“Because my homeland is drowning, Telya, and we need you,” I tell her, and it’s not a lie. Not exactly.
That I need her—am desperate for her—is something I simply need to keep to myself for now.
“Why me?” she gasps, clinging as the water swells above her shoulders.
“The sea has chosen.”
And so have I.
Chapter 3
Phoebe
From the Jersey Shore toCastletide—Nightfall
At the far edge of the shadows, where the service walkway meets the dark glass, a man stands.
Tall. Broad-shouldered.
At first, I think I’m seeing a costume—one of those immersive-park actors—but his presence has a thatched quality to it.
Not theatrical, but ancient. Like the weather.
His eyes are storm-colored, and they’re fixed on me in a way that strips me bare.
He isn’t entirely a man.
Oh my God—he’s beautiful.
He’s the kind of beautiful that hurts.
My stomach is clenched, and I am hyperaware of the fact that I look like a sausage in my wetsuit.
It’s just not flattering. Like at all.
I’m wearing zero makeup, and my hair is sticking to my face from a mixture of sweat and Aggie’s splashes.
I close my eyes, certain my mind is playing tricks on me. When I open them, I look again, and my lips part.
Yeah, he’s still there and still super hot, but it’s nothumanbeauty.
Horns curve back from his temples like black coral, slick and elegant.
Lines crawl across his skin—runes maybe—glowing faintly, like tidepools lit from beneath.
He wears black slacks that look absurdly expensive for someone in an aquarium and a white shirt so thin it clings and reveals those glowing markings.
The fabric moves with him like seafoam.
I notice his muscles—knotted, roped, the sort of anatomy that makes a body look constructed by work and wind—but there’s no time to catalog that.
My brain tries to file it away like a curious note while the rest of me roars that this is wrong, wrong, wrong.
“You—you can’t be back here!” I blurt.
My voice trembles, ridiculous and small in the cavern of my ribcage.
He steps forward.
