“That’s it,” he hums against my lips, hiking me up higher so I’m buoyant in the water, my breasts pressing against his slick chest. “Kiss me like the world is ending.”
“It probably is.”
“The Tidewraith is back.”
Dreven’s voice echoes around us, and I turn my head to see him glowering at us from the water’s edge.
“Seriously?” I groan. “Now?”
“Ancient creatures don’t usually wait for convenient times,” he says, clapping his hands, which annoyingly removes me from Dastian’s grip and onto the shore.
“Hey,” I snap. “It’s freezing, and my clothes need burning.”
He moves into my personal space, and I shiver as he runs his hands down my arms. In an instant, I’m dry and clothed with my blade in my hand. I stare into his eyesbefore I look at the blade. “Don’t put your magic on my blade again,” I murmur.
“You left it in the entrance hall. Someone had to return it to you. You’re welcome,” he adds dryly, ignoring my glare.
I tighten my grip on the hilt. It feels annoyingly perfect in my hand, balanced and ready.
Behind us, Dastian wades out of the lake. The moment his foot leaves the water, the tropical turquoise drains away, replaced instantly by the murky, freezing grey of a standard Irish morning. The steam vanishes, and the temperature plummets. He doesn’t seem bothered by the cold or his nudity, strolling up the bank with a casual swagger that suggests he knows exactly what he looks like.
In that handy way these gods have, he snaps his fingers and is dried and dressed, ready to kick arse.
“I thought you handled the Tidewraith,” I say, looking back at Dreven.
“Not well enough,” he mutters. “Come.”
He strides off, and I follow like a meek little slayer at the command of a god.
I roll my eyes.
Oh, wait…
Chapter 23
Dreven
As Voren joins us, thankfully looking less ravaged than he was earlier, I feel the weight of her eyeroll against my back. It is a tangible thing, heavy with mortal insolence. At least she is following instructions. That is an improvement on yesterday’s performance, where she tried to die out of sheer stubbornness.
“We are not walking,” I state, not breaking stride. I reach out, summoning the shadows stretching from the hedgerows. They obey instantly, swirling around us, eager to serve. Dastian steps into the darkness with a grin, accustomed to the void, but Nyssa stiffens as the cold wraps around her. She doesn’t fight it, though, even after her reaction to them yesterday. She is learning.
We emerge at the docks a heartbeat later. The sea is churning, violent and grey, lashing against the concrete like a caged animal.
Nyssa turns away from it, her hand over her mouth for a second while she adjusts. It gets easier, I believe, so a few more times and she will have it under control. After acouple of moments, Nyssa steps forward, her blade ready. She looks small against the backdrop of the raging sea.
“Well,” she says, cracking her neck. “If it wants round two, I hope it brought friends. I’m feeling destructive.”
I watch her, a mixture of irritation and grudging admiration tightening my chest. She is a disaster waiting to happen, but she is undoubtedly magnificent in her ruin.
“Where is it?” she adds, looking around.
“Under the surface.” I gesture to a darker patch under the swirling waves.
She nods grimly. “Well, I’m not going in there, so are we going to wait for it to crawl up the shore?”
“No, we are going to call it out,” I say. “This time, it needs a more effective handling than a show of whose power is greater.”
“So, we kill it,” she says.
