Sea Lord (15 page)

form. Most demons resorted to possessing living hosts. The powerful ones, like Gau, could borrow

enough matter from the elements around them to present at least the appearance of living things.

“He has no need of a human body on Sanctuary,” Griff said.

“Not if his intention is merely to talk,” Morgan countered. “But if he is looking for a fight—”

“He would not seek it on our soil,” Conn said. “I believe he will manifest, for convenience and as a

demonstration of strength.”

“And what of our other visitor?” Enya asked.

Conn stiffened.

Morgan, the golden-eyed, silver-haired lord of the finfolk, frowned. “What visitor?”

“She is none of your concern,” Conn said.

Enya’s smile showed all her teeth. “Then why bring her to Sanctuary?”

“What visitor?” Brychan repeated.

“Our prince has brought a human female to Sanctuary,” Enya said.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Griff rumbled.

Enya touched the warden’s mark among the pearls on her bosom. “Of course not. Anyone might enjoy a

human liaison. But to bring her here—”

“She is the daughter of Atargatis,” Conn said.

They knew the prophecy. A daughter of the house of Atargatis would change the balance of power

among the elementals.

Ronat rubbed his jaw. “I thought the only offspring was a son. Dylan.”

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“Dylan is the only selkie,” Conn said evenly. “Nevertheless, the girl carries her mother’s blood.”

“But she is human,” Brychan objected.

“Her children might not be,” Griff said.

“Assuming she can have children,” Enya said, her voice as tight as a sail.

Conn heard her resentment with regret. Long ago, the warden had offered her body to bear him an heir,

a child to secure both their futures. He had used her for a time with all his considerable patience and skill.

But their union was barren, and after repeated failures, Enya had chafed at staying at Sanctuary to breed.

Her return to the sea had been a relief to them both.

“We cannot predict what her children would be,” Conn said smoothly.
Our children. Mine.
His surge of

possessiveness shook him. “But she is heir to the prophecy.”

“Then you have put her at risk by bringing her here,” Morgan said. “You put us all at risk. Gau is coming.

If he discovers her presence—”

“Who’s going to tell him?” Griff growled. “You?”

Conn leashed his own fury and fear to speak calmly. The leader of the finfolk accepted Conn as liege in

his father’s place, but among his own people Morgan was a prince, with a prince’s pride. He gave Conn

fealty; Conn tendered respect in return. “So far the demons have not considered her a threat.”

“If she is not a threat to them, then she is of no use to us.”

“She has power. More than they know.” Almost to himself, Conn added, “More than she is aware of

herself.”

“Then how do you know she will not use it against us?” Morgan asked.

Six pairs of eyes turned to Conn with varying degrees of accusation and trust. He was strangely reluctant

to share what had happened between them. And yet his wardens had the right to know.

“I have bound her,” he said bluntly.

Ronat grinned.

Morgan’s golden eyes glinted. “At least I understand now why you brought her here.”

“Sex?” Enya’s voice was shrill with scorn. “You could have sex with anyone.”

And have
, her tone implied.

Conn looked at her without speaking. It was true. He could have anyone. But he did not want anyone

else.

He only wanted Lucy.

The cold beat against the windows like the sound of the sea. Inside the stone chamber the fire pulsed like

a heart, pumping heat into the room and through her veins.

Lucy had washed her bra and panties in the tub and draped them over the back of one of the thrones to

dry. Her damp hair hung over her shoulders. Despite her layers of clothing—padded turquoise robe, fine

silk nightgown, thick wool stockings—she felt ridiculously underdressed.

She tightened her sash around her waist. Her stomach growled.

She glanced at the table set by the fire. Iestyn had carried away the bath and brought her dinner on a

tray. As if she were sick. Or in jail. Her gaze lingered on the covered silver serving pieces and

heavy-footed tureen. Definitely not prison dishes. There were knives.

And two wineglasses.

Nerves danced in her stomach. The high-backed chairs stood empty. Waiting. Where was Conn?

Madadh’s tail thumped lazily on the threshold. Lucy’s heart beat a little faster. She looked up.

Conn filled the doorway, broader than Caleb, taller than Dylan. The firelight gleamed on his sleek, dark

hair, slid greedily over his proud, strong-featured face.

She felt a pull in the pit of her belly and dropped her gaze.

“You have not eaten.” An observation, not a question.

She fidgeted with her belt. “I was waiting for you.”

“
I will answer all your questions,
” he’d said. “
Tonight.
”

He strolled forward. “I was detained.”

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He did not apologize. Did not explain what had detained him. The fire crackled. The quiet hummed like

the silence in her father’s house, thick with secrets and resentments.

Lucy took a deep breath. She was a big girl now, she reminded herself. She could ask whatever she

wanted. “You said we would talk,” she reminded him.

He gestured toward the tray. “Over dinner.”

She wanted food almost as much as she wanted answers. She surveyed the array of fancy silver dishes,

the tall crystal pitcher full of water, the dusty bottle of wine, and offered him a smile. “It’ll be a treat to eat

something I didn’t fix myself.”

He gave her an unreadable look. “Let us hope you think so after you have eaten.”

Puzzled, she lifted the lid of the scrolled and scalloped tureen. A cloud of steam escaped.

Lucy blinked.
Oatmeal?

She set the silver cover down again. And . . . She uncovered another dish. Apples. A whole fish, gutted

and grilled, and a dozen orange mussels gaping from their shells.

“You will want wine,” Conn murmured, raising the bottle.

She was afraid the combination of the firelight, the alcohol, and the man would go to her head. She

perched cautiously on one of the thrones. “Water’s fine, thanks.”

Conn’s lips curved as he handed her a glass. “The wine will compensate for the meal.”

She sipped. The wine went down like liquid sunshine. “It’s good.”

“I am glad you approve.” Conn transferred fish to a plate. The smell of grilled seafood teased her

appetite. Her mouth watered. “The room is to your liking?”

Her sense of unreality grew. She wasn’t used to making civilized conversation over a glass of wine in

front of the fire. At home, she ate alone, with the television on for company. When she’d dated in college,

her boyfriend usually spent the evenings with his video games before joining her in bed.

She swallowed. Not that this was a date. Her gaze slid to the giant bed, the deep blue curtains falling

from its carved canopy, the sealskin draped at its foot, and jerked away.

“It’s very beautiful.”

“You are warm enough?”

She felt lapped by warmth—the food, the flames, the interest in his eyes.

Steady, Lucy
.

“Sure. Well, the floor’s a little cold, but—”

“I will bring you a rug.”

What was he going to do? Hijack another yacht? “That’s not necessary. I—”

“Lucy.” Her name, softly spoken in his deep voice, brought her gaze to his strong, pale face, his silvery

eyes. Inside her thick socks, her toes curled. “This castle is full of treasures lost and found under the sea.

Over the centuries, I have had plenty of time to indulge my tastes. My senses. Let me indulge yours.”

Oh, boy. She was tempted by more than the rug. She broke eye contact, poking at her fish with a fork.

“This is good,” she said after a few bites.

Conn leaned back in his chair, watching her over his wineglass. “Griff will be relieved to hear it.”

Lucy pictured the big, gruff castle warden. “He cooks?”

Conn looked amused. “Among his other duties. He has not had anyone to cook for—or to cook for

him—in some time.”

Lucy ate oatmeal while she pieced together scraps of information. Who else ate the warden’s cooking?

“Miss March,” she guessed.

Conn’s brows rose. “You know of her.”

“The boys told me.” The oatmeal was thick and saltier than she was used to. She washed it down with

more wine. “She was their teacher.”

“Yes.” He selected a small, dark apple from a bowl and began to peel it.

“They said she died. Fifty years ago. But they are—”

“Older than they appear,” Conn finished for her.

“But . . .” Confused, she watched as the peel fell in a thin red ribbon.

“I did tell you we do not age as humans do,” he reminded her gently.

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Part of her mind had accepted the teens were selkie—like her mother, like Dylan, like Margred—without

really recognizing what that meant. “But . . . they’re kids. Teenagers. Dylan grew up.”

But not old, she realized. Her breath caught. Dylan looked younger than Caleb, even though he was

older by three years.

Conn quartered the apple and put a piece on her plate. “Dylan spent the first thirteen years of his life

among humans. And much of the time since then on an island your mother bequeathed to him.”

Dylan had an island?
She took the apple. “What difference does that make?”

“We do not age in the sea,” Conn explained. “Or here in Caer Subai. Only when we live as humans,

away from Sanctuary and in human form.”

She bit into the apple. Crisp, tart flavor exploded on her tongue. “So, how old are you?”

He hesitated. “I was blood born to my father, Llyr, three thousand years ago.”

Lucy inhaled. Choked.

Conn handed her a napkin and waited politely while she coughed into it.

“What . . .” She wheezed. “What about your mother?”

“I do not know her.”

She lowered the napkin to stare. “You don’t know who your mother was?”

“I mean I barely met her. I do not remember her.” He handed her a glass of water. “If you are born in the

sea, you live in the sea until your first Change, the first time you take human form at seven or eight years

old. If you are born on land, you live on land—again, until you mature and Change at eleven or thirteen. I

was born in the sea and weaned when I was two years old. By the time I came here, to Sanctuary, I had

not seen my mother in years.”

She gripped the glass tightly. “That’s terrible.”

“Different, perhaps.”

“Kids need their mothers.” She spoke from experience and deep, buried longing.

“They need someone to teach them how to survive and occasionally how to behave.”

She tried to remember what he’d told her about his childhood. “
I received instruction—what there

was of it—from my father.
”

“So you hired a teacher.”

“Not exactly.”

“Miss March.”

“She was not only a teacher,” Conn said. “She was Griff’s wife.”

Her head hurt. Lucy set down the glass, pressing her cold fingers to her temples. “They were married? A

selkie and a . . .”

“Human.” Conn shrugged his elegant shoulders. “It happens. Your mother married your father.”

She pushed away from the table, her appetite gone. “My mother left my father.”

“Because the choice was taken from her.” Conn topped off her glass. “Griff was devoted to his mate until

the day she died.”

“Uh-huh. How did she feel about living on Sanctuary?”

“She was happy here. Fulfilled.”

“So you got lucky,” Lucy said. “When they got married, I mean.”

Conn sipped his wine and did not answer. His eyes were shadowed in the firelight.

She stared at him, his words niggling at the back of her mind. “
They need someone to teach them how

to survive and occasionally how to behave.
”

And Roth’s voice. “
The prince said he was not having us grow up as little savages.
”

A fissure opened in her chest. She opened her mouth to breathe. “Not lucky. You brought her here,

didn’t you?”

Conn’s face closed, cool and smooth as ice. “She was happy,” he repeated. “She chose to stay.”

“But she didn’t choose to come.” She balled the napkin in her lap. “What did you do? Take her like you