“And I accepted your apology,” Beka said in a calm voice. “But I promised this evening to Marcus, and that didn’t include sharing it with you. After all, you wouldn’t like it if I invited him to join our picnics on the beach now, would you?”
Marcus almost laughed, watching Kesh try and figure a way to wiggle out of that one. He had to bite his lip as Kesh sputtered his way through the beginnings of three different sentences, only to end up saying, with less than his customary poise, “As you wish. Perhaps you will dine with me tomorrow,” and then stalked off across the sand without a backward glance, almost knocking over a woman who happened to be in his way.
“Sorry about that,” Beka said, putting her hand back in his and resuming their interrupted dance. The band had switched to something faster with a Latin beat while the three of them had been absorbed in other matters, but Marcus stuck with the slow sway that was his only speed.
“Not a big deal,” Marcus said. After all, he was the one who’d ended up with the girl. He could afford to be gracious in victory. Although he couldn’t keep himself from adding, “I’m still worried about that guy, Beka. He might be dangerous.”
“Kesh is just from a very different culture,” Beka said, although she softened the disagreement by moving in even closer as they danced. “He’s kind of, um, privileged, where he comes from, and he’s not used to people saying no to him. But he’d never hurt me.” She tilted her head up and smiled into his eyes. “Although it is sweet of you to worry.”
With Beka in his arms, Marcus felt anything but sweet. She set his blood on fire and made him want to scoop her up and carry her off to someplace lonely and private and dark. Part of him actually sympathized with Kesh, although that didn’t make him like the spoiled rich guy any better. There was something not right about him, but now wasn’t the time to push the issue. Not when there were so many better things to do.
“I’m sorry he interrupted such a lovely evening,” Beka said, echoing his thoughts. “Let’s just pretend he never showed up, and we can move on to whatever was next on the agenda.”
Marcus gave her a slow, wicked smile, feeling the smoldering heat rise to the surface like molten lava, irresistible as a force of nature. “If you insist,” he whispered, and bent his head to capture her lips with his own. He put all his yearning, all his gratitude for the gifts she’d given him, all that heat bubbling up within him into the kiss, feeling her lips yield beneath his.
She returned his fire with fire, kissing him back with a wild abandon that left them both trembling and enraptured, wrapped around each other in the midst of a crowd, focused only on each other.
Overhead, fireworks lit the sky, but neither of them noticed.
*
FROM A STAND of straggly trees overlooking the beach, Kesh watched them embrace and thought about death.
Bad enough that Beka had shamed him in front of that peasant. But for her to choose a mere Human fisherman over him—this he could not forgive. Or permit to go unpunished.
Yes, he was already poisoning her with the radiation-tainted fish he fed her at every romantic moonlit dinner. But he had never really intended it to kill her. When she had grown ill and weak and given in to his wishes, he would simply have suggested that she take an especially large dose of the Water of Life and Death. She was a Baba Yaga; it should have been sufficient to drive the poison from her body. Then, even more grateful, she would have been his to use as he pleased.
Now, though, a cold rage filled that place where his soul would have been, had he cared to possess such a useless thing. She had the audacity to reject him. Him—a Prince of the Selkie people. Baba Yaga she might be, but she was still merely a woman, and a foolish one at that. Look how she had fallen for his lies, swallowed up each charming twist of the truth as he slowly used her own weakness against her. He had had such hopes for their future; him as a king on the land, with her power at his beck and call.
But he would have to find another way. He did not need her magic. Not after tonight. No, now he needed only one thing from the Baba Yaga—her screams as she died in agony, calling his name.
*
BEKA CALLED MARCUS’S name as she came into sight of the Wily Serpent the next morning, and he raised a hand in greeting, his usual scowl replaced by something that looked like it might grow up to be a smile.
She ducked her head, hiding one of her own, as she swung about with her gear. Chico and Marcus Senior were there, checking the nets over one more time before setting out.