Page 55 of She Who Was Once the Sea

Once, I could have stayed in the water forever.

I wrapped my arms around my legs and pulled them against my chest, pressing my eyes into my knees.

Once, I could have breathed the water as easily as I breathed air.

I could have disappeared into the depths and swum until the pressure of water crushed any other feeling.

Those days were gone.

And I was increasingly doubting my ability to get them back.

I was standing outside the front door when Garrett appeared. It was better if we weren’t alone together. It was late—after midnight—and the shadows were dark.

Already, I felt a nervous tension rising in my chest as he approached. Again, he had chosen to forego the Fratelli uniform, this time wearing dark jeans and a black shirt. The contrast against the golden locks of his blond hair was stark.

I ran my tongue over my teeth, just to feel the stab of my canines.

His face was guarded. He didn’t smile, but I could see the questions hiding behind his blue eyes, see the way his fingers moved beneath the denim of his pants pockets.

Inside my own jacket pockets, my fingernails were digging tiny crescents into the skin on my palms.

Before he made it all the way to the door, I strode forward and inclined my head for him to follow, which he did without question.

As we walked, I did my best to ensure that I was always a step ahead of him. At no point did I want us close enough to touch. Unfortunately, this didn’t seem to matter much; I felt his presence as tangibly as if we were pressed together.

And it drove me crazy.

When the world was this dark, this still, the streets were dangerous. I was wearing the red dress, an item that was slowly becoming the most valuable thing I’d ever stolen, and I’d pulled the neckline down extra low. I let my hips sway more than usual as I walked.

This was how I worked. I was a worm on a hook, and the monsters stalking the late-night streets were my fish.

I smiled privately at the irony.

But after an hour scanning the streets, hyper-aware of Garrett beside me at every turn, I hadn’t drawn any of the attention I was used to. I couldn’t hear footsteps tracking me down the alleys, nor could I sense eyes watching me from any of the many dark corners we passed.

"I think you’re scaring away our prey," I said, frowning as we turned onto yet another near-empty street.

The sudden sound of my voice seemed to startle him. When I turned on my heel so that we were face-to-face, he nearly jumped.

"What?" His face wrinkled.

I gestured at him. "You," I repeated. "You’re a man. No one will bother me with you here."

He frowned. "That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that framed as a negative thing."

"Do you want to go another night without blood?"

His throat bobbed. I knew what he was feeling. I felt it too. But I was used to the sensation. Every month, I woke up with the familiar itch crawling up my neck.

But I remembered the first few nights. The pain. The unrelenting need to devour something to make it stop.

I tried to keep my voice gentle. "Let’s split up." He immediately opened his mouth to protest, so I continued quickly. "You don’t have to go far. Just keep yourself out of sight until I attract the… right sort of attention." I winked. "Then you can come save the day."

He snorted. "Like you need it."

I couldn’t stop the wicked smile that split my face. "No," I said. "But you will."

"What—" he began, but I cut him off by turning away.