“Okay, wow. Are you all right?” Sawyer asked her.
“She’ll be fine.” Bran spoke sharply as he gripped Sasha’s hand. “Look at me. Look at me now, and listen. You’re still trying to block it, and so when it comes it gives you pain. You have to stop mistrusting yourself and your gift.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Well, you have it, don’t you, so steady up.”
“Hey,” Sawyer began, as Bran’s tone was harsh, and Sasha pale. But Riley shook her head, warned him off.
“You don’t know what it’s like to have something in you that takes you over.”
“And you don’t know what it’s like to embrace it, to learn to use it instead of trying to deny it so it uses you.”
“My own father walked away because he couldn’t live with it, with me. Every time I’ve tried to get close to anyone, this gift has pushed through and ruined it, so I have no one.”
“You have us. And we won’t be walking away.” He spoke briskly, without a hint of sympathy. “But it’s you who does the walking, from what I can see. Away from yourself.”
“We wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t come.”
“Now that’s exactly right. You should think about that, deal with that instead of weeping over what brought you.”
Too shocked and angry for words, Sasha shoved away from the table and walked away.
“You might go after her,” Bran said to Riley. “See that she takes something for the headache she’s brought on herself.”
“Yeah.” She rose. “Take a swipe at me like that? I hit back.”
“You might be the one to teach her to do the same.”
“Maybe I am.”
When she walked off, Sawyer shook his head. “That was harsh, man.”
“I know it.” And left him with a hint of a headache himself. “It’s harsher yet, to my mind, for her to make herself ill. We are what we are, don’t you think, mate?”
Sawyer considered his second shot. “For some, maybe most of some, being different from everybody else is tough.”
“Is it?” Bran smiled, lifted his own glass. “I find being unique is something to celebrate and respect. Until she does, what she has only hurts her.” He turned the little glass of limoncello in his fingers, drank it. “We’d best clean this up, and do it right, or we’ll be unlikely to get another meal out of her.”
“She matters to you, beyond what she is, and what we’re after.”
With considerable care, Bran set the little glass down again. “She’s a beautiful woman with a damaged heart and a bright courage she doesn’t recognize. Yes, she matters, beyond, or I wouldn’t have spoken to her as I did.”
“Okay then.”
Once they’d dealt with the dishes, set the kitchen to rights, Bran went outside, did a couple of circuits around the house. A kind of border patrol, he thought. But he saw nothing but moon and stars and sea, heard no whispering of bat wings, only the rush of water against land and rock.
Pausing, he looked up at Sasha’s room, saw it was dark, her terrace doors closed. He hoped she slept, and peacefully. And hoped to Christ she didn’t come knocking on his door in the night looking beautiful and dreamy. It had been one thing to share her bed, in sleep, the night before. But he accepted doing so again would severely test his will.
She was far too appealing, in all manner of ways.
He considered options, discarded them. And knowing sleep wouldn’t come calling soon, he went back in. There was work he could do while the others slept.
* * *
Sawyer sent long, detailed emails home as he did whenever he was able. He tried reading, gave it up, and tried to work. But he was far too restless.
A walk on the beach, he decided. Alone.
For a man who enjoyed companionship, he was often alone and knew how to occupy himself and his mind. He pulled on a jacket, as the night was cool, went out through the terrace doors and down. He could appreciate the fragrance in the air, the way the clouds sailed over stars and moon, the steady heartbeat of the sea.
And could be grateful those clouds were thin, and the moon bright enough to light the cliff steps.
He considered his companions, as he’d written about them.
Riley, sharp, solid, and smart. A traveler, somewhat like him, and a woman who could handle herself. A scholar, but far from fusty. They shared a passionate attachment to science fiction, fantasy, and graphic novels.
Bran? Clever, charming when he wanted to be, and plenty mysterious. Protective. He might’ve been hard on Sasha after dinner, but he’d been truthful when he’d said she mattered. Sawyer sensed Bran would do whatever needed to be done to protect someone who mattered.
And Sasha. Talented—gifted—and conflicted. Unsure of her footing, but she still walked the walk. So he’d give Bran points for insight. She had courage she didn’t recognize. And, Sawyer thought, was certainly the magnet that had drawn them all together.