Heart of the Sea Read online

  “For what? To break the curse? Or to take Ronan down with me?”

  “A chance to triumph over evil.”

  “I don’t want to triumph over evil, Iona.” Meriel sighed. “I mean, I do want to triumph over evil…in a broad philosophical sense, but me? Personally? I just want to survive.”

  “Then consider this a matter of survival. You must stay on land to ride the wave that fate has sent you.”

  “Enough with the maritime metaphors, Iona.”

  “You want plain speaking, then? I’ll give it to you. You’re not meant to be this way, Meriel Byrne. Cursed or not, the life of a Selkie is not for you. You must try to find a way out of it and you carry before you the thing that will begin the change. Take it with you. When dawn touches the land, you’ll have until the next sunrise to take back the life you’re meant to live.”

  Iona turned her head in the boneless way of seals to look over the horizon. “The sun is rising now, child. Blessings of the sea follow you.” She slipped back into the water as the first pale finger of dawn reached the sand.

  Alone on the beach, Meriel dropped the amulet and tried to run, but she didn’t make it to the sea. In that second, the sun rose over the horizon and time stopped. Magic happened. Agony ripped through her.

  She would have screamed, but the enchantment trapped her vocal cords between forms. Another spasm caught her and squeezed until she thought her bones would break. Helpless, voiceless, she could only thrash against the pain until it eased. Finally, the last of the seizures faded and she lay on the sand, exhausted and beaten. Human.

  Morning light battered him as unmercifully as the sea. His mouth tasted like fish guts. Ronan rolled out of bed naked and rooted around on the floor for a semi-clean pair of jeans.

  Coffee. He needed coffee.

  He’d learned his way around the kitchen enough in the last few years to make a decent cup of caffeine and a bowl of cereal. He leaned against the counter and crunched away on his Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs as he waited for the coffee pot to gurgle its last. The storm had cleared away the murk of the last few days and the bay sparkled with light, glistening off a scrap of blue and silver fabric as it tumbled up the beach with the tide.

  Ronan put his cereal down with a thump, uncaring when it sloshed over the side.

  The sail. He hadn’t dreamed it. That meant…

  He tore down the steps to the boathouse.

  The boat was gone. Gone! That meant he really had been stupid enough yesterday to go sailing out into that storm so drunk he could hardly stand up—much less crew the dinghy. The words that spewed from his lips would have made a merchant marine whistle in appreciation.

  Snatches of memory came back. The sail had swung wildly above him, clipping the side of his head hard enough to knock him into the bottom of the boat. From his vantage point, he remembered smiling grimly as he watched the storm play hell with sky and unending sea before the cold arms of the ocean claimed him.

  The frigid dunking combined with the crack on the skull must have sent him into shock. But he remembered…a seal. A seal had hauled him by the collar out of the sea. And it had talked to him. Yelled at him. Dragged him onto the beach and thanked God for him.

  He picked up the swatch of sailcloth and found another lump of shimmering silver fabric nearby. Only when he shook it out, it wasn’t fabric. It was fur.

  “What the…”

  A woman rose to her knees from behind a hummock of sand.

  “What are you doing with my skin?” she asked.

  Ronan stared. He wasn’t touching her skin. Which, from twelve feet away, appeared exceptionally fine. Pale and smooth with not a freckle or tan line to mar it. Although, now that he noticed it, it did have a very slight gray tinge and her lips were blue with cold. Also, he noticed she was naked.

  “Your what?”

  “My skin, Ronan. What are you doing with it? I need it back.”

  “Lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice sounded so familiar. Shock knocked him raw. That was the seal’s voice.

  “What are you?” he asked, his voice cracking a bit.

  “I’m a Selkie,” she said in the drawl he remembered. His whole body jerked and wrenched sore muscles.

  “What. The hell. Is a Selkie?” He rubbed a palm against the side of his temple where a tiny, evil smithy pounded on the anvil of his skull. His throat felt like someone had pried his jaw open and sandblasted it.

  “I’m a seal-person and don’t you take that tone with me. This is all your fault.”

  He was talking to a naked-woman-slash-seal-person who blamed him for her existence. Proof positive he’d finally gone round the bend. Ronan wondered if Dr. Kilhausen would still talk to him long enough to find him a bed in a decent mental institution or if he should wander down Main Street chattering to himself until he got arrested.

  “Where are your clothes?”

  She made a disgusted sound, like he hadn’t been listening or something. He’d been listening. He just… This was too weird.

  “Not clothes. Skin. I. Need. My. Skin.” She spoke as if he was a particularly slow-witted child.

  “I. Don’t. Have. Your. Skin,” he returned, then shook his head. “This isn’t happening. I’m either still drunk or this is the world’s worst hangover.”

  “Hangover? So you really were drunk yesterday.” She stood up and stumbled toward him. Wow. Nice ti— She shoved him back. “I should have let you drown.”

  “Whoa, whoa, lady—or whatever you are.” He tripped and landed on his butt on the hard sand. The fur thing didn’t cushion his fall much.

  “What happened to you, Ronan? Why did you do something so stupid? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

  “What if I am?” he roared back at her. “Why do you care? What business is it of yours if I live or die?”

  “I care, Ronan Burbank! I don’t know why, but I do.”

  Ronan slumped. “Don’t. It’s not worth it.”

  “Looks like someone forgot their Prozac today.” She cocked a hip, swaying a bit, totally at ease with her nudity. But he had the feeling that if he put one hand wrong with her, she’d bite it off.

  He snorted. She grunted, an animal sound at odds with her human voice.

  “How do you know my name, anyway?” He didn’t want to be curious about her, but he couldn’t help it. She was the only thing that had piqued his interest in a very long time.

  “I know a lot about you, Ronan. Or I did seven years ago.”

  “Seven years. What day is it?”

  “Like I know exactly. Hello? Seal person. It’s not as if I’m wearing a watch here.” She waved a bare arm at him. “I do know that it must be around April twenty-fifth.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “It’s the day I became a Selkie. Every year around this time, I make my way back here to see if anything has changed. This time, something changed.”

  “How?”

  “I saved your sorry ass.” She made a huge, wild gesture with her arms. “And now the sea or fate or God…or something…has decided that you and I are in this curse together.”

  “Lady, I’m not in anything with you. You’ve got a curse, you deal with it yourself.” Excellent news. He wasn’t insane. She was.

  “Gee. My hero. I think your silver armor needs some polishing up.” She crossed her arms and succeeded in drawing his attention back to a really, really great set of breasts. Her complexion was so fine, he could see the delicate blue tracing of veins under the skin.

  “Why don’t you wait right there and I’ll call the men in white coats.”

  “I’m not crazy, you drunk jerk. I’m cursed.”

  “You think you’re cursed. What did you do?” She had to get off his property because this conversation was starting to get to him. He’d finally gotten used to the numbness and grief and he didn’t need anyone shaking up his life anymore.

  “I didn’t do anything. Great-great-great-Granny Byrne did something and I’m pay
ing for it.”

  “Byrne? Did you say Byrne?” He knew that name. It was imprinted on his brain. Branded there, with all the accompanying agony. In all this time, it hadn’t healed.

  “Yes. I’m Meriel Byrne.”

  A red wash of rage swamped Ronan’s mind. He was going to kill her. With his bare hands, he’d strangle her. Drown her.

  He rushed at her, hands clenched into fists. All semblance of civilization was gone and he didn’t care that she was a woman, smaller and slighter than he. She stumbled away from him, back to the surf. He splashed into the water after her, screaming a litany of foul language. Ronan caught her in a tackle and they both went down. She swerved and twisted—a wild bronc at sea—but he clung to her, wrath compelling him to ride this tide until it was over.

  A heavy wave caught them and tossed them high up onto the beach.

  “Get off me, you maniac! What is wrong with you?” Meriel Byrne, who’d ruined his life by dying, slid out of his grip like an eel, but he caught her ankle. She kicked hard and clocked him on the jaw, snapping his head back and earning her release.

  “You took it from me,” he screamed, wild in his grief. “You took everything from me!” The words were the last of his strength and he sat in the sand, elbows on his knees.

  That damn skin must have been following him, because when he reached down, it was right there. Ronan rubbed his thumb over it compulsively, smoothing the thick, glossy pelt. Tears he hadn’t shed for months now poured out of his eyes, burning like acid. They landed on the silver skin and rolled off into the sand where they were swallowed up.

  He was pathetic. He might have lost everything that ever mattered to him, but it didn’t mean he could cry. So Ronan willed back the tears and stared resolutely out at the ocean until he could breathe again.

  Chapter Three

  “You asshole. You tried to kill me.”

  Meriel reached down and slapped him. She’d never hit anyone before in her life and she was surprised to find that it didn’t help. She didn’t feel any better and now her hand hurt.

  He didn’t even move. Something was very wrong here. Had he completely lost his grip on reality?

  “Give me back my skin, Ronan.”

  “No.”

  “Give it back.”

  He didn’t answer her and she ground her heels into the sand in frustration.

  “Fine, then. I’ll take it.” Meriel bent to retrieve the corner of her pelt that was visible under his knee, but he reached out, quick as thought, to latch onto her ankle.

  “Let go of me, or I’ll kick you again.”

  “No.”

  “You have a serious vocabulary problem. Try this: ‘Yes, Meriel. I’d love to give you back your skin. Then you can change back into a Selkie and get the hell away from me’.”

  His jaw clenched and she noticed that it was swollen and red. “What happens if I keep it?”

  Meriel’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t keep it. It isn’t yours.”

  “Answer the question. I think I deserve at least that much.”

  “Deserve? You tried to drown me, which in retrospect is kind of funny, since I’m a Selkie.” She finished on a yell, but he didn’t respond.

  “You took away seven years of my life, Miss Byrne. You owe me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about and I owe you nothing. You owe me my skin, which you’re sitting on.”

  “If this is what I think it is, then there’s something bigger going on here. I don’t think I can hand it back and go on as if nothing happened.”

  Meriel ground her teeth together. “You can’t keep it. Don’t you get it? This could be very dangerous and you shouldn’t get involved.”

  “It’s too late for that.” He’d become curt over the years. She remembered a smiling, expansive man, not this shaggy grump.

  “Please, Ronan.” She shivered. “I’m freezing.”

  “You’re naked.”

  Meriel looked down. So she was. Naked and… “I hate being cold.” She hugged herself, trying to hide the pertinent bits, although it was a little late for that.

  “What happens if I keep your skin?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” He never looked at her. Just kept staring out at the ocean.

  “I…I’m not going to tell you.” They were on dangerous ground here.

  “If I keep the skin, you have to stay on land, don’t you?”

  Damn. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I do occasionally read fiction, Miss Byrne. I read Irish mythology in grade school.”

  “Geek,” she said derisively. “And I…I’m not sure exactly how it’ll work for me. I’m a cursed Selkie, not a born one.” Meriel rubbed her arms rapidly to try to build up some heat. “I’m cold, Ronan. I don’t have anything to wear and I’m hungry. Not to mention, I saved your life yesterday. Help me and I’ll tell you.”

  “Tell me and I’ll help you.”

  “What are you, eight? What will people say when they discover my frozen, dead body on your beach?”

  He looked down at her with eyes as cold as Arctic ice. “That it’s about goddamn time.”

  He left her. With her pelt and a ratty piece of what used to be his sail, Ronan walked up the sand steps and disappeared. Meriel tried to follow him, but without anger and adrenaline propelling her forward, muscles long unused were no longer up to the task. She took two steps before she fell to her knees.

  Meriel stared at her legs in furious horror. Her limbs were strong enough, but the mechanics of putting one foot in front of the other had somehow become a little foggy. She thought of yelling for help, but she wasn’t sure if Ronan would come back for her. And even if he did, she wasn’t sure her pride was up to his frigid attitude.

  She went up on her hands and knees. The brooch she had dropped earlier winked in the sunlight just beyond her reach.

  “Ocean magic, my ass,” she muttered. “If you’re so special, why don’t you help me walk?” She stretched out until she snagged the circle with her fingertips. Nothing. No help.

  She had to walk. She couldn’t drag herself across the beach because she’d lost her protective layers of thick fur.

  “Fine. No walking. How about clothes, at least? Magic’s no good if I freeze to death first.” Meriel swore she could hear the waves laugh at her.

  “Oh, that’s great. No clothes.” She waved her arms dismissively. “No, really. It’s okay. It’s fiiiiine.” If the ocean had been a man, he’d have known enough to back away from her in this mood. “I don’t need your help. You just go right on sitting there. I can do it on my own.”

  She held the brooch in her hand and pushed herself up. Each tiny rock felt like glass digging into her flesh. On the way, she stumbled and faltered, but she walked. She tripped once and had to dig a viciously pointy pebble out of her knee, grinding her teeth against the sting. Several scrapes later, she made it up the stairs.

  With the massive mansion before her, other concerns pushed themselves forward—she was starving. Meriel’s stomach growled as she tried to remember when she’d last eaten. That halibut. Its memory rolled around in her empty stomach. She’d been too exhausted and sick to eat that morning before Ronan showed up and ruined her life. Again.

  So maybe technically he hadn’t ruined it the first time. But how dare he accuse her of doing the same to him? There was one good way to solve all her problems, so Meriel walked up to the closest door of the immense home and started banging on it.

  “Open up, Burbank. We need to talk.”

  “There’s no one there.” His voice came from off to the side, behind a hedge. She walked around a corner, trailing a hand along the side of the house for balance, to find him lounging in the doorway of a small cottage. He stood straight when he saw her and frowned.

  “Go away.” He stepped in and closed the door.

  She marched over and put her mouth to the frame. “I can’t. You’ve got my skin. Now open up.”

  His face app
eared abruptly in the glass. “No.” And he walked away.

  That tore it for Meriel. Trying to kill her was one thing. Being rude was completely another. She unleashed a frenzy of pounding on the wood.

  “Emory Charles Ronan Burbank IV, if you don’t open this door right this second I am going to pitch a fit so loud your grandbabies will be born with it ringing in their ears!”

  The echo of her yell died out and silence assaulted her. Her screeching had even made the birds go quiet in the trees. She slumped against the doorjamb.

  “Where did you say you were from again?” The door opened unexpectedly and she yelped like a puppy.

  “Tennessee.”

  “It figures.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m freezing here, Burbank.”

  Ronan reached out to steady her with one hand when she stumbled and the heat of his palm on her skin burned her.

  “Jesus, you’re an ice cube.” He reached behind the door to retrieve an enormous towel and tossed it at her. “You’re still naked, Byrne. Cover up.”

  She glared at him so hard he ought to have splintered into a thousand pieces, but it only gave her a headache. She took the towel and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was scratchy, threadbare in places, and it smelled a little fishy, but it helped ease the worst of the cold. Her stomach growled again.

  He lifted an eyebrow and smirked, but didn’t say anything. So that’s how he wanted to play. By his expression, he wasn’t going to feed her unless she asked and she wouldn’t ask if he had the last steak on earth.

  “Fine.” Meriel shook her hair back. “I’ll go into town and get something to eat.”

  “You don’t have any money,” he said, his lips tilted up obnoxiously.

  “Money’s not going to be an issue. Anyway, I’m sure someone will buy me a meal.” And she opened the towel up to flash him. His eyes widened and his jaw clenched so hard she thought she heard his teeth grind. Kind of cute, really. But she was a little surprised at her own actions. Where had her modesty gone?

  Oh yeah. Seven years as a nudist seal.

  Ronan grabbed her arm and hauled her in the house. “You are not going into town to proposition some tourist. They’ll pick you up for solicitation.”