“Great, I’ll draw up the paperwork.” The realtor’s eyes lit up with glee. It was a wee town, and everyone had heard that the Stewart lad had thrown himself from the cliff, so I imagined she hadn’t been having much luck with sales.
I had money—more than enough. I’d worked for my parents since I was a lad, but material things had never mattered to me until now. I set up a shell company under a different name and quietly bought the place. No need to draw attention. Skye probably hated that house and would never want to enter it again. But I bought it anyway. Just in case she ever wanted her clothes back.
It would also piss Finn off, as we were now neighbors, and the thought made the corners of my mouth twitch upward.
A few hours later, I cracked open the door to the bookstore and switched on the dim lights. We rarely had customers, so it didn’t matter when I opened.
I missed those mornings training Morgana and Skye—it had given my life a sense of purpose.
I pulled my stack of books and notes from the shelf. If I wasn’t going with them to Thálassa, the least I could do was keep digging into my research and see if I could find something that might help: information on the prophecy, Manannán, and now my new passion, Agápe.
Every morning, I woke up drenched in sweat, the Tidescar pulling at my heart with a relentless ache, urging me to go to Skye. I longed to take her hands in mine, gaze into her bonnie eyes... sink onto my knees in the sand at her feet and swear my never-dying love to her, pledging my allegiance. But I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t surrender to the part of my nature that made you daft and urged possessiveness. I would give her space to process and make a choice. And I would see her at the summit.
I exhaled, pulling the worn leather-bound tome I’d last been reading toward me.
I knew Skye was okay. I’d feel it if something happened to her. I’d felt it before. It rushed through you like the tide had receded from your heart, leaving it parched and broken. It was a feeling you never forgot—when your Tidescar died.
30
Morgana
For the first task, we were going to Aqua Inferno, which, according to Finn, was one of Santorini’s most fashionable nightclubs. That meant I needed to look the part.
Evening had fallen as I surveyed myself in the mirror on the villa’s bathroom wall. The dress was definitely a step up from the “I love Santorini” shirt with the donkey on it, though it wasn’t something I’d ever have chosen for myself. Beige patent leather clung to my frame, the corset pushing my little cleavage up to my chin. It squeaked every time I moved to tong my hair into a sleek, straight curtain.
I’d paired it with gold earrings, red lipstick, and strappy gold heels with laces that ran up my legs. Finn had dropped a small fortune at one of the high-end boutiques, and the sales assistant had made eyes at him the entire time.
The dress—if you could even call it that—was more like a shirt, barely covering my ass. I’d grown used to showing skin after so much time in my seal form, but at least that let me move. This? Completely impractical.
Finn’s dream had led him to the Box of Poseidon, which was promising. After all, the old gods had created the prophecy.
But the look Pisceon had given Finn lingered in my mind. I didn’t trust him, but I trusted his father even less. And if Finn was here, carrying out this mission without invoking his father’s wrath, it could only mean one thing: the king supported it. It made my stomach turn.
I finished straightening my hair, swept on mascara, and batted my lashes at the mirror, grounding myself in the plan: find whatever belonged to Poseidon in that club and get it back to the old man before Finn did. After one final look in the mirror, I stepped out of the bathroom.
“Wow.” Finn bit his knuckle in reverence as I entered the villa’s living area.
He was lounging splay-legged at the kitchen table with a glass of wine in his hand. His jeans were rolled up at the ankles, his bare feet crossed lazily, and his hand-cut tank top revealed the ink that traced his arms, though he’d kept the leather cuff on his right wrist. Behind him, the open doors framed the aquamarine pool and the setting sun, dipping toward the ocean on the horizon.
“I’m stuck doing these tasks with you. The leastyou could do is try to act somewhat professional.” My nostrils flared as I folded my arms.
Finn’s brows kicked up, and he snorted out a laugh. “You’re stuck? Need I remind you that you begged to be here?”
I scoffed in his face as I tossed my sleek hair over my shoulder. His affection wasn’t real; I had to remember that. I swallowed hard, grounding myself in my plan.
“Liquid courage?” Finn pushed a glass toward me. “They have some of the best white wine in the world on Santorini.”
I took in his relaxed posture as I accepted my glass. He was enjoying this freedom, I realized. “Is your father also a descendant of Poseidon?”
Finn shook his head. “It’s my mother’s side. The Thálassians are descended from the survivors ofA?tlanticus. I am a distant relative of Kyano, one of Poseidon’s sons. My father has always been envious of me for this.”
Wait, what?I almost choked on my wine.
“You’re related to Kyano? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
Finn shrugged. “My relation to Kyano and Poseidon spans thousands of years, and the gods were fond of... fucking.”
“I just find it strange, is all. I’m related to Siana, Skye is descended from Agápe, and Manannán has returned...”
