Page 83 of The Scald Crow
“We should save this for another day.” I stuffed the condom into my back pocket.
“What? Don’t you want to?” She pouted her pretty lips, her arms glued to her sides.
Did I imagine the shadow of relief passing through her eyes?
“I want to, more than anything.” I threaded my hand through her wild locks, clasping the back of her head and gazing into her silver eyes. What I would give to make her mine—right here, right now. I pressed my lips to the side of her face.
I sensed the temperature change. Once warm and soothing, the air shivered. Ice crystals formed and then shattered, blanketing the sand in a thick white layer—of snow.
The skies filled with a luminescent mist, a thick fog rolling over and turning into itself. A thunderbolt struck the rolling surf, followed by a resounding clap.
“Colm, something’s happening. Do you feel it?” Her voice flowed through me, and her eyes glowed white-gold. She turned away, facing the unknown alone.
“Calla. No.” I struggled to maintain my hold on her wrist.
The wind pressed against me, and shards of ice numbed my bones. I lunged forward, straining my elbows and every knuckle, realizing my worst fears.
The sky flashed electric blue.
Her essence lingered and faded, leaving only the memory of her soft touch and sing-song voice. She had vanished.
Winter’s breath tore through me. An otherness, a cold rage, blinded my mind and left my limbs paralyzed.
My foe raised the tides, whipping the waters into a maelstrom. The waves lifted on command, pounding over me, throwing me face-first to the bottom of the sea.
I fought to break the surf, gagging on salty brine, only to find the sea floor again.
Anguished screams rose from the depths, the keening cries of lost souls. Voices called to me, familiar voices. The waves chased the ocean deep, and reality left me, oblivion extending its dark, cold hand, clenching my throat and dragging me under. Again. And again.
The ocean roar crashed one wave against another. Rippling, curling, and then retreating, the tides sucked the sand away from the land. The waves churned, and froth washed over me. I clawed the sand with shredded fingers, my jaw cracking on a rocky outcrop.
Her voice rang in my ears, an echo from a distant land—neither here nor there, but elsewhere. The emptiness in my chest told me she was gone. The quiet called to me. I had no fight left. Care left me long ago.
Laughter filled the air. Voices cajoled, whispering of happy times—throwing a ball on the strand, body surfing these same killer waves. My heart lifted, and light rained down.
“Colm, dear gods, mate. What are you doing out here?” The man’s voice rang with familiarity.
Strong arms dragged me through the wash and lowered me onto the grassy dune. A voice soothed me.
The horses nickered, tossing their heads back and forth.
Sunlight streamed from the sky, searing my eyelids shut. I opened my mouth to speak, my throat burning with strangled breaths.
A man I had known forever, a man I had mourned, crouched before me.
“Can you ride, man? We have to get you home. You’re concussed.” Ciarán’s piercing blue eyes questioned me. He held my head steady with one cool hand.
“Am I dead? Is this heaven?” I rasped, my mouth full of sand.
“Jeez, bro. Is that all you’ve got to say to a long-lost brother?” He lifted me onto my feet.
I lurched forward and then fell onto my knees. My vision blurred, my mind spinning with confusion.
Her sneakers, one tied to the other, floated in the wild surf.
Calla taken from me.
Ciarán returned.
“Calla.” I stumbled and ran into the sea, screaming at the gods, but no one answered.
