So he stood and waited, and he tried to hide how greedy he was as he breathed deep to catch snatches of her scent on the wind. And he wanted with all of his might to go put his arms around her and hold her, just fucking hold her, just rest his head on her shapely, slender shoulder and feel her arms slide around his waist as she hugged him, but that goddamn signpost was busily ticker-taping more text. Now it read: not yet, son. You can’t go there yet. So he petted the dog, and did nothing.
Finally Carling turned. She gave Rune a confused glance. She didn’t feel capable of figuring him out at the moment. The clean lines of his profile, with the bold cheekbones, strong nose and lean jaw, were clearly outlined against the churning foam of the sea. He looked so patient and calm, so completely at odds with the tumultuous mess that was churning inside of her. He looked as if he was prepared to stand there and wait forever for whatever it was he wanted.
Instead of facing him, she turned to face inland. She looked up at the dark sprawl of her crazy-gothic house and wondered if she would ever see it again. She felt a pang and let it go, and it was another release.
She glanced back at Rune. “Ready?” she asked.
She watched him take a deep breath and nod. “Yep,” he said. He turned to her. “You?”
After all Rhoswen’s melodrama, all the internal crash of Carling’s turmoil, and it came to this. Yep. She suddenly found herself smiling and nodded.
He strolled over, and there it was. There was the snapshot she wanted to take of him and keep forever, that easygoing way he had of moving his big body, the intent expression in his eyes as he looked at her that was so much at odds with the deceptive sleepiness on his handsome face, and she realized that sleepy, relaxed look of his was when he was on the prowl and at his most dangerous.
She whispered, “You don’t fool me.”
He gave her his slow, famous, heart-stopping, rock star smile. “You think too much. Where do you want your dog?”
She took Rasputin, wrapped him in Rune’s ruined T-shirt, and tucked him gently into the waterproof container. Rune rubbed the back of his neck and winced as he watched. She said, “You know, he’s perfectly safe traveling this way.”
“I get it,” he said. “He doesn’t need to breathe right now. It just looks disturbing.”
“Short of a little scuba mask, I couldn’t think of any way to get him through the passageway.” She stroked the dog’s soft ear. “And this way he isn’t distressed by the journey. It’s like taking a nap on a car ride. He just goes to sleep and wakes up somewhere else.”
Rune’s face softened. “You love him.”
She kept her head down as she secured the fastening. “I don’t know. I suppose.”
“You totally love him. He’s your widdle snookums.”
She snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I guess he is.”
“Who kept him when you and Rhoswen traveled to Adriyel?” Rune took the container by its strap and slung it over one shoulder.
“My household staff looks after him when I travel. I don’t think it’s fair to ask that of them all the time, though, which is why I had asked Rhoswen to hire someone to look after him. I think we should drop him off at the town house for now, though, when we get back to the city.”
“I agree. It will free us up to do whatever needs to be done.” He held his free hand out to her. She hesitated only a moment. Then she put her hand in his and they walked into the ocean together.
The water was cold enough it would have sent an unprotected human into hypothermia within minutes. Rune found it just as refreshing as he thought he would. Better than a cold shower. He estimated the crossover passage that ran along a fissure on the ocean floor to be at a depth of around six hundred feet. It was very dark, but the crossover blazed clearly ahead in his mind’s eye.
He mulled the experience over as they swam the passage. It was utterly familiar. Underwater or on land, he had crossed over passageways like this countless times before. And it was almost exactly like the crossover experience he had had during Carling’s episodes, except for that bent feeling, that sense of turning a corner.
Or maybe it was more like folding a piece of paper. For such a dramatic event, the image was rather boring and prosaic. But still there was something to it, an intuitive fit that appealed to him. The two portions of the folded paper existed side by side so close they touched. One portion of the paper was the present. When he crossed to Carling’s past, he was traveling around that tiny, tight fold to stand on the other side.
Only the analogy broke down almost immediately, because there would have to be a countless number of potential folds in the paper to account for every moment in time. But still there was something to the concept of traveling around a bend that was so impossibly small and tight it took up absolutely no space at all. It made sense to him in a way, because . . .
. . . because the concept felt like it might be a direction he could actually follow.
If he hadn’t already been doing so, he would have held his breath.