Under His Skin (7 page)

Mr. Downing gave his wife a soft kiss on the cheek. “You’re a good woman, Ellie.”

Brec stared in shock as Mrs. Downing actually blushed. She shooed him to a large forest green wingback chair next to the fire. As he settled himself into the cushions, she retrieved a large quilt from a chest at the far end of the room. His face heated with a little embarrassment as she fussed over covering him up as if he were a child.

After making sure he was properly tucked in, the old shopkeeper turned her attention to the kitchen. Even wallowing in his own misery, Brec couldn’t help but watch the married couple as they both went about their tasks, moving in perfect harmony as they worked to help him.

Mrs. Downing scurried to the fridge and took out a big Tupperware bowl. After setting it on the counter, she retrieved a large pot from a cupboard beside the stove. In a few minutes she had a delicious concoction of what smelled like beef stew simmering on the stove. Behind her, her husband fetched some wood from what Brec assumed was the basement. They passed by one another in the kitchen, sharing a smile and a soft look. Mr. Downing carried the wood into the living room, nodding to Brec as he added more wood to the fireplace. By the time Mrs. Downing put the bowl of soup in his hands, there was a roaring fire before him.

Mr. Downing sat with his wife on the couch, each of them with a bowl of soup. Mrs. Downing chattered on about her day between bites, and her husband smiled and nodded as he ate his own soup. They seemed so happy.

A new sadness tugged at Brec’s heart. He’d thought he and Katie would be like that. Living together, taking care of their people. Ninety-two wasn’t very old by selkie standards, but he was still old enough that his lack of a mate was starting to bother him. He often soothed himself with the thought that warriors often took mates later in life. Brec assumed it was so they could concentrate on training without worrying about being away from their families too long. Still, despite his attempts to the contrary, he wasn’t a warrior and he longed to find someone he could share life’s quiet moments with. Perhaps someone who could line his eyes with laughter the way Mrs. Downing had done for her husband.

When he was done eating his soup, Brec stood and thanked the
Downings
for all their help. Mrs. Downing tried to get him to stay, but even with the comfort of the roaring fire and the hot food filling his belly, Brec felt colder watching the happy couple. They had a peace that he just couldn’t see for himself right now and all he wanted to do was get back to the shore and find out just how long he would have to suffer this human existence before he could go back to being miserable in his own world.

By the time he got to the cove, he was dragging his feet, the sounds of the waves crashing over him and reminding him of the home he may never see again. All the warmth he’d gained at the
Downings
’ seeped away into the sand.

“Brec.”

The sound of his brother’s voice jerked Brec’s head up, hope blazing to life in his breast at the sound of pleasure in Micah’s tone. He found a smile on his brother’s face and he rushed forward.

“Micah . . ?” he whispered.

His brother’s smile widened. “We found her.”

Ana was dreaming. In her dream she had her fox fur back. It flowed over her body in a beautiful wash of white fur, as soft as the down on a baby goose. Not a trace of singed black hair marred its perfect surface. When she held it to her face it smelled of flesh and musk and not a hint of smoke. Tears of joy slid down her cheeks as she slipped it over her shoulders. It caressed her skin like an old lover, warm, familiar, and secure.

Her human body responded to the touch of her fox-skin, coaxing her muscles and bones to shift and reform. The process was smooth and natural without a trace of pain. She hit the ground on four paws and in seconds she was running full out across a field of sparkling white snow. Above her, the midnight blue sky sparkled with thousands of glittering stars. The snow flew up around her as she bolted across the ground, reveling in the freedom that could only be found on four legs. Joy bubbled up in her heart and she yipped and twirled with the pleasure that she’d almost forgotten after two long years imprisoned in human skin.

With a happy smile, Ana snuggled into the fur. It was so warm. Not like human s—

She frowned. She wasn’t warm. On the contrary, her skin hurt with cold as if she were standing outside naked in her human flesh. The dream faltered and harsh reality tried to retake control. Without opening her eyes, Ana shivered and tried to turn over. A pressure at her wrist sent another wave of confusion through her brain. She stirred in her sleep, still reluctant to give in to wakefulness and relinquish the dream she’d been enjoying just a moment ago. If she could just keep her eyes closed, maybe she could pick up where she left off . . .

Her other wrist jerked and something rough abraded her skin. The air stirred around her, sending a shiver down her spine. She stubbornly squeezed her eyes shut and tried to burrow further into her blanket. A strange smell tickled her nose. The scent made her sleepy, helped her hold onto the dream. She took a deep breath.

Her arms wouldn’t move. Something squeezed her ankle. Uncertainty muddled her thoughts, mixing with sleep to make her clumsy as she tried to figure out what was happening. The strange scent still tickled her nose. Her other ankle jerked away and this time her eyes shot open, all traces of the dream burning away on a tide of adrenaline. She tried to sit up, but neither her arms nor her legs could move. Panic seized her as she realized she was tied spread-eagle to her bedposts. Her eyes widened. And she was naked.

The thunder of her heartbeat in her ears made it hard to think. She remembered going to bed naked under the selkie’s skin she’d taken earlier that day. The feel of her bare skin against the fur had likely been what inspired the wonderful dream and it had been more than enough to keep her warm. Now the dream was gone, and so was the skin. Combined with the bonds squeezing her wrists and ankles, there was only one scenario that made sense.

Panic swelled even higher inside her until she grew nauseated with it. She had to force herself to look around, certain she would not like what she found. Her small bedroom was lit by the full moon shining through the window to the left of her bed. Its silvery glow reflected off the blanket of snow outside so that even with her human eyes she could see everything in her room. A dark shadow drew her eyes to the foot of her bed. Horror choked the air out of her lungs as she recognized the man standing before her, confirming her fears.

“Brec,” she whispered hoarsely.

He stood there like a statue carved of granite and covered in flesh, hard and unyielding. The skin she’d stolen from the chest she’d found on the shore hung over his left shoulder. As he stared at her, rage burning in the depths of his black eyes, he almost absent-mindedly ran his hand up and down the speckled fur. He stared at her as if he had a thousand vengeful thoughts running through his mind and couldn’t quite decide which one would shape reality.

The fury vibrating the air around him alone would have been enough to make her blood run cold—but the large dagger in his right hand helped. The cold sweat of fear broke out on her forehead and she swallowed hard as her gaze locked on the blade. It shone a dull white in the moonlight like polished bone. There was something primal about the weapon, almost ceremonial. It scared her to the depths of her being and it took every ounce of her self-control to tear her gaze away from it to look into his eyes once more.

“I—”

“You were wearing my skin,” he whispered.
“Using it as a blanket to keep warm.”

Her entire body trembled with terror and cold as his voice slithered through the air. There was a lilt in his tone, almost as if his anger had loosened his sanity. It was a voice she imagined she would have spoken in when the man burned her skin—if her pain at the time hadn’t pushed her beyond words. Tears burned behind her eyes as she fought her fear to try and think of a way out of this.

“I didn’t mean any harm,” she choked. “I—”

“No harm?” he roared.

He raised the knife as if he’d bring it down on belly and she couldn’t muffle the scream that ripped from her throat as she slammed her eyes shut. Adrenaline poured through her veins, heightening her senses until the world became nothing but her pounding heartbeat and ragged breathing. She scrambled to get away, jerking the ropes that bound her wrists and ankles, but it did her no good. She was spread out and vulnerable, able to do nothing to protect herself from the impending agony of impalement. Tucking her head as close to her chest as she could, she held her breath and waited for the blow.

The stabbing pain never came. She trembled there for a moment, not wanting to lift her eyes in time to see the downward swing of the blade as it came down on her exposed flesh. She could almost feel the knife biting through her body now, perhaps scraping against the bone of her ribs or spine as it tore through her organs to spill her blood over the bed. She would die a human and a thief. She’d never have a chance to get her fur back or to do penance for the others who would spend the rest of their lives searching for the skins hidden beneath the trap door in her basement. Misery clung to her heart and she said a brief prayer for forgiveness.

When a minute passed and the killing blow still hadn’t come, she slowly opened her eyes, still trembling with anticipatory fear. He stood there staring down at her, the hand with the knife clutched in it hanging at his side again. Something in his eyes had shifted. The anger was still there, but there was pain too. A pain she knew all too well. Guilt joined her fear in a sickening mix of emotions.

“You stole my
skin
,” he choked. “You stole my
life
. Without it, I couldn’t return to my home, my friends, my
family
.”

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, terrified to say too much or too little for fear the knife would rise back into the air a second time.

He came around the side of the bed, his steps shaky with what she knew was an almost debilitating anger. Her body had moved like that once—as if her brain was so saturated with the anger that it had forgotten how to move. The debilitation hadn’t lasted though. Her anger had turned liquid and she’d flowed forward like a screaming demon of vengeance. How long before Brec found that energy too? How long before his blade tasted her blood, and she finally got the punishment that deep down inside she knew she so richly deserved?

Brec put one knee on her bed and she almost yelped in fear. When he threw his right leg over her body to straddle her waist, a strangled sound of terror escaped her throat. Her lungs froze, unable to draw in a breath as he held his weight on his knees, hovering over her body. His eyes flashed and the muscles in his jaw tightened as he raised his knife to her throat with one hand, bracing himself against her headboard with the other. The soft fur of his seal-skin trailed down across her body, taunting her with its silken folds against her naked flesh—a subtle reminder of what had gotten her in this position in the first place.

“Tell me why you did it,” he whispered, a wild demand echoing in his tone. “Tell me why I shouldn’t take your skin now, the way you so readily took mine.”

Her tortured brain seized with confusion for a split second as she wondered how he’d known about her skin. It quickly gave way to a heightened level of terror when she realized he wasn’t talking about taking her fox-skin. He was talking about skinning her alive—cutting the human flesh from her bones until she died in agony and a pool of her own blood.

She couldn’t breathe past her fear. Her words clogged her throat, fighting to get out and give him a story that would keep the blade from biting into her flesh and bringing a macabre end to her attempts to get her life back. There had to be something she could say to get out of this alive, something that would make him see her as more than a thief. Her mind spun over the stories she’d heard about selkies, desperate for any detail that might help her.

“I’m just so lonely,” she sobbed, a new surge of panic making the words burst from her mouth. “My parents are dead, I don’t have any friends . . . I-I remembered the stories—the ones about the humans finding the coats of selkies and using them to draw the seal-people into marriage.” She sucked in a deep breath, struggling to keep speaking before her fear stole her voice again. “The stories always said the marriages were so happy. I just didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

Her babbling sounded ludicrous even to her own ears. There was a note of hysteria in her voice along with panic and a sickening vulnerability. If not for the mind-numbing fear eating her from the inside out, Ana would have been humiliated by the spectacle she must be making of herself. She could only hope that her pitiful display would leech some of the anger from Brec’s face and make him lower the weapon threatening to kiss her throat.