Bay of Sighs
Page 61
So they took their oath, one by one, in a circle around the cauldron, bubbling thick and slow.
And Bran raised both arms. “As we will, so mote it be.”
Three sharp beams of light shot from the moon, arrowed into the cauldron. Sparks of it flew like stars, whirled above, dived below.
Then all went quiet.
“It’s tough not to applaud,” Riley said after a moment. “You put on a hell of a show, Irish.”
“This one took the six of us, so well done, all.”
“Yeah, everybody take a bow. Now, what do we do?” Riley wondered. “Just reach into the goo—magick goo,” she added, “and take everything out?”
Bran simply turned his palms up, raised his hands. Guns, clips, knives, bows, swords floated up.
Without hesitation, Annika reached for her bracelets. “They’re still so pretty, and don’t feel any different.”
“They will,” Bran told her, “when you need them to.”
Sawyer plucked his guns out of the air, examined them, holstered them. “That’ll be in, what, under thirty-two hours now.”
“Less, I think—feel,” Sasha added as Doyle sheathed his sword. “Less than that. They move in the dark tonight, the mother of lies and her pet. And tomorrow comes the blood. Blood in the water, and the death of men. And one of ours, one of ours, if the choice is wrong. I can’t see who. I can’t . . . It’s murky. And so clouded with pain, and fear.”
“Easy now.” Bran drew her in. “You reach too far.”
“What good is it if I can’t see?”
“You’ve seen it’s tomorrow.” Doyle hefted his crossbow. “And we’ll be ready for it.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
He woke with her curled around him, so he drew in the scent of her hair, her skin with every breath.
The coming day, and all it held, was now just a subtle lessening of the dark. So he indulged himself, let himself just be. Breathing her in while his fingers tangled in the dark silk ropes of her hair, while her heart beat, slow and steady at rest, against his.
He could imagine this, waking like this, morning after morning as his life spun out into weeks and months and years. He knew all about time, what it gave, what it took, what it offered. If he could, he would have used his gift, his legacy, for time and space to take them somewhere else, some time else, where they could have this together, as long as they lived.
But they’d both sworn an oath. He knew time, he knew distance. And he knew duty. The compass he carried wasn’t a toy, it wasn’t simply a tool. It was, would always be, a responsibility.
He accepted it, and all that went with it.
And she, he knew, accepted her own duty, the responsibility that came with her gift. When her time ended—it was always about time—she would have no choice but to go back to her world, her people, and live her life where he couldn’t follow.
He didn’t want to love her, didn’t want to feel as if he always had, always would. But she’d twined around his heart just as she did his body.
Would time, he wondered, ease the heartbreak he knew would come? He didn’t need Sasha’s sight to tell him he’d never forget Annika, would long for her and what might have been as long as he drew breath.
Yet what they worked for, fought for, what each one of them would die for, was so much more than one man’s wounded heart.
They had time, he reminded himself. They had today, tomorrow, and the weeks to come. He shouldn’t waste that precious time mourning the future.
He brushed his lips over her temple, drew her in a little closer. She moved against him, just a lazy slide of skin against skin. It simply lit him up, from his heart out.
Though the dawn had yet to break, the morning birds yet to sing, he saw her smile as she tipped her head back.
“Good morning. It’s a very good morning when I wake with your arms around me. Did you rest well?”
“Yeah. You’re restful, Anni.”
“I like to be quiet with you like this, before the sky wakes. Before Doyle wakes,” she said with a laugh in her voice, “and everything is loud and fast. I can make you coffee.”
“No. You should stay right here.” Now he touched his lips lightly to hers, felt hers curve.
“You want to wake with sex.” Running a hand down his flank, she wiggled closer. “Your penis is already awake.”
She made him love and laugh and long, so he found it impossible to separate one reaction from the other.
“I want you, Annika.” He kissed her again, soft and slow. “Do you want?”
“When you kiss me, when I feel your body against mine, I’m filled with want. Take my want, Sawyer, and I’ll take yours.”
So simple, he thought, and so complete. He sank them both into the kiss, felt that even dawn held its breath to give them this time. This precious time.
Gently, his hands moved over her gently, so he could savor every inch. The soft skin, the subtle curves, the long lines of torso and miraculous legs. Tenderly, his lips followed. Taking her want, he thought, giving her his.
She offered, accepted. Turning to him, melting against him as if everything she was had been waiting only for him.
Every move, every shift, every touch pulsed under his skin. Warmth and light and beauty that captured his heart like cupped hands.
Her breath merging with his in a soul-deep kiss. Her breast, perfect in his hand. Her hips rising up as he glided her over the first peak. In that moment, that hushed moment between the dark and the light, she was, would be, his only and his all.
And Bran raised both arms. “As we will, so mote it be.”
Three sharp beams of light shot from the moon, arrowed into the cauldron. Sparks of it flew like stars, whirled above, dived below.
Then all went quiet.
“It’s tough not to applaud,” Riley said after a moment. “You put on a hell of a show, Irish.”
“This one took the six of us, so well done, all.”
“Yeah, everybody take a bow. Now, what do we do?” Riley wondered. “Just reach into the goo—magick goo,” she added, “and take everything out?”
Bran simply turned his palms up, raised his hands. Guns, clips, knives, bows, swords floated up.
Without hesitation, Annika reached for her bracelets. “They’re still so pretty, and don’t feel any different.”
“They will,” Bran told her, “when you need them to.”
Sawyer plucked his guns out of the air, examined them, holstered them. “That’ll be in, what, under thirty-two hours now.”
“Less, I think—feel,” Sasha added as Doyle sheathed his sword. “Less than that. They move in the dark tonight, the mother of lies and her pet. And tomorrow comes the blood. Blood in the water, and the death of men. And one of ours, one of ours, if the choice is wrong. I can’t see who. I can’t . . . It’s murky. And so clouded with pain, and fear.”
“Easy now.” Bran drew her in. “You reach too far.”
“What good is it if I can’t see?”
“You’ve seen it’s tomorrow.” Doyle hefted his crossbow. “And we’ll be ready for it.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
He woke with her curled around him, so he drew in the scent of her hair, her skin with every breath.
The coming day, and all it held, was now just a subtle lessening of the dark. So he indulged himself, let himself just be. Breathing her in while his fingers tangled in the dark silk ropes of her hair, while her heart beat, slow and steady at rest, against his.
He could imagine this, waking like this, morning after morning as his life spun out into weeks and months and years. He knew all about time, what it gave, what it took, what it offered. If he could, he would have used his gift, his legacy, for time and space to take them somewhere else, some time else, where they could have this together, as long as they lived.
But they’d both sworn an oath. He knew time, he knew distance. And he knew duty. The compass he carried wasn’t a toy, it wasn’t simply a tool. It was, would always be, a responsibility.
He accepted it, and all that went with it.
And she, he knew, accepted her own duty, the responsibility that came with her gift. When her time ended—it was always about time—she would have no choice but to go back to her world, her people, and live her life where he couldn’t follow.
He didn’t want to love her, didn’t want to feel as if he always had, always would. But she’d twined around his heart just as she did his body.
Would time, he wondered, ease the heartbreak he knew would come? He didn’t need Sasha’s sight to tell him he’d never forget Annika, would long for her and what might have been as long as he drew breath.
Yet what they worked for, fought for, what each one of them would die for, was so much more than one man’s wounded heart.
They had time, he reminded himself. They had today, tomorrow, and the weeks to come. He shouldn’t waste that precious time mourning the future.
He brushed his lips over her temple, drew her in a little closer. She moved against him, just a lazy slide of skin against skin. It simply lit him up, from his heart out.
Though the dawn had yet to break, the morning birds yet to sing, he saw her smile as she tipped her head back.
“Good morning. It’s a very good morning when I wake with your arms around me. Did you rest well?”
“Yeah. You’re restful, Anni.”
“I like to be quiet with you like this, before the sky wakes. Before Doyle wakes,” she said with a laugh in her voice, “and everything is loud and fast. I can make you coffee.”
“No. You should stay right here.” Now he touched his lips lightly to hers, felt hers curve.
“You want to wake with sex.” Running a hand down his flank, she wiggled closer. “Your penis is already awake.”
She made him love and laugh and long, so he found it impossible to separate one reaction from the other.
“I want you, Annika.” He kissed her again, soft and slow. “Do you want?”
“When you kiss me, when I feel your body against mine, I’m filled with want. Take my want, Sawyer, and I’ll take yours.”
So simple, he thought, and so complete. He sank them both into the kiss, felt that even dawn held its breath to give them this time. This precious time.
Gently, his hands moved over her gently, so he could savor every inch. The soft skin, the subtle curves, the long lines of torso and miraculous legs. Tenderly, his lips followed. Taking her want, he thought, giving her his.
She offered, accepted. Turning to him, melting against him as if everything she was had been waiting only for him.
Every move, every shift, every touch pulsed under his skin. Warmth and light and beauty that captured his heart like cupped hands.
Her breath merging with his in a soul-deep kiss. Her breast, perfect in his hand. Her hips rising up as he glided her over the first peak. In that moment, that hushed moment between the dark and the light, she was, would be, his only and his all.
