Island of Glass

  risk it. A shame really.”

  “A lycan president.”

  “We could do a hell of a lot worse.”

  “And likely have.”

  “Definitely have,” she said with a grin. “But hey, three nights a month, a lycan couldn’t answer that three a.m. phone call, so no-go there.”

  “And a Secret Service code name ‘Furry’ lacks dignity.”

  Very deliberately, she tipped down her sunglasses, peered at him over them. “You made a joke.”

  “I considered a career in comedy.”

  “And two for two. I have to circle this day on my calendar.”

  The way her eyes danced with humor, so gold in the sunlight, made him want to touch her. Just touch her hair, her skin.

  He started to lift his hand to do just that when with a shimmer and a shudder of air the others appeared on the boat, and saved him from what he realized would have been a grave mistake.

  “Dead-Eye strikes again,” Riley said. “Perfect landing.”

  “Practice makes perfect.” Sawyer glanced around. “You picked a good spot.”

  “I thought so. Settle in, friends and neighbors.” Riley turned back to the wheel. “Where to, Anni?”

  “Oh.” Annika managed to look sexy even in one of the macs borrowed from Bran’s mudroom. “If you sail as if we were going back to Bran’s, I’ll tell you when to stop.”

  “Good enough. Enjoy the balmy breezes while you can.”

  “You call this balmy?” As Riley steered the boat out of the cove, Sasha huddled beside Bran.

  “Compared to what it’s going to be like under the water? This is damn near tropical.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Even with wetsuits, the Atlantic shivered in, and it swallowed the sun. Riley, armed as Sawyer was with an underwater pistol, switched on the headlamp on her balaclava so its beam cut through the dank gloom of the water.

  They swam in pairs, Annika and Sawyer in the lead—with Annika turning somersaults before she swam ahead. Sasha and Bran followed, and Riley couldn’t complain when Bran circled a hand in the water, added light with a swirl. She took flank with Doyle.

  They all knew what could streak out of the sea, if Nerezza had the strength for it. Mutant sharks and toothy fish thirsting for blood. Both Doyle and Sasha carried harpoons.

  And look at her go, Riley thought, watching Sasha cut through the water, remembering how nervous the novice diver had been on their first dive off the coast of Corfu.

  She learned fast. They’d all had to shore up personal weaknesses on this quest. Maybe that was part of the whole, she mused, turning weakness into strength, and for all, learning to trust enough to become that clan.

  She watched a school of mackerel—just ordinary fish—head away from them, followed Bran’s silvery light toward the mouth of a cave. In front of it, Annika executed a graceful turn, waved, then slid inside.

  Singly now through the narrows, and again two by two when the channel widened. Then spreading out to search for . . . something, Riley thought. A glow, a sparkle, a feeling, anything that would lead the way to the last star, the Ice Star.

  Cold enough for it—that thought crossed her mind. With the patience of her calling, she searched the underwater cave inch by inch, using her eyes, her gloved fingers, doing all she could to keep her mind and instincts wide open.

  But she nodded when Sawyer tapped his wrist, once again took flank with Doyle for the return trip to the boat.

  When Riley hauled herself out of the water, she saw Bran holding Sasha close, laying a serious kiss on her.

  “Oh, God, that’s wonderful. I’m warm again.”

  “Magick mouth?”

  Bran laughed over at Riley as she dripped frigid water onto the deck. “Just a personal benefit.” He took Riley’s arms, squeezed lightly. And warmth flooded her.

  “Excellent, even without the lip-lock.”

  He moved to Annika.

  “I like kissing,” she told him, and brushed her lips to his. “And I like warm.”

  Bran slapped both Sawyer and Doyle on the shoulder. “No point in any of us shivering our way through this. “Anything, fáidh?”

  “No, sorry. It’s so different from where we’ve been before. All so shadowy and stark in a way. But I didn’t feel anything. Anyone?”

  “I felt good,” Annika told her. “But there’s no singing, like there was for me with the Water Star.”

  “Up for round two?” Riley asked.

  Sasha turned her back to Bran so he could help her change tanks. “It’s what we’re here for.”

  The second dive of the day gave them no more than the first. In Riley’s book that meant two locations checked off.

  Routine, Riley told herself when they secured the boat below the cliffs of Bran’s house. Part, an important part, of discovery was routine.

  They took the easy way—Sawyer’s way—back to the house. And she folded herself into routine by scarfing down leftover pizza, closing herself in with her books.

  The rain came back in the night, lashing rain with grumbling thunder that echoed off the sea. The storm woke her from a dream she couldn’t quite pull back. And with the crashing waves, whirl of wind, she doubted she’d pull back sleep either.

  She dragged on a sweatshirt, flannel pants. She wanted to see the storm boil over the sea and cliffs so slipped out of her room, walked quietly down to the sitting room that faced the Atlantic.

  Glorious, she thought as she opened the doors. It flashed and burned, whipped and snapped so the wind screamed with it. Like a banshee, she decided, since it was Ireland.

  The wild had always, would always call to her blood, and a wicked storm whirling over the night-dark sea, the rough and rugged land heated that blood, had her stepping out just enough to let the rain pelt her upturned face.

  Then she looked down, saw movement, saw a figure near the cliff wall, and instinctively reached for the gun she hadn’t thought to bring.

  In a flash of lightning the figure became Doyle, and her instincts took a hard turn into lust.

  Dark and brooding in the storm, coat swirling, sword in hand as if prepared to strike against the elements. Gorgeous, she thought again, and primal and violently sexy.

  Yeah, she’d always been drawn to the wild.

  As she thought it, he turned, lightning sizzling above him, and in its fire, his eyes met hers. He tightened those thoughts into a noose that clutched at her throat.

  Pride and sheer will made her stand there another moment, meeting those eyes, holding them even when the dark fell again, turned him into a shadow.

  Then she stepped back, shut the doors against the storm, against the man, and went back to her room alone.

  • • •

  Routine, Riley reminded herself when they went through it, step-by-step, the next day.

  A dawn run through the wet forest, jumping over a few limbs brought down in the storm. Polishing it off with a sweat-popping session in the gym as watery sunlight struggled through the clouds.

  A shower, breakfast, two more dives, weapons training.

  She opted for a fire in the library, the books while Bran worked at the top of the tower, while Sasha used the other tower’s sitting room to paint. Sawyer and Doyle drove out to refill the tanks, do a food supply run. And Annika charmed her way into going with them, as a trip to the village meant shopping.

  Now and again as she worked, she’d hear something rumble up above and assumed Bran made progress. But two hours into it, she found herself restless. Fresh air, she decided. She needed to move, to think. At some point in the gathering of data, you needed to stop, let it roll while you did something else.

  Since the day had turned—that watery sunlight strengthened by late afternoon—she’d take a walk in the forest. Armed, of course, she thought as she patted the gun on her hip. Aware, always, but a good walk in the woods.

  Odds were long she’d stumble across the star there, but thinking time was never wasted time. She slipped on a ragg
ed hoodie, zipped it, went out by way of the main steps, nearly turned back when she saw both the car and the bike outside.

  They’d gotten back while she’d been working, she supposed, and since the back of the car remained open, supplies inside, they were still unloading.

  Could probably use some help. She headed toward the car when Sasha called her name.

  “Hey!” She looked over, shot Sasha a salute as her friend stood just outside the trees at the head of a path. “Looks like you had the same idea as I did. I was going for a walk, but—”

  “Good. There’s something—come with me.”

  “Just let me haul some of this in first.”

  “I need to show you something. I’m not sure . . . I need you to see.”

  “What?” Intrigued, Riley detoured from the car.

  “It’s hard to explain. I went off the path, nearly got lost. But I found these marks on a tree. Carvings. I don’t know what they are.”

  “Carvings?” The single word had Riley quickening her steps. “Recent?”

  “I don’t think so.” As she spoke, Sasha looked back into the woods. “I should have taken a picture with my phone. I didn’t think of it, just started back to tell everyone. Let me show you, and we’ll take some pictures to show the others.”

  “Sash, you don’t even have your knife.”

  “Oh. I don’t know what I was thinking, but well, I’ll be with you now.” Sasha took Riley’s hand, tugged. “I really want you to see this. It must mean something.”

  “Okay. Lead the way.”

  Doyle came out, saw Sasha and Riley move into the woods. He shook his head, grabbed two bags of groceries. “Thanks for the help,” he muttered, and headed in.

  • • •

  In the dappled sunlight Riley breathed deep. “I just wanted a break from the books, and some air. Didn’t figure on finding something cool. Did you get a vibe from it?”

  “What? Vibe?”

  “You know, a feeling?”

  “I felt it was old—older than made sense. If that makes sense.” Sasha moved quickly, gestured as she cut off the track. “I just— I guess I felt pulled to go this way.”

  “Must be a reason. So is it letters, symbols?”

  “Both. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I was all over these woods, two nights running, and didn’t see it. I should have,” Riley added as they skirted around brambles and brush. “I’ve got good night vision. That makes me think you were meant to find it. But you didn’t get a strong sense, any sort of vision, so—”

  She turned her head. The backhand exploded pain in her cheekbone, lifted her off her feet, propelling her into the air. She crashed hard into a tree, saw stars, felt something crunch in her right arm.

  She screamed as her instinctive reach for her gun shot agony through her. Sasha leaped over the brush, sprang off the moss-coated trunk of a fallen tree.

  Her eyes glowed.

  In defense, Riley tried to roll, to reach cross body for her gun. The savage kicks to her ribs, to her back, her belly stole all breath.

  Sasha laughed.

  A nightmare, dreaming. Not real. Engulfed in pain, swimming in shock, Riley struggled to unsheathe her knife with her left hand.

  The sound she made when Sasha’s boot stomped on her hand was a high-pitched shriek. Her vision wavered; her stomach pitched.

  Then her friend’s artist’s hands closed around her throat.

  • • •

  Doyle strode into the kitchen where Annika happily put groceries away, and Sawyer sniffed a fat tomato.

  “Still more, right?” Sawyer set the tomato aside. “I’ll bring it in.”

  “You going to make that salsa?”

  “As advertised.”

  “Do that.” Doyle grabbed a cold beer from the fridge, took a long pull. “I’ll get the rest.”

  “There’s a deal.”

  After one more swig of beer, Doyle set the bottle down, started back through the house. A beer, he thought, some chips with Sawyer’s salsa would be a solid way to offset Annika’s shopping enthusiasm.

  In any case, they’d gotten everything they should need for a good week. And next time, somebody else would deal with the mermaid.

  He glanced up, momentarily baffled when Sasha jogged down the steps.

  “I didn’t hear you get back. I was painting on the other side of the house. How—”

  “You’ve been upstairs?”

  “Yes, I went by the tower library just now to see if I could help Riley, but—”

  “Jesus Christ. Get Bran, get the others. Riley’s in trouble.”

  “What? How?”

  “Get them.” He drew his sword from the sheath on his back, was already running. “She’s in the woods.”

  He’d barely reached the verge when he heard her scream.

  He didn’t think, just moved. The sound had been agonized, and he already might be too late.

  He caught the sound of laughter—horrible, gleeful—and sprinted toward it off the track. No time for stealth, and his instincts demanded he make more noise. The sound of someone coming, and fast, might stop whatever was being done to Riley.

  He didn’t pause when he saw Riley crumpled on the ground, bleeding, unmoving, and Sasha—or what had taken Sasha’s form—standing over her with a wide, wide grin.

  “She’s dying,” the thing said with Sasha’s voice, then long teeth shimmered between Sasha’s lips, claws sprang from her hands. “You’ll all be dying soon.”

  Even as Doyle charged, it delivered a vicious kick to Riley’s head. When Doyle’s sword cleaved down, it struck empty air as the thing coiled down into itself and ran through the trees with preternatural speed.

  Doyle dropped to the ground, pressed his fingers to the pulse on Riley’s raw throat. Found a pulse, thready, but beating.

  Bearing down on fear, on rage, on a kind of grief he’d sworn never to feel again, he ran his hands over her, checking her injuries. Her face, sickly gray under the bruising, bleeding, abrasions, was the least of it.

  He heard running, shouting, tightened his grip on his sword, prepared to defend Riley should foe join his friends.

  They burst through the trees, armed for battle. But Doyle knew the battle was done for the moment.

  “She’s breathing, but she’s been choked, and her hand’s broken, ribs, too. I think her right elbow’s shattered. And—”

  On a keening sound of distress, Sasha all but fell on the ground beside Riley. “No, no, no, no.”

  “Let me see.” Bran dropped down beside her.

  “We need to get her inside, heal her.” Tears shimmering, Annika knelt by Riley’s other side, stroked her bloodied hair.

  “I don’t think we move her until we know . . .” Sawyer’s knuckles showed white on the grip of his gun. “You’re not supposed to move her, right, because it can make it worse?”

  “Sawyer’s right. That’s sensible.” Calm as a lake, Bran cupped his hands on Riley’s head. “Neck and spine. We should see if they’re injured.”

  “I can do it.”

  Bran looked into Sasha’s eyes, eyes glazed with shock. “Calmly, fáidh. Slowly. Just the surface now.”

  “All right.” Closing her eyes, Sasha took in air, let it out until her breath was nearly steady. She used her hands, her heart, and with Bran’s hands on her shoulders to aid her, she let herself feel.

  “Oh, God, oh, God, so much broken, so much damaged.”

  “Neck and spine, Sasha,” Bran said quietly. “Start there.”

  “Bruised, jolted. Not broken.”

  “Then we can take her inside.” Those tears streamed down Annika’s cheeks. “She shouldn’t lie on the ground. It’s cold. She’s cold.”

  “Yes, we can move her.” When Bran started to lift her, Doyle nudged him aside.

  “I’ve got her.” She moaned when he gathered her up, and her eyelids fluttered—both of which he took as good signs. For an instant, her eyes opened—blind with pain, w
ith shock, met his. “I’ve got you, ma faol.”

  Her eyes rolled up white, closed again as he carried her out of the forest.

  “Straight to her room,” Bran ordered. “I’ll get my medical kit. Anni, towels and hot water. Sawyer, a pitcher of cool water. Not cold, cool, and a clear glass. Sasha, strip her bed down to the sheets for now.”

  They scattered as Sasha ran up the stairs behind Bran. Though he wanted to run himself—and could have, as she weighed nothing much to his mind—Doyle moved carefully, doing what he could not to jar her.

  When he turned into Riley’s room, Sasha had tossed the bedding and pillows aside.

  “I can help her.”

  “Wait for Bran.” As if she were made of thin, fragile glass, Doyle laid her on the bed.

  “I can help. If she comes to before . . . I don’t know how she could stand it.”

  “She’s tough. She’ll hold up.” With great care, Doyle unzipped her hoodie, ignored the blood, removed her holster, her knife sheath. “Wait for Bran.”

  Fighting tears, Sasha sat on the side of the bed, took Riley’s good hand. “How did you know?”

  “I saw her go into the forest when I was taking in supplies. Saw her going in with you minutes before I went out for more, and you came down.”

  “With me? With me?”

  “Hold it together.” He issued the order with a snap. “You can’t help her if you don’t hold it together.”

  “You’re right. I will. And if Bran’s not here in thirty seconds, I’m—”

  “I’m here.” He came in with his kit and a satchel. “I needed to get some more things. Pour a half glass of that,” he told Sawyer when Sawyer came in. “I need to bring her around enough for her to swallow.”

  “Not like this. Bran, not like this. Let me try to help first.”

  He looked at Sasha. “She’s gravely injured. Understand that and go lightly. Just enough, do you understand, to ease the worst.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  She laid a hand on Riley’s bruised and swollen cheek, held back a hiss as she felt the pain.

  “Just enough,” Bran repeated.

  She tried, tried to go lightly, to ease only, to skim over what she understood were critical injuries, internal as well as shattered and broken bones.

  But love, and an ability she’d only just learned to use, overwhelmed.