The Serpent in the Stone

CHAPTER Two

Oh, my God. Still in her wolf shape, Sara summoned her telekinesis and stopped Ian’s plummeting body in midair. Even from this distance, standing far above at the cliff’s edge, she heard his grunt of shock. Her heartbeat slammed. Every hair of her pelt stood on end. Her horrified moan came out as a low-pitched whine.

There would be no way out of this.

She watched him look around and notice that he dangled by nothing. The ocean crashed against the rocks some seventy feet below him. “Jesus!” he shouted. He pulled his arms and legs closer to his body, and she almost lost her hold on him. Breathless, she struggled to steady his weight with her gift.

He looked up and found her standing at the cliff edge. She trembled under his stare, but dared not look away. Gently, she lifted him with her power. His body rose upward.

His gaze never left her through each foot of his ascent. At last, he reached the top of the cliff, floating over the lip to solid ground. She sidestepped as she lowered him down. He kept right on staring until she wanted to cower before him.

His hand came up to his left shoulder. Sweat trickled down his forehead. She smelled the distress of his pain and heard his breath shuddering in and out. The thought repeating in his head barged into her senses, even without her seeking it.

Wolf eyes aren’t green.

Terror seized her. She bolted straight for the cliff edge.

He lunged forward. “No!”

She catapulted over the precipice into space and dropped out of his sight. Her stomach swooped as she fell. Quickly, she called on the shape of the gulls squawking in alarm around her. In a flash, she changed into one of the birds, then circled high into the air.

Ian staggered toward the cliff edge, clutching his arm. He leaned over and looked, down, down, down to the water. After a few moments, he turned away from the cliff and stumbled to where she—the wolf—had been standing. He dropped to one knee, pressing his injured arm close to his body, and scanned the ground.

Shaking so hard she could barely maintain the gull form, she soared northward down the island, craving escape. Only when she was sure he wasn’t looking did she let go of the gull shape and return to her human one. For a few seconds, she could only stand there and tremble with shock. What have I done?

Minutes passed. She had to force herself to walk toward him. Every step felt like a move toward a noose with her name on it. She approached him from behind, light-footed, prepared to run again. Her voice shook a little as she spoke. “What are you doing?”

He looked up and blinked as if he thought she were a hallucination. With a grunt, he lurched to his feet and swayed.

She hurried to his side. “What’s wrong?”

“My shoulder. I think it’s dislocated.”

Flushed and fearful, she examined him from head to foot. There was no choice. “Come on. I’ll help you into your tent.” She touched his uninjured arm.

He radiated heat through the jacket. She almost let go, but he slumped against her and she willed herself to stay put. He bit off a gasp and stumbled along with her. As soon as they got into the tent, he fell onto his cot and blacked out.

The sudden silence was alarming. Sara shifted her weight from foot to foot, uncertain what to do. Every impulse screamed at her to run. She could have slipped out at any moment...but she didn’t.

Dislocated. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t leave him like that. She knelt and pawed underneath a small table, looking for his first-aid kit. If he even had one. What kind of a fool...

He moaned behind her. Sara whirled around, tried to rise, and banged her head on the underside of the table. She winced and crawled out from under it to rub her throbbing scalp. That would be her penance for deciding to come see him.

But if she hadn’t...

His eyes opened and he tried to sit up. When he put weight on his left elbow, his face contorted in pain. He dropped back with a groan.

Without thinking, she shot across the tent to the cot, then slid a hand underneath his back. “We need to get you to Mainland and have your shoulder X-rayed.”

He groaned again as she helped him sit upright. “No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’? Your shoulder’s dislocated. You might have a frac—”

“I said no. Can you put it back in place?”

“Ian—”

“Can you, or can’t you?”

She hissed outward through her teeth and sprang to her feet. “Yes. I can. Right now, I’m likely to leave you this way. Go ahead and give me an excuse.”

He closed his eyes, panting, and relief washed through her at the respite from that intense stare. Sweat trickled down his forehead.

Her own concerns forgotten, she moved toward him again. “For God’s sake, Ian,” she said, softening her tone as she knelt before the cot. She reached for his arm.

His eyes opened again as she touched him. She made herself look away. “H-How did it happen?”

“My rope broke.”

She caught her breath. If she’d been just a few seconds later... She might not have had to worry about someone knowing about her powers. Her stomach somersaulted. Rattled, she placed one hand on his left bicep and cupped his elbow with the other. I can’t believe how warm he is, she thought, feeling the muscular curve and sinew of his arm under her hands. “Hold still. This will hurt.” She gave his arm a firm shift in the right direction.

With a pop, the joint slid back into place. Ian grunted and his breath whooshed out. “Thank you,” he said at last.

Without answering, she reached for the buckles of his climbing harness and undid them one by one. She felt his gaze raking her face as she worked. Heat crept into her cheeks. Commanding her hands not to shake—and not getting the results she wanted—she reached for the last buckle on his waistbelt. Just as she laid her hand on the strap to undo it, he seized her wrist in an iron grip.

She yelped and tried to jerk away...but he wasn’t looking at her. He dropped her hand, then picked up the length of cord still hanging from his belt. He thumbed the broken end. “I’m not leaving the island.”

“You don’t think you’re going to go back to climbing down cliffs, do you? You need a hospital.”

He held up the broken rope, so close that she had no choice but to look at it. “This was cut.”

She focused on the end of the rope and saw the neatly sheared fibers. “Who would want to c-cut it?”

He dropped the cord again, this time gripping both her wrists in spite of his injured arm. “My question exactly.”

She recoiled, but he kept his hold. It took all her resolve not to hit him with telekinesis. “Let go of me,” she whispered.

He didn’t. His stare went icy, and she found herself wishing for the blazing look from moments before. She tried to pull away again. He held on, gritting his teeth through what must have been an excruciating jerk of his shoulder. “Let go,” she repeated with as much indignation as possible.

He released her wrists and sat back. Pain crept into his features, but he masked it so fast she knew he hadn’t meant her to see.

“Here.” She reached for his waistbelt again, but hesitated. “Do you want help, or not?”

His expression lost some of that hard edge. She unbuckled the waistbelt with forced calm. Her gaze drifted lower. Ears burning, she followed the seam of his pants to the juncture of his thighs. Her heart pounded so hard, she dreaded he’d hear it.

Ian shifted and sat ramrod-straight. Her fingers flew to the buckles of the leg loops. His thigh muscles were rigid as marble. She loosened the buckles and slid the harness off his body, then reached for his fleece vest. “You’re going to need some help...unless you can do this one-handed...” She trailed off with her fingers on the zipper, feeling heat flush her face.

When he didn’t respond, she dared a look upward. The barest suggestion of humor had crept into his pain-glazed eyes. “I can figure it out,” he said. She lowered her hand and he undid the zipper, then shrugged his good shoulder. The vest came off one side. He reached across his chest and eased it down the other arm.

Watching him undress—even one innocent piece of clothing—brought on a fresh wave of jitters. Her stare fixed on the broad planes of his torso, visible under the snug thermal shirt. Well-defined shoulder muscles sloped into the curves of arm and chest. Mesmerized, she let her gaze fall lower. He’s built more like a marathon swimmer than a teacher. How does this man spend time in a classroom and look like that? “D-Do you have a sling? Painkillers?”

“Under the bed. The first-aid kit.”

She bent and fished around under his cot for it. Sweat glistened on his face. She shook herself out of her daze and opened the kit to find a prescription bottle. “You came prepared.”

“Not the first time I’ve had a shoulder problem,” he ground out.

She handed him the water canteen from his bedside table, then helped him put on a sling. Tension rippled through his body under her fingers. She longed to ask him about his memory of Faith’s necklace, but the thought of saying it aloud terrified her.

Her gaze traveled downward over the sling to his left hand. Dried blood crusted his bruised knuckles and torn fingertips. She reached into the first-aid kit for a packet of antiseptic wipes, then tore it open and dabbed gingerly at his wounds.

His body shivered and she looked up. The corner of his mouth had twisted into a wry smile. He shook with silent laughter, then winced and held his arm closer to his body. “What?” she whispered.

When he spoke, his voice rasped with mingled discomfort and mirth. “I have a dislocated shoulder, and you think a little peroxide is going to hurt me?”

She scowled to cover her nerves and finished wiping the blood off his hand. Fearing the answer, she plunged ahead with her next question. “How did you get back up the cliff?”

“I don’t remember.”

Of course he did. She’d caught the rise of his voice, the clipped edges of his words. She looked up, and her pulse quickened. He sat so close she saw tiny flecks of green in his eyes. His mouth quirked, bringing out a dimple in his stubbled cheek.

She snatched up the contents of the first-aid kit. “You have to keep your arm in a neutral position. Put something under the elbow to keep it a little away from your body. It could take a month to heal. You should do some exercises, ice it. And you shouldn’t raise it over your head for a while—”

Ian took her hand in his good one. His warm fingers coasted over her palm. “Sara.”

The contact, and the sound of her name on his lips, froze her in place where she knelt. She sucked in a lungful of air and held it.

“Look at me.”

She quivered with the force of her powers begging to be released. Her heartbeat slammed so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. Not now, not now— Swallowing, she looked up.

His expression had gone dead serious, and his gaze skimmed her body. Something stirred, heated, in those stormy depths. He searched her face—looking for the change?—and leaned closer. Closer. If she raised her chin, and shifted just...a little...bit...

“Hello?” came a voice from outside the tent. A moment later, Faith ducked in. “Well, this is interesting.”

Sara yanked her hand out of Ian’s and sat back so quickly, she almost pitched over.

Faith smiled. “Where’ve you been? I thought you’d be back by now.” She turned to Ian. Her gaze fell on his sling. “What happened?”

“I dislocated my shoulder,” he answered, standing up. He tested the joint with his opposite hand.

Sara watched her sister’s entire attitude change at the admittedly pleasant timbre of Ian’s voice. Faith burst into a brilliant smile. “I don’t think we’ve properly met. I’m Faith Markham, Sara’s sister.”

“Ian Waverly.” He shook her outstretched hand, then stepped back to allow her room. “Sara was helping me put my shoulder back into joint. Come in.”

“Really? You all right?” When he nodded, she added, “I started to worry when you didn’t come back down, Sara. Breakfast has been over for half an hour.” Faith sidled into the tent, crouched down, and helped her gather the spilled contents of the first-aid kit. Wo-o-o-ow! she mouthed, eyes bright.

Sara flushed and glanced up through her lashes at Ian. His gaze took on an intensity that made her heart start thumping again, equal parts foreboding and something much more disturbing. She took a box of bandages from her sister and put it away. “We’d better go,” she said, shoving the kit back under the bed. “I’ve probably already missed breaking ground.”

“Not really,” Faith interrupted with a cheerful shrug. “We’ve been busy setting markers. I’ll just go back down and let the guys know you’re okay.” She stood again.

Sara shot to her feet. “I’m coming with you. Just give me a second.”

Faith gave her a last, knowing look. “Nice to meet you, Ian. Come down for dinner, if you get the chance.” She left the tent.

Before Sara could follow, Ian stopped her at the tent doorway with a hand on her arm. She stiffened, struggled for something to say. “You should put some ice on that shoulder.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

She eased out of his grasp and hurried away.

She caught up with her sister partway down the slope. As she drew alongside, Faith said, “You can lose it, now. He’s out of earshot.”

“You are the biggest thorn in my side I’ve ever known,” Sara said, “but your timing is impeccable, so thank you.”

“Yeah, you looked like you were dying for an interruption back there.” Her sister shrugged. “I used to hate that term ‘bedroom eyes,’ but I have to admit, he’s got ’em. If I were you, I’d have told me to piss off and come back later.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Come on. You’re going to die an old maid at this rate. I only wanted to meet him and see what my sister’s all flustered about.”

“Flustered! He was climbing down the cliff, and his rope broke! I had to use telekinesis on him!”

At that, Faith stopped dead, blood draining from her face. “What?”

“As the wolf, he only saw the wolf.” Sara’s breath escaped her. Now that she was free to panic, the weight on her chest doubled.

“Oh, God,” Faith murmured. “He knows, then?”

“Well, I didn’t take out an advertisement, but I’m sure he’s bright enough to figure out that something’s not quite right. Would you just happen to volunteer to work on the same island as me, if you were him?”

“All right, all right. Don’t bite my head off. I’m as freaked out as you are.”

“I somehow doubt that. For all he knows, you’re normal,” Sara said.

“I’m worried about you, half-wit. What did he say?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Which, if you’re wondering, is a hundred times worse than questions might have been.”

By the time they reached their camp, the digging had begun. Dustin and Thomas had laid out the parameters of their site with Eurocon’s usual efficiency. Not for the first time, Sara wondered if it wouldn’t have been smarter to join Lamb at his firm in London than to strike out on their own, but she was damn proud of the way they’d clawed their way up from the bottom. No matter what else she and Faith were, no one could take that away from them.

She entered her tent to the chirping of her satellite phone. Stacks of books covered her camp table. She pushed them aside to reach the handset. “Hello?”

Static fizzed in her ear. “Sara? Is that you?”

Sara recognized their secretary from the office at home. Agitation laced the woman’s voice. “Holly, what’s wrong?”

“Th-There’s been a burglary.”

Her heart skipped. “Are you all right? Is everyone all right?”

“Yes. Everyone’s fine. It wasn’t at the office.” She paused, and Sara sensed her reluctance to continue. “It was your house.”

Sara’s throat constricted. She dropped shaking into a chair. “Did someone see what happened?”

“Mrs. Shoemaker next door said she saw a man walking around the building yesterday. He told her he was from the power company. Did you have them scheduled to read the meter?”

“No. Did the police come?”

“He left before they got there. She gave them a description and a report,” Holly explained, sounding calmer now that the bad news was out.

Sara fidgeted with her books. Mrs. Shoemaker was a nice, elderly woman with a penchant for being into her neighbors’ business. For once, Sara was glad of it. “What did they take?” she asked.

“Some jewelry...”

Sara’s fingers flew at once to the amulet hidden under her sweater. She eyed the cooler in the corner, longing for a large bottle of cold water to ease the sudden, desert dryness of her mouth. “What else?”

“Your stereos and televisions. A lot of your things got opened, dressers and boxes and stuff. I don’t think anything else was stolen. What do you want me to do?”

“We can’t leave the dig. Give me the number to the police station, and I’ll call them. I don’t think we’ll be able to do anything until we’re home. Is the office all right?”

“Yes. Should I call your mother? She’s in the Keys this week, isn’t she?”

“Yes, please,” she replied, thankful for Holly’s composure. Right now, she couldn’t claim the same attribute.

When she hung up, she hurried to the dig site, feeling cold to the marrow of her bones. “Faith.”

Her sister stood ankle-deep in loose earth, sweating with the effort of digging in spite of the cool morning. She jammed the end of her shovel in the peat, then climbed out of the trench. “What I wouldn’t give just to be able to pull this all out with a backhoe,” she muttered once she reached Sara’s side. She gave a groan, stretching the muscles of her back, then lifted her golden-blond mane to air the nape of her neck.

In the middle of a catlike arch, Faith stopped, listening. “All right, that’s it. Something’s here, and—” She scanned the dig site, but neither Thomas nor Dustin were around. “I’m not even using my power,” she added in a harsh whisper, “and something keeps trying to get my attention.”

“Our house was robbed,” Sara blurted.

Her sister blanched.

Sara hadn’t meant to let it out so quickly. “No one’s hurt,” she added. She explained what Holly had told her. Her hand went toward her throat, then dropped again. “I don’t think this was a random event.”

Faith pursed her lips. Her gaze went to Sara’s sweater. When she spoke, her voice was low. “I think we’d better find out what that necklace is, and quick.”

“We’re out of stakes,” Dustin announced behind them. “Do either of you have more in your tents?”

Sara flinched at his appearance, but Dustin didn’t notice. “I’ll go get them.” She shot a meaningful look at her sister.

Faith nodded understanding. They would hit the books tonight, and find out more about the amulet.

Before someone else found them in possession of it.

****

The day’s digging progressed faster than Sara had hoped. The sun rode its arc overhead, and by the time it dipped into the western horizon, they had managed to remove the first layer of earth from around the wall. She was bone-tired at the end of the day, and only too happy to flop down beside the cooking fire. Comforted by its glow, she rubbed her sore neck muscles. “This is a well-earned meal.”

“That’s for sure,” Thomas agreed, tossing hamburgers on the grill.

While they waited for the food to cook, she recounted the facts of the day’s work and went over their goals for tomorrow. Dustin sat nearby, sketching in a notebook, his face glowing in the firelight. Across the fire, Faith watched him work with a drowsy abstraction and began to nod off.

A moment later, her sister’s head snapped up. “Hi, Ian,” Faith called into the darkness.

Sara’s belly flopped. She looked past Faith. As he neared the campfire, Ian’s form grew more distinct. If knowing he was present sent her stomach into a frenzy, seeing him sent her into such a state of disorder that she could barely think.

Ian lowered himself to the ground beside Faith. “How’d you know?”

“You’re the only other human being on the island,” said Faith. “That, and I’m smart.”

“I came down to see how everything went today.” He cast a glance around the fire, visibly assessing the company at hand. His gaze landed on Sara.

She shifted where she sat, glad for the flickering light that hid the blush warming her cheeks. She didn’t want to admit it, but she’d been thinking of him all day, no matter how much his knowledge of her gifts worried her. Every time her thoughts went to the way he’d looked at her before Faith showed up, she caught her breath. “How’s your arm?” she managed.

“It feels like a truck ran it over, but I’ll live.”

The way he held her gaze, as if there was no one else on the island, unnerved her. Needing to get his attention off her, she cleared her throat. “I don’t think you’ve met our crew. This is Thomas Callander, and that’s Dustin Sennett. Guys, this is Ian Waverly.”

Dustin waved and went back to sketching. That was Dustin: all work and no conversation.

Thomas shook Ian’s hand. “Pleasure. What brings you to Hvitmar?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” Ian answered. His glance drifted toward her before going back to Thomas. “I study wildlife.”

Thomas began dishing out the hamburgers. “You hungry?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” Ian accepted a plate with a grin that transformed his features and set off an entire Fourth of July of sparks throughout Sara’s body. She ripped her gaze away to the fire.

The group ate in silence for a while. The quiet began to get almost as uncomfortable as words. Ian’s stare had weight. “Were you able to get anything done today, with your arm like that?” she asked at last.

“I can’t get down the cliffs, but I did get a pretty accurate population count using binoculars and my camera. Tomorrow I want to take a quick look around the north end, if that won’t interfere with your dig.”

“There are seals,” she said. “I saw one this morning.”

He looked up from his plate with a speed that she didn’t think had much to do with seals. “Want to show me where?”

A distant boom of thunder interrupted the conversation. The wind began picking up, and the fire guttered in its wake. “I think the fun is over for the night,” Faith announced, getting to her feet.

The group collected the remains of their meal. Dustin headed to his tent to continue working on his sketches, and Thomas made off with the grill and dishes.

Faith started toward her tent, then hesitated. “Sara?”

“I’m fine,” she assured her sister. No, I’m not. “Go on.” Stay, stay, for God’s sake, stay.

Her sister nodded and walked away.

Sara watched her go. If Faith sensed her agitation, she ignored it skillfully...and willfully. With a grimace of resignation, Sara picked up a last few maps scattered about the ground, then put the fire out. The wind whistled around the tents, and she smelled rain on the air. She had mountains of research waiting, including whatever she could find on the amulet, but frowned at the thought of Ian walking back up to his camp in the rain. She hesitated, hardly believing what she was about to say. “The storm may not last long, if you want to stick around.”

He looked up. The gathering clouds had obliterated all traces of the stars. Thunder rumbled again, louder this time. “Yeah, I guess I’ll wait it out.”

They headed toward Sara’s tent as the first drops splattered down. From there, the rain increased tenfold, drenching them both and rushing them along. They made it to shelter just as the first flash of lighting arced across the sky. The wind surged. She wondered if her tent wouldn’t be blown flat by morning.

Inside, she lit the lantern on her bedside table. She grabbed a towel to dry her sopping ponytail. “I’m sure I could have used a bath, but not like this.” Her sweater stuck like a wet sponge to her skin. She peeled it away with a disgusted sneer.

Ian turned his back to her. “Go ahead and get changed.”

She caught her breath at the view of him thus presented. His rain-soaked jeans and jacket were plastered to his body. She followed the lines of his broad shoulders down to a narrow waist and stopped on a very nice ass. Oh, my God... Quit looking!

So not a teacher’s body. She did an about-face and snatched a T-shirt from her trunk, shucking out of her sweater as fast as possible. She threw the T-shirt on, only to discover it was inside out and backward. She cursed under her breath, and ripped it off to turn it right side out.

****

Ian knew he shouldn’t, but he looked over his shoulder. His mouth went dry as he fixed on her near-naked back. Lantern light glistened on her damp skin. As she wrestled with the shirt, her shoulder blades arched above a bra gone transparent with water.

Heat blazed up his spine. From where he stood, he could have reached her in three steps. Pained, he closed his eyes. Don’t. F*cking. Move. Already, his body had formed other ideas.

All of which sounded way too good.

For whatever she was.

For a minute, all he heard was the sound of shuffling cloth. Then she asked, “Are you okay?”

He chanced another glimpse back over his shoulder. Dressed now, she frowned at him in an expression of concern. He frowned, too. He couldn’t call it relief, but it was sure as hell easier to say something when she had her shirt on. “Yeah.”

She picked up the towel and offered it to him. He took it to dry his own dripping hair. It smelled like her: earthy, with an undertone of something spicy that made him want to act on his earlier impulses. He tried not to breathe it in, feeling suddenly trapped in her tent while the storm howled outside.

“Do you want something dry to wear? I could ask one of the guys for a set of clothes.”

“I’m fine.”

“At least something for a dry sling. Do you need any ice? We have an icebox hooked up to a generator.”

“No. Sara, the sling is fine. My arm is fine. Don’t worry about it.” He dropped the towel on her trunk, took a few steps away, then sat in an empty camp chair. She stayed where she was, crossing her arms over her body as if she were cold. He warred with the confusion etched like a neon sign into her posture. “I’m sorry. It just hurts, so I’m punchy. I didn’t take any painkillers tonight.”

“Oh.”

“You gonna sit?”

Prodded into motion, she fished in the cooler by her table. “Normally after breaking ground on a dig, I finish up the day with a beer. Sort of an opening ceremony.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

She offered him a drink. He took a water, even though he would rather have downed a six pack in one shot. She got a beer for herself, then sat with a long sigh in the table’s opposite chair. “I hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow. I’d like to get further than we did today.”

He recognized the nervous chatter for what it was. He knew what she was. She knew he knew it. His good manners prodded him just enough to push out some conversation, while they were stuck here. “What got you into all this, anyway?”

The rumble and hiss of the storm filled the silence for a minute. “My father.” She smiled, and Ian found his gaze locked on it. “Dad was an archaeologist. He taught at the university, and they sent him all over the world on assignments. I used to love it when he came home with stories about where he’d been and what he saw. Archaeology seemed like such an adventure. He was brilliant.”

“Was?”

She took the cap off her beer. The bright look in her eyes faded, taking something indefinable with it, and Ian wished it hadn’t right up until she added, “He’s dead.”

He went rigid. “So’s mine.”

“Oh.” She fidgeted with her beer bottle. “How?”

“I don’t want to get into it. What happened to yours?”

Her expression cooled. For the first time, he saw why people back at the college called her Shark Markham. “I don’t want to get into it.” She took a long drink of beer. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me how you just happened to choose Hvitmar for your birding project.”

He opened his water bottle. “I had to come to Shetland, anyway.” When she gave him a get-real look, he raised his hands. “I swear to God. My assignment was to study the coastal birds of Shetland. You want to see my proposal?”

“Lucky for you, Hvitmar’s in Shetland.”

“Yeah, lucky me.”

She took another drink. The silence stretched out some more, and he tried not to fidget. He wanted to leave. To hell with the storm. But then he caught another whiff of her earthy-spicy scent, and his body refused to move from the seat.

A crash of thunder made them both flinch. “God, the weather’s in rare form tonight,” she murmured.

“This is nothing compared to Maine during a good summer storm.”

“Oh?”

“My first internship was at a wildlife preserve in Maine. Stormed practically the entire time I was there. We had to bail out our tent with a coffee can the last night.”

Thunder boomed again. “I think we might be in for a repeat performance,” she said over the rain beating on the tent canvas. He thought he saw her cheeks flush. “I hope you don’t mind being here for a while.”

He stared at her across the table. Did he?

She got up and pulled a blanket from the foot of her cot, then draped it over her shoulders. “Are you sure you don’t want me to find a dry shirt for you? If we don’t get you out of that stuff—”

Whatever she was, she had a way with words. He broke into a grin. “What’s it gonna take to get you to quit asking me to take my clothes off?”

She jerked the blanket tighter around her shoulders, iron-faced. He marshaled his expression into order, but it was too late to stop the visuals playing in his head of both of them shedding their clothes. It was a bitch, and it was unfair as hell, but Sara Markham had a body that could start a four-alarm fire. He cleared his throat and shifted in the seat. “I’m all right. Sit down.”

A few seconds passed, then she dropped back into her chair and snatched up her beer bottle.

He watched her for a while. Her body—all woman, all distracting—started sucking up more and more of his attention. It had been too damn long.

He leaned forward and propped his uninjured elbow on the table. “So now that you know something personal about me, what about you? What are those necklaces all about?”

She went white. Her hand flew to her throat as if she hadn’t realized she was wearing any jewelry, then fell away again. “They, er— They’re from my father.”

“What’s that stone thing?”

“I don’t—”

“You don’t want to get into it, I got you.” He pushed his water bottle away. Already frustrated with the argument between his mind and body, he angled his head toward the door. “Should I leave? Because everything I say seems to set you off.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He couldn’t make himself ask what he really wanted to know. Instead, he said, “Since yesterday, you’ve been looking at me like I’m going to attack you. What is it with you? It’s like you completely detest human contact.”

“I’m not the one who came out here by himself. What in the name of all that’s holy made you decide to go on a dangerous research project alone?”

“Dangerous? They’re birds, not man-eating lions.”

She shot out of her chair and the blanket fell away. “Rock climbing, you idiot! What possessed you to do that alone?”

He surged up, boiling with hostility fueled by his suspicion of her. “What are you, my mother?”

“You are totally out of your mind!” She took a step toward him, face flushed, her gaze snapping sparks. “You could have been killed up there, and no one would have known a thing about it. Do you realize what would have happened if I hadn’t—” She stopped short and clamped her mouth shut.

This is it, Waverly. He stalked toward her until they stood nose to nose. His pulse hammered. He wanted like hell for her to admit what she was, even as his body begged her not to. “What? Hadn’t what? Tell me!”

She trembled. Wayward strands of rain-damp hair fell across her rose-red cheeks. A pulse pounded rapid-fire in the hollow of her throat.

His self-control snapped. He lunged forward, thrust the fingers of his good hand into her hair, and kissed her.

She whimpered once, terror in the sound, and then the selkie came to life. The wild thing. Whatever she was, oh, God, he didn’t care. His blood crashed through his veins like whitewater as she kissed him back. Her arms came around him, and when she brushed his bad shoulder, shoots of agony lanced through him. I don’t care, I don’t care. He growled at the pain, at everything in his screwed-up past.

She tasted like heaven. The spicy scent of her washed over him and his body went into mutiny. With a need bordering on madness, he teased at her lips. She shuddered and opened for him. He slanted his lips over hers and swept her mouth with his tongue. Mine. He reached around her back and fisted his hand in a fold of her shirt. Mine.

She shook under his touch. Her hands came up and threaded into his hair. He stepped into her, urging her backward with his body. She bumped a chair, and it fell against the table with a crash. Bottles clinked to the floor as he steered her toward the cot. He buried his face in her neck, kissing satin skin. Her breath came fast in his ear. “Ian—Ian...”

She stumbled to a halt as the cot hit her in the back of the legs. His teeth grazed her neck. She gave a soft moan that almost undid him. Desperate to breathe past the pounding of his heartbeat, he raised his head.

She looked up, dazed with passion, and reached for him again. Ian froze.

Her eyes.

Blazing green.

He lurched backward. “What the hell are you?”

“Wh-What?” Her lashes fluttered. Her eyes faded to hazel.

He spun on his heel, went to the door, and swept out into the storm.