Those eyes, one blue, one amber, looking at me for guidance. The plush pink of her lips as she chews on the lower one in concentration. Her cheeks glistening with water and exertion. What I wouldn’t give to show her the wild blue ocean and the freedom it brings.
Maybe it’s because I haven’t been on a boat in a long time. Or because Aurora’s presence is distracting me. It could be the fae magic still lingering in the air, clogging my senses.
Halfway across the lake, with the shore nearly within reach, we’re attacked.
I hear the water spirits before I see them. Dancing above the surface of the water, they come racing for us, their mischievous voices like little bells. They’re shaped like little bells too, formed from ephemeral bits of water itself, with bodies that stretch and undulate. They’d be adorable if they weren’t dangerous little fuckers.
“Watch out!” I grab Aurora and haul her down, ducking one of their attacks.
“What is that?”
“Water spirits. Sent by the fae no doubt.” I scowl, letting my wolf out just enough that my claws pierce through my fingertips. “Stay down, I’ll get?—”
I’m not even halfway through my sentence before she ignores my commands. Bouncing to her feet, she rolls under one of the water spirits and pulls something out of her braid. As she brandishes it above her head, the spirits disintegrate wherever it touches them.
Damn. She has a cold iron dagger sheathed in her hair. I’d admire her if I weren’t getting attacked by the damn things myself.
Elemental spirits are more annoying than they are harmful, unless they come in droves. This group is big enough that they get a few hits on both of us. Wherever they slash at my skin, cold red welts rise up that struggle to heal. Each time I slash one with my claws, destroying it, the water spirit turns back into water.
But as strong and fast as I am, Aurora is somehow twice the warrior. She’s a fucking spitfire, and it’s her bravery that sets her apart. She rushestowarddanger, spinning and snarling, a cold iron dagger in each hand.
Her flashes of courage and strength, spirit and coordination, just remind me that I rejected her. So I fight twice as hard, doing my best to protect her, turning spirits into water. Water that falls on the ship’s deck, pooling quickly around our ankles.
Aurora cries out in alarm as the stern of the ship starts to sink. “Shit! My bike!”
Growling, I help her lash it to the boat to keep it above water. We’re still skimming across the surface, a steady wind drawing us toward the opposite shore.
Drawing back to back with her near the main sail, I shout, “Try to disperse them over the water!”
We break off in our fight, taking out the spirits in groups of two and three. I keep glancing at the shore, willing it to go closer.
Then the boat takes on too much water, and all at once, it sinks beneath our feet.
I leap for Aurora, retracting my claws and throwing my arms around her. She goes for the bike—stubborn, beautiful woman—so I grab the rope we used to lash it to the ship and drag it behind us. Kicking my legs, I propel us toward shore, wincing as the last of the water spirits dive bomb me. They melt between the lake’ssurface as we swim toward the shore, drenched and heaving the bike behind us.
“It’ll be useless now that it’s taken on water,” Aurora says bitterly as she jerks the bike up onto dry ground, her braid dripping water. “The engine…”
“Dry it out and see what you can get out of it.” Studying the lake’s shore, I scowl as I realize we’re back on the map again. “I’m going to start a fire.”
We work wordlessly beside each other, both of us exhausted and wounded, but healing. My welts from the water spirits disappear faster than Aurora’s do. The urge to reach out and tend to her is overwhelming. I daydream about helping her untangle and re-braid her hair, drying her clothes out and kissing the damp from her bare skin.
I pull supplies from my thankfully water-resistant pack and grab as many dry fallen branches as I can find. Digging a fire pit, I put together the beginnings of a fire, glancing over at Aurora as I do so. She’s glumly cleaning mud out of her bike, her brows furrowed, a piece of deer jerky clenched between her teeth. Her attention is so focused on her task that she doesn’t notice me studying her.
Until she does. “Have any dry shirts in there?” She jerks her chin toward my pack. “My bag got flooded. All my clothes are wet as shit.”
“Here.” I hand her a dry white T-shirt, careful not to let out hands brush. “Give me your pack and I’ll lay your things out near the fire to dry.”
Once I’ve got the flames going, the heat of the fire licking at my skin, I open her bag and pull out anything wet. Trying carefully not to think about what I’m touching, I lay her outfits out on a nearby log and drag it close enough to the fire that the water steams off them.
In the meantime, she’s pulled her shirt off and changed into mine, the oversized white cotton kissing her thighs. With a sigh, she wrings the shirt out and lays it over her bike’s handlebars. The firelight dances across her skin, turning the damp strands of her braid gold and orange.
Sitting down on the log across from the fire, she pulls her braid over her shoulder and combs her fingers through it. My wolf growls, low and heated, and I avert my gaze before he can surge too close to the surface. Closing my eyes, I inhale the comforting scent of the fire—and of Aurora’s damp lilac-and-honey skin.
When I open my eyes again, the lake is gone. A chill goes through me at the sight of dry land and trees that weren’t there stretching out between us and where the shore was.
“Did you just…?”
“Close my eyes and the lake disappeared? Yeah.” Aurora pulls her cold iron necklace out from under my shirt and clutches it like it’s a rosary. “I don’t like any of this.”
