“Not dead,mikró astéri.You fell from the sky as the little star you are, and I pulled you from the waves, and healed your body as you are not meant to breathe water. Never before has a mortal become trapped in the churning storm of my prison.”
“Oh,” I said, unable to hide my confusion. The sun warming my skin and the waves lapping my feet felt real enough, far beyond anything I’d ever imagined a dream. From our spot on the beach, I could see water for ages, a distant far-off cliff, and perhaps even further away, a lighthouse on a hill.
Wait, was this the cove from the painting?
“I’m not dreaming?” I asked.
Skye’s smile faded, though he continued to trace gentle lines over my face, his touch sinking through me with a vibration that sang of familiarity and home. “My prison,” he said with sadness. “Possibly now yours. Though I know not how you came within. The curse is meant only for my kind. Old tricks of the fae as they thought to wrest power from my people, yet all that remains trapped is myself.”
Prison? The fae? Wait… “Are we inside the painting?”
“Yes,” Skye agreed.
Thepossiblycursed painting my boss had given me. “Uh…” If I ever got out of here, I was going to give Xavier a piece of my mind.Thiswas not my idea of a holiday vacation.
6
I wriggledfree from his grasp, every movement sending fresh aches radiating through my muscles, and paced the sandy beach. “Ow, fuck.”
Skye let out a soft, breathy sigh, but didn’t try to restrain me. He remained half-submerged in the lapping waves, watching me with a mix of concern and exhaustion. “My power is not what it once was. Too long cut off from the true pearl of my people’s magic, the ocean.” His voice was weary, almost fragile. “If you lie back down, I will try to ease your pain.”
“I have a lot of questions,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.
“I will answer what I can,” Skye offered, his tone gentle.
I rubbed my sore shoulder. “Uh… what are you?” I winced.Rude, Luca.“I mean, since you have a tail.” And I do, too, sometimes. Dammit. “Sorry, I’m not great at this.”
A faint, patient smile touched his lips. “My kind were once called oceanids, though the name has fallen from use. We’ve been given many titles over the centuries.”
Centuries? “You speak English really well,” I blurted, then immediately wanted to kick myself. Insult the magical sea deity some more, why don’t you?
“I’ve had a great deal of time to listen,” he replied, effortlessly gracious. “During the day, when the storm quiets, the wind brings many voices dancing across the waves.” His tail curled with a liquid grace I’d never seen in any creature on land. “And you, little Luca? What manner of cat willingly throws itself into the sea?”
My eyes widened. Could he see it on me? I patted my face and backside, half-expecting fur or a tail to have sprung up unbidden.
“Your aura brims with your other self,” Skye offered.
“I’m human. Mostly. I have a… variance.”
“Variance?” Skye tilted his head, curiosity lighting his eyes. “That is a word the winds have not whispered to me.”
“There was a demon uprising in the eighties, before my time. They brought some kind of virus with them. Humans who survive it sometimes develop… changes. Mind reading, shifting… I turn into a cat.”
Skye’s expression turned thoughtful. “That sounds less like a demon’s work and more like the games of the fae. Demons are rarely subtle in their curses.”
“I don’t know much about it, to be honest. It’s… new to me.” I hesitated, scrambling for a way to describe Xavier without revealing the whole‘I fetch coffee for a potentially immortal being’situation. “My boss… he helps people like me. Shifters. He gave me the painting. I didn’t know it was…” Cursed. Imprisoning a gorgeous sea man.
A vicious cramp seized my calf, white-hot and blinding. My leg buckled, and I pitched forward, bracing for a face full of sand. Instead, strong arms caught me, lifting me effortlessly against a cool, solid chest. I blinked, disoriented, as the beach blurred past. Skye carried me with an easy grace, his steps sure and silent across the warm sand toward a shaded grove of towering palms.
It took my pain-fogged brain a second to process it. He was walking. On two very human-looking legs.
“You can walk?” The question tumbled out, tinged with equal parts shock and embarrassment. That’s when I registered the more immediate detail: the cool, smooth press of his skin against the soaked cotton of my pajamas.
He was definitely naked.
“Holy fuck, you’re naked.”
Skye let out a soft, derisive snort. “Yes,mikró astéri,” he murmured, his stride never breaking as he carried me up a narrow path winding over a gentle rise. “My kind has little use for covering things beneath the waves.”
