Sins Against the Sea (13 page)

Besides, even if she had developed feelings for him—like the biggest fool ever born—he would eventually leave her to return to the sea anyway, so, better now than later, right? Though her rationale saw the logic, another part of her—the softer, more sentimental part she’d locked up years ago—screamed in protest. She hated that needy part of herself. When it took her over, she felt lost at sea.

* * * *

Cuan had taken a walk to stretch his new legs while scouting for an uncontaminated place to hold Cordelia’s head underwater. Unfortunately, the shifting tide and lapping surf had spread the oil everywhere within view, so it looked as though he’d either have to wait until the harbor cleared or take her elsewhere to perform the test.

The latter would require a boat and a destination, neither of which he had at the moment. Eriskay might do, assuming the oil hadn’t drifted that far south…or maybe Skye, if he could get his hands on a motorboat.

He would take her to the Shiants, but doing so increased the risk of being found out, depriving him of the decision to trust her with his secret. He was inclined to do so, whether or not she was human. Murtagh and the others would feel differently, of course, regardless of her bloodlines.

Movement out of the corner of his eye snapped Cuan back to the present. It was Shan, riding over the surf in a skiff. Clearly, he, too, had sprouted his breeding legs.

“I thought I might find you here,” Shan called out as he drew nearer the shore.

“I came back to check on the tanker and got stranded,” Cuan explained.

Shan eyed the blanket wrapped round Cuan’s hips with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. “Where’d you come by that? Don’t tell me you’ve found yourself a Nic in the midst of all this chaos.”

“Not a Nic, exactly.”

“What then?”

“A half-blood who came to my aid.” Guilt tightened Cuan’s chest as he spoke the words. He did not like lying to his friend, even when the lie was dressed in white.

Shan’s eyebrow shot up. “A half-blood? Have you spawned with her?”

“Of course not.”

“Did she see your tail?”

Cuan pulled on his chin as he considered how to answer. While Shan was his best friend, he was also Murtagh’s son. Deciding to play it safe, he said, “No. She believes I am here to help clean up the oil.”

“Good, because I do not enjoy killing females, inferior though they be.”

Cuan held his tongue. Arguing her merits would only arouse suspicion. Shan would be en route to one of the breeding islands at present, and it would be best for all concerned to hasten him along.

“Where are you headed?”

“Eige.”

Though the mention of Meredith’s native island provoked a painful pang, Cuan let it pass. “Don’t let me delay your journey.” He forced a friendly smile through his apprehension. “I am being well looked after for now and, once my strength returns, I will be off to Eriskay to do my duty.”

Shan laughed, albeit with an edge. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get rid of me…and planning to stick around, though I cannot imagine why you would want to do so. Ronay is nothing compared to Eriskay, and you must not disappoint the Nics.”

Cuan shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “As I said, I will set off the moment I am strong enough to do so.”

Shan gave him a long, hard look. “If you had any sense, you’d go now. Remember your duty to your clan, Cuan…and to the ocean. Humans are devils, and a half-devil is still a devil in my books.”

Self-doubt seized Cuan. Maybe his friend was right. Maybe his attraction was blinding him to the truth about Cordelia. She was, after all, working for the men who’d brought
Ketos
into the Minch.

Sunset was approaching and golden light winked from the dancing surface of the waves, making him eager to get back to the cave. He was hungry and did not wish to miss out on whatever Cordelia might bring him for dinner. Neither did he wish to endure further admonitions from Shan.

“Can I beg a favor?” he asked. “As a friend and fellow warrior.”

Shan nodded, even as distrust shimmered in his wide-set blue-green eyes.

“Tell no one you have seen me or about this conversation.”

Shan’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Why not?”

“I have my reasons. Now, can I count on your silence?”

“You can, provided I can count on your promise to leave here as soon as possible.”

“You have my solemn oath.”

The lie left a bitterness aftertaste on Cuan’s tongue. He had no intention of leaving Ronay until he’d solved the mystery of Cordelia’s lineage. “But before you go, there is one more thing I must know. Well, two things, actually. The first is why we attacked
Ketos.
The second is why, ten years ago, we drove the yacht called
Nautilus
into the rocks in the Stornoway harbor. What had the humans we drowned done to harm the ocean?”

“I only know what my father told me.”

“Which was what?”

“They are conspiring with our other enemies, the Finfolk of the Vanishing Isles, to do harm in our territory.”

Cuan’s brow furrowed. “What kind of harm?”

“Something to do with the harvesting of oil.”

Eight

Chapter Eight

A persistent banging broke into Corey’s dream, shattering a scene in which she’d been swimming in the ocean with her mother. In the dream, a recurring one since childhood, she was pulling through the sea like a frog, breathing as naturally as if the water were air. Her mom was leading her somewhere, but something always awakened Corey before she learned where they were going.

Just like now.

The thumping persisted. Someone at the front door. The realization penetrated a thick cloud of grogginess. So did the glowing red numbers on the bedside clock. It was just after two o’clock in the morning. Worry constricted her chest. Who could be knocking at this ungodly hour? That asshole MacInnes, probably…or maybe Trowbridge with bad news from the command center.

Her mind skimmed over the direst possibilities. The spill was worse than anticipated…or more reporters had gotten through his barricades…or somebody had found her merman.

The last thought brought her to a bolt-upright position. Kicking off the covers, she jumped out of bed and danced in place, hugging herself against the cold. Holy shit. It was like an igloo. Teeth chattering, she hunted around for her bathrobe while the banging grew louder and more insistent. She found the robe hooked on the back of the door and pulled it on as she bounded down the stairs, the fuzz of sleep still enshrouding her brain.

“Keep your hair on,” she yelled at the impatient knocker. “I’m coming.”

She yanked open the door with a huff. Her irritation gave way to astonishment when she saw her A.W.O.L. merman standing on the porch looking remarkably un-blue and unfishlike. The blanket she’d taken him was draped around his hips like an old-style kilt. He’d used what looked like a braided length of kelp as a belt to secure the tartan cloth around his hips. Beneath the hemline were very human-looking calves, ankles, and bare feet.

He was taller than she’d assumed he’d be—about six-foot-one, by her calculations. Her gaze jumped to his bare chest, which was broad, muscular, hairless, and far too alluring for her to see him as anything but pure male animal—and an impressive example of the breed, to boot.

A wave of desire crashed in her loins as their gazes met. He touched her chin as softly as moonlight. As he tipped her face upward, her knees nearly collapsed. Their gazes met with a visceral spark. His eyes pulled her in, pulled her down. She was sinking, drowning, unable to breathe. She sensed he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words. She wanted to say something, too, though her mind was suddenly blank. Even if she could form words, she’d never push them through her voided airways.

Tearing her gaze from his, she let it roam over his magnificent physique. What did he look like under that blanket? She had to know—for purely scientific purposes, of course.

“Would you like to come inside?” As raw lust overtook her reason, a seductive smile stole across her face. “I could give you another bath, if you feel so inclined.”

Eyes suddenly wild, he stepped across the threshold and grabbed her by the shoulders. “
Jeh HAH oo? Jeh HAH oo?
”

She neither understood the question nor knew how to respond. She broke away from his hold and made for the stairs. He followed, as she hoped he would. She wanted him to make love to her. Yes, it was an insane wish. He was a merman, for heaven’s sake and, with her career crumbling around her, the stupidest thing she could do was tumble into bed with someone she hardly knew—especially someone who was blue, half fish, and lived under the sea three-quarters of the year.

Still, good sense didn’t stop the wanting. In fact, for reasons she could only attribute to pheromone magnetism, she wanted Kew-in right now more than she’d ever wanted anyone.

She ducked into the room where she’d been asleep and hurried to the bookcase. Kew-in followed, saying nothing. She scanned the spines, found the Gaelic-English dictionary, and began to flip through the pages. He stood behind her, so near she could feel the warmth of his breaths on the back of her neck. His heady ocean scent enveloped her, making her dizzy with desire. Biting her lip against the urge to turn around and kiss him, she kept her focus on the book. In Gaelic, words didn’t sound the way they were spelled. Not to her ears, anyway. She looked up from the confounding pages as an idea glimmered. Was there any chance he could read? If so, maybe he could use the dictionary to tell her what he wanted.

Rounding on him, she pushed the book into his hands. He looked confused for a moment before his blue-green eyes brightened, letting her know he’d grasped the idea. He thumbed through the pages, flipped back and forth, and paused now and then to mouth silent sounds.

Despite her knotted stomach and raging hormones, Corey couldn’t help smiling at his enterprise.

Turning more pages, Kew-in stroked his chin, touched his lips, and furrowed his brow. God, he was gorgeous. When he lifted his gaze to hers, her breath caught as a hot bolt of need zapped her between the legs.

“What are you, Cordelia?”

Holy crap. He really had been soaking up the language. She took a step back and tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“Are you human?”

She furrowed her brow. What was this about? “Of course, I am. What else would I be?”

He broke eye contact to consult the dictionary again, flipping pages. “Not nymph nor selkie nor mermaid?”

She released a tense laugh. “Not that I’m aware of.”

He moved closer and sniffed her hair. “You smell of the sea.”

“Not surprising,” she said, smirking, “given that I’ve spent a good part of the day on the beach.”

Frowning hard in concentration, he again referred to the book. After a moment, he looked up and stared at her intently. “Your mother was human?”

“I assume so.”

“What about your father? Was he not a sea god?”

Yesterday, she would have laughed at the question, but not today. Today, she was talking to a merman who’d learned the English language from a book in five minutes. Anything seemed possible. Even that Poseidon, Triton, Glauckos, Oceanus and a host of other fish-tailed deities might be out there fathering demigods.

“Let me see that.” She snatched the dictionary out of his webbed fingers—fingers she couldn’t wait to feel caressing her every erogenous zone.

Now, how the hell to communicate what she wanted? She tried looking up “sex,” but it wasn’t there.

Sexual intercourse? Not there, either.

Making love? Shit, still no luck.

What might a Gaelic-speaker call the act of copulation? Coitus, like Sheldon Cooper? Coupling? Mating? Spawning? She tried them all without success. Clearly, the authors of this dictionary did not want Hebrideans interbreeding with the English.

Giving up, she returned the dictionary to its place on the shelf. Screw verbiage. Words were overrated anyway. Taking his warm, webbed hand in hers, she lifted her face and puckered her lips.

He must have understood what she wanted because his mouth moved toward hers. Their lips met in a kiss that was gentle, but ripe with promise. He tasted wild and primitive—like the sea, the source of all life. She put her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in the strands of his hair, pulling his mouth harder against hers. He pressed his fingers into her back, drawing her pelvis to his. Even through the blanket he wore, she could feel he wanted her, too.

Breaking out of the kiss,
he took hold of her shoulders and gazed into her eyes. Then, in shockingly perfect English, he said, “I believe you mentioned something about a bath. Why don’t we take one together?”

The idea had a lot of appeal. Sex appeal. Despite the special differences, she wanted him rather desperately. Kew-in reminded her of Jared, a guy she’d dated while at UCLA. He was a surfer with long, sun-bleached blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a little soul-patch goatee. He taught her to surf, painted her a picture of the ocean, and made love to her in the back of his van.

More importantly, he made her laugh and feel good about herself until, without explanation, he broke it off after they’d been going out a few months. The break-up, though amicable enough, had been crushing for Corey. A few months later, she ran into him on the pier. “I’m getting married,” he told her, “to someone I met at church. I’m a re-born Christian now, and go to Calvary Chapel three times a week.”