here with her. He forced himself to take what would seem like normal breaths, but it was difficult. The earth’s gravity weighed him down. With no water to buoy his body up, each step was a struggle. “Would you like to go out on the balcony ?”
“That would be nice.” She pointed to her wheelchair. “I’ll need that.”
“No, you won’t.” He gathered her, blankets and all, into his arms and carried her across the room. In seconds, they were outside, the sound of the surf crashing in the distance, and the great dome of the night sky above them.
“The stars are bright,” she murmured.
“Not as bright as your eyes.” He settled into a wooden reclining chair and cuddled her against him, reveling in her scent and the feel of her in his arms. “Now, I’ve got you,” he teased, nestling his face into the soft curve of her neck, savoring the brush of her hair against his skin. “You’re my prisoner.”
She laughed. “Am I? It’s my dream. I think you’re my captive.” She pulled his head down and kissed his lips.
Desire shot through him, and he shuddered at the intensity of his need for her. Maybe she was right. Maybe, for all her paralysis, she was the one in control. He felt his loins tighten, his staff harden. He wanted her as he’d never wanted anything, but there could be no question of intercourse tonight, not when she lacked sensation below the waist. The Atlanteans had few rules regarding sexual satisfaction, but one that was cast in solid bronze was that all parties must have the capacity to enjoy the act.
Having Claire here in his arms, feeling the heat of her body, inhaling her scent, yet unable to satisfy his longing was a sweet torture.
Since he’d come to full sexual maturity, Morgan had never denied himself. When he and another wanted each other, there was no need to wait. He’d been attracted to many women in his lifetime; a few he’d thought he loved. But this was different—she was different. Tonight, he didn’t think about himself. Tonight would be about Claire, about what he could do to please her, and if he had to sacrifice his own physical needs, so be it.
He traced the line of her mouth with his tongue, catching her lower lip between his own lips and sucking gently. She groaned and pressed her mouth to his.
“That’s nice,” she murmured when they finally broke for air. “But, as much as I want to … want you … I’m not able to …”
“Shh.” He kissed her again, tenderly, letting the sweet sensations flow through him, enjoying the holding, the touching, letting down all his defenses. “Beautiful, Claire … beautiful, mysterious Claire … Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
CHAPTER 13
H
e lowered his head and kissed her mouth. His lingering caress filled her with sweet tendrils of pleasure and made her giddy with joy. It was impossible that Morgan could be here, holding her as if she were an ordinary woman, not caring that half her body was dead. She pushed away those thoughts. Kissing him back, feeling the texture and heat of his body were too precious. She wouldn’t trade one second of this miracle for reason.
e lowered his head and kissed her mouth. His lingering caress filled her with sweet tendrils of pleasure and made her giddy with joy. It was impossible that Morgan could be here, holding her as if she were an ordinary woman, not caring that half her body was dead. She pushed away those thoughts. Kissing him back, feeling the texture and heat of his body were too precious. She wouldn’t trade one second of this miracle for reason.
He brushed his tongue against her closed lips and she opened, taking him in, feeling the thrill of intimacy with a man. She gripped him tightly, running her fingers through his hair, inhaling the scent that was his alone, all brine and sea and virile male.
He was a very good kisser.
“Claire, Claire,” he murmured when they’d broken apart long enough to draw breath. “You’re something special.”
She nestled her head against his chest. She wanted to tell him how much his touch excited her … wanted to beg him to stroke and kiss her breasts, but she couldn’t. If she tried to speak, she’d choke with tears.
It didn’t matter who he was or why he’d come to her. She didn’t even care if her father’s warnings were correct. If Morgan was dishonest, if he’d only approached her for her money, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was feeling alive … feeling like a woman again.
As if he could read her thoughts, he nuzzled her throat and kissed the ticklish spot behind her ear. She laughed, and he moved lower to brush the tip of his warm tongue along her collarbone until she shivered with delight and arched her back, offering her breasts to be kissed and fondled.
He didn’t disappoint her. Slowly, he unbuttoned her pajama top, one tiny button at a time, parting the silken fabric and kissing her skin until she was breathless.
“Are you real?” she whispered. “Or are you a dream?”
“I’m real enough,” he answered. “It’s you I can’t believe. You seem like some enchanted princess imprisoned in a high tower, waiting to be rescued.”
Have you come to rescue me, Morgan? Or will you fade away in the morning like dew on the grass?
She wanted to ask him, but she didn’t have the nerve. All that was important was this moment. If he was gone in the morning, if she never saw him again, she’d have this memory to cherish.
She wanted to ask him, but she didn’t have the nerve. All that was important was this moment. If he was gone in the morning, if she never saw him again, she’d have this memory to cherish.
He threaded his fingers through her hair, and glanced up at the dark heavens. “Lots of stars tonight.”
“Yes.”
“When I was small, I never wanted to go to bed and my mother used to tell me stories to make me sleepy.” He brushed his lips against her eyebrows, one after another. “We have a legend that tells how the stars came to be.”
“Tell me.” She moved her fingers in slow circles over his chest, tracing the lines of hard muscle and caressing the base of his neck. “I want to hear this story.”
“I’m sure I can’t tell it as well as my mother, but I’ll try. Once, long ago, when the world was young, and the seas were clean, there was a mermaid, braver and more beautiful than any of the others. This mermaid never feared the storm tides as they plunged over the rocks of her island home. She didn’t fear the giant squid that rose out of the depths to hunt, and she wasn’t afraid of the dark hordes of—”
“Claire!” A woman’s strident voice and the sound of loud rapping cut through Morgan’s story.
“That’s my housekeeper,” Clare said. Why was Mrs. Godwin banging on her bedroom door at this hour of the night? Had she locked her bedroom door? She never did, in case she needed help. “It’s Mrs. Godwin,” she whispered to Morgan. “I don’t want her to know that you’re here.”
“It’s all right. The door’s locked.”
“But how do you know—”
He shrugged. “I locked it. I wanted to be alone with you. Was I wrong?”
“No, but I’ve got to let her in. You’ll have to hide out here until I get rid of her.”
“All right.” Morgan rose from the chair with her in his arms and quickly carried her back inside. He placed her gently on the bed, kissed her, and drew a sheet over her, covering her legs and waist. “My chair,” Claire whispered. “I need …”
He nodded and pushed the chair to the side of the bed. He blew her a kiss, then returned to the balcony, closing the door quietly behind him.
“Miss Claire!” Mrs. Godwin shouted before knocking again. “Are you all right? Your father is here.”
“In the middle of the night?” Claire called.
“Claire!” That was her father’s voice.
“I’ll get the master key,” Mrs. Godwin said. “It’s by the elevator.”
“Just a minute,” Claire said. “I’ll let you in if you give me time to get into my chair.”
“Are you all right?” Richard demanded. “Is there someone in there with you? I thought I heard—”
“I’m alone,” she answered, crossing her fingers. That was a lie. Well, not exactly a lie. No one was in the room with her. Morgan was trapped on the balcony. Not that anyone would have reason to look out there, but it made her feel foolish. What single adult woman couldn’t have a man in her room if she wanted? “Do you want me to unlock the door?”
“Never mind,” her father said. “Mrs. Godwin has a key.”
Claire heard the sound of a key in the lock. The knob turned, and Richard pushed the door open. “That will do,” Richard said. “Go back to bed, Mrs. G.”
“Would you like anything to eat? Drinks?” the housekeeper asked. Claire saw the woman peering anxiously around her father’s shoulder. “I could—”
“We can make do for ourselves,” Richard assured her. “You’d better stay out here.”
“Call me if there’s anything suspicious.”
Claire sat bolt upright. That wasn’t Mrs. Godwin’s voice. It wasn’t Mrs. Godwin’s son, and it certainly wasn’t Richard. But she knew that voice all too well.
Her father came into the room. “Are you all right, pumpkin? Sorry to pop in on you at this hour of the night, but there was an accident that shut down traffic for hours. We were caught on the Petersburg bypass and—”
“We who?” Claire glared at him. “Who’s with you?” she asked, although she knew perfectly well who was standing outside her bedroom door. “Not—”
Her father approached the bed, stopped, and threw up his hands in a sign of surrender. “Don’t get excited. You know that drives your blood pressure up and—”
“Richard. Who did you bring with you?” She groaned and dropped back on the pillows as Justin stepped through the doorway. “You didn’t!” she protested.
Justin looked exactly as he had the last time she’d seen him. Not his clothing, but his hair … his face. Justin wore only designer fashions, and he’d changed little in appearance since the day she’d married him. Either he had a very good plastic surgeon or he’d made a pact with the devil.
“I made it clear that I didn’t want to see him. Didn’t I?”
Ignoring her outburst, Richard glanced around. “You’re alone? I was sure I heard voices.”
“Why are you here?” Claire fisted her hands under the sheet. “You have no right to come to my home uninvited.”
“Blame me,” Richard said, leaning to brush a cool kiss on her forehead. “I invited him.”
“We were both concerned about you,” Justin said as he approached the bed. “You’ve lost weight. You don’t look good at all. And you’re flushed.” He glanced at her father. “I’ll take her pulse.”
“Like hell, you will.” Claire pointed at him. “Out of my bedroom, Justin. I don’t need you playing doctor at my bedside.” She had every right to be angry with them both. Her pajama top was half-unbuttoned. Her hair was a mess, not because she was ill, but because she’d been making out on the balcony, an excuse she could hardly give either of them.
“All right. All right. It’s upsetting, I know, seeing me like this.” Justin smiled reassuringly. “We really didn’t mean to arrive at this hour, but your father thought—”
“He was wrong!”
What would Morgan think? Please, please, she prayed silently, as she tried to deal with these two without their getting suspicious of her behavior. Keep Morgan on the balcony. The last thing she wanted was to have him confront her father or Justin in her bedroom, in the middle of the night. How she’d get Morgan out of the house without being discovered, she didn’t know. But she didn’t want a scene. It wasn’t that she was afraid of Richard, but he could make her life difficult if he took a notion that she was behaving foolishly.
“We have only your best interest at heart.” Richard pushed the wheelchair away from the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. “I apologize for startling you, but I’m not sorry I brought Justin. You’re obviously having a bad time of it, and—”
“I wasn’t having a bad time of it until the three of you starting banging at my door. Now, can you please let me get back to sleep?”
“You’re right,” Justin agreed. “You do need your rest. There will plenty of time for us to talk in the morning.”
She glared at him. “No, there won’t, because you’ll be leaving right after breakfast.”
The following morning dawned hot. There was no breeze, and the temperature was already in the high seventies by eight o’clock. At Seaborne, Nathaniel was mowing the west pasture, near the entrance lane, and Mrs. Godwin and a maid were busy in the kitchen. Claire, her father, and Justin slept in after being up so late the night before.
In the small town of Coffin’s Cove, fifteen miles north along the coast, four-year-old Misty Tucker had been awake for more than an hour wanting her breakfast. The black-and-white TV on the dresser was playing a cartoon about a cat and a dog, but Misty had seen the show a lot of times. She was hungry, and the picture on the TV rolled so that it was hard to tell what was happening. It was hot, and her Tinker Bell pajamas were all sweaty.
“Mommy!” she called.
No answer.
Her mother’s bedroom was next to hers, and she could hear someone snoring. Mommy got mad if Misty woke her too early. Mommy worked nights, and she liked to sleep until lunchtime, but Misty hadn’t had anything to eat since the egg sandwich Hester had given her before dark.
Hester was old, so old her hair was all white and she walked with a cane, but she was her friend. She lived in the trailer behind Mommy’s, and looked in on her while Mommy was at work. Hester had a little poodle named Cookie that Misty liked to pet. Someday, when she was big, Misty would have a dog just like Hester’s, only pink. She would name her Queenie, because that was the best name she could think of.
Misty pushed open her bedroom door and listened. The TV in the living room was quiet, and she couldn’t hear the coffeemaker. If Mommy was awake, she liked to watch TV while she drank her coffee. The trailer was quiet, except for the loud snoring coming through the wall.
As quiet as a mouse, Misty sneaked down the hall in her bare feet. Mommy’s door was broken. It never stayed closed. Misty peeked in. There was Mommy and a strange man in her bed. A big pair of cowboy boots lay on the floor by the door. Misty was sure the man wasn’t Uncle Mike because this man had hair and Uncle Mike was bald.
With a sigh, Misty retraced her steps, past her bedroom, and down the narrow hall to the bathroom. She made “tinkle,” washed her hands, and brushed her teeth. When she got down off the stool by the sink, her tummy made a funny growling sound that reminded her how hungry she was.
Maybe there would be some cold pizza in the refrigerator, or maybe Mommy had gone to the store last night and got cereal. Misty liked the kind that was all colors and crunched. As she hurried through the living room, she saw that somebody had made a tower out of beer cans on the coffee table. There was a pizza box on the floor, but it was empty.
No grocery bags on the table. That wasn’t good, because the milk that had been in the refrigerator had gone sour, and Misty had poured it down the sink. Hopefully, she opened the refrigerator door. No pizza. No milk. No juice. She pulled open the lunchmeat drawer. There was the plastic that the bologna came in from the store, but it was empty too.
Misty stood on tiptoe and peered way in the back behind the beer. There was a carton of rice that Mommy had brought home from a date last week. Misty found some pink sweetener and sprinkled that on the rice. Yesterday, she’d found ants in the sugar bowl and she didn’t want to eat ants with her rice. She got a spoon and went out on the carport to eat.
Maybe Hester would come out of her trailer and talk to her. She might even ask her to come in and have pancakes with her and Cookie. When Hester got her “security,” she always bought lots of groceries, cookies, potato chips, and tuna fish. Hester’s pancakes were the best Misty had ever tasted, better even than at Mary’s Diner.
If Hester didn’t have pancakes, she always had good kinds of cereal and milk that was never sour. There wasn’t much rice, and Misty was still hungry when it was gone. She was thinking about going to Hester’s house and knocking on the door when something wonderful happened.
A duck walked by Mommy’s car. It was a duck with a green head and tail feathers that curled up in the back. Misty wanted a better look at the duck, so she ran after it. “Here, ducky. Here, duck.”
The duck stopped quacking and pecked at the dirt.
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