Two weeks had passed since the curse broke, and no one had seen a Heathen.
“My sugar pie with the kindest heart,” Dad sighed, “Augustine saw Julian Blackwell’s face. The curse isn’t only broken, it’s unleashed.” And a somber mood settled between us.
We’d always wondered what the Heathens’ faces looked like. I’d imagined them to look like the ugly things they were because I couldn’t fathom any creature who could kill someone with their face being even somewhat alluring.
The Heathens killed. Without a reason. Without remorse. This was what separated us. My brand ofwickedtasted different from theirs.
As if it mattered. Those who didn’t want the Heathens gone wanted a part of them, women begging at their feet and offering a night with no restrictions. The unknown of them appealed to some flatlanders, who desperately craved to be with them out of sheer curiosity, but the Heathens never entertained the idea. I never understood it either. It was as if their cocks were far too superior for anyone. A respectable woman of Sacred Sea wouldn’t go near a Heathen. Cursed or not.
Apart from my loud and venomous mind, dinner was eaten in silence.
And after Ivy awoke from her nap, the rest of us laid our heads in the attic.
The stranger from the shore consumed all my thoughts. Was he alive? Would I make it back in time? Who was he, and how did he end up there? Where did he come from? I tried to shove my thoughts back down, but images of him sleeping in the cave, so vulnerable and peaceful yet struggling for his life, flashed across the forefront of my mind no matter how deep I tried to bury it.
Ivy sat quietly in the dark corner of the room under candlelight, drinking tea. Her gaze moved to look out the window when the lighthouse beam moved past her, and sadness rimmed her round eyes.
I watched her, the moon becoming the night’s sun in these haunting hours, until I forced my eyes closed. Sleep was the only refuge from my thoughts of the stranger the sea had delivered to me.
CHAPTER 12
ADORA
November 19, 2020
70 days until the Crimson Eclipse
Another daywithout sunshine had passed.
Daylight meant ash exploding across the sky. Thick sad clouds hanging low, contemptuous fog, and cynical flatlanders. Sometimes snow and sometimes rain. A drowsy black and white film.
The bottom of my dress dragged across the sand, the charms of my bracelet jingled against my wrist, and November’s fierce temperatures numbed the tip of my nose, all while I maintained a brisk walk to the cave.
When I turned the corner, the cave was empty.
All that remained was charred wood from a dead fire.
Cold winds took my hair with them, blowing tendrils into my face as I turned, my gaze skimming the grim horizon. If the stranger wasn’t in the cave, it could only mean he was still alive and had made it through both nights. And he’d left.
Then why did I feel a pang in my chest?
I pulled my winter coat tight around me and leaned back against the cliff, unable to deny the disappointment of his absence creeping in. He was gone, and I was ... out of sorts. Disheartened. Which was appalling for me to think of a word that containedheartin it at all when it came to a stranger but disheartened all the same.
I gazed out into the horizon, trying to make sense of it, when a mop of white hair broke through the ocean’s surface.
It was him, and he shook his sopping hair, spraying water all around like a wild wolf would do. I’d never seen one before, only read about it in stories, but I’d imagined it the same way he’d done it. In his element, untamed.
I pinned my back to the cliff, my heart hammering against my chest, watching him push his fingers through his hair and down his face. The temperature had to be in the low thirties, and I’d concluded that the man was either inhuman or insane.
My fist tightened around the handle of my dagger in my coat pocket, and my splinter pressed into the wood, the comforting ache pulsing through my finger. This time, I’d come prepared.
Then the traveler laid his palms on the water, flirting with the ocean’s waves. A little boyish, a little free in the way his hands floated over them. Not quite splashing but seeking the water’s fingers. I imagined the icy, shapeless silk gliding through my fingers, too, and a shiver staggered up my spine, my breath coming out in a shudder. I clutched my necklace in my other hand as icy clouds fell from my lips, taking shape and disappearing.
He hadn’t seen me, didn’t know I was standing here, and the thought of him catching me staring at him in such a natural, unspoken moment made me feel like I was the intruder. But my eyes couldn’t sail away from his carved chest and lean torso as he walked closer and against the tide.
His indents cut around his hips when he stepped out of the water, and he ran a palm down the contours of his pale chest and stomach.
Despite the cold, a blush heated my cheeks. I lowered my eyes and traced his movements, knowing it was wrong to be staring. A buzz danced through my body at the sight of him. My secret, wild and gentle, in my ocean.
