A - Immortal Sea

Nothing lasts forever but the sea.

“I do not need long,” he said and set out to prove it, stroking into her fast and hard, hammering into her over and over in a

push toward forgetfulness, a rush toward release. But she met him, matched him, tilting her hips to take his thrusts, twining her

fingers in his hair, her legs around his legs, Elizabeth in every pulse, push, breath. He felt her around him, inside him, part of

him, and when she cried out and came, her orgasm took him like the sea, changed him in his heart and the marrow of his

bones.

He lay on her, listening to the rain drum on the roof and drip through the trees.

Beached.

Bewildered.

Changed. He would never be the same, never be himself again.

Outside, a car crunched over gravel. Headlights sparked on the glass and arced away.

“I have to get dressed,” Elizabeth kissed the side of his face, shoved at his shoulder. “It‟s getting late. You have to go.”

He lay unmoving, his body as heavy as stone, her words trickling through him as cold and inescapable as water.

He had to go.

Sooner or later, whether he took the boy or not, he was warden of the northern deeps, with duties in the sea and on

Sanctuary. He was lord of the finfolk, among the last blood born of his kind. He could not stay.

Could he?

Dylan had. But Dylan was both selkie and human, bound to land by his sealskin, anchored by a human life and human

responsibilities.

“It is already too late,” he said.

Elizabeth looked at him without understanding. “The children will be home soon.”

The children. Zachary.

The reminder formed an icy ball in his gut. He disengaged slowly from Elizabeth‟s body, reluctant to part with her warmth,

already anticipating in his heart and in his flesh the larger separation to come. “I must speak with him. Zachary.”

Elizabeth‟s clouded eyes cleared. He watched the subtle shift from lover to mother as she marshaled her authority and

defenses. “Not tonight. He‟s been through enough for one day.”

So had she. But she did not make excuses for herself, he noticed. He admired her determination to protect their son. But he

would not let admiration deter him from what must be said. What must be done.

“Zachary is old enough to make his own decisions.”

She shook her head. “He doesn‟t know enough to decide anything. He needs time to adjust. To accept. We all need time.”

The bitter echo of Conn‟s words played in his head. “You need time to recover . . . Take as long as you need . ”

“Time will not change what he is,” Morgan said. “Or what I am.”

A frown formed between Elizabeth‟s brows. “This isn‟t only about you. Or even about Zack. I have to consider Em.”

He stared at her, perplexed, uneasy. “Emily already accepts me.”

“Exactly. She‟s becoming attached.”

Attached. Like a barb in his skin, a tiny hook in his heart.

The admission did not hurt as much as he thought it would.

“I am . . . attached to her, too,” he said carefully.

Elizabeth did not appear impressed. “I‟ve been very careful about limiting the children‟s contact with the men I‟ve dated. I

don‟t want Em to think that because we‟re involved, you‟re a father candidate.”

The thought of Elizabeth with other men made him grit his teeth. Her rational tone drove him wild. She was still lying

naked under him. How could she dismiss him so easily? “I was not aware you had come to this island to find a father for

Emily.”

Her eyes sparked. “I didn‟t. Any more than you came looking for a son. But here we are.”

“In your bed,” he reminded her.

“Yes.” She sighed, releasing her anger with her breath, and touched his taut jaw. “I can accept you won‟t be around

forever. I won‟t ask Emily to accept it. I think it would be better if you don‟t see her for a little while. You need to give us

some space.”

Her barriers were up again, he realized. And he was on the outside. Despite her gentle hands, her rueful tone, her complete

and satisfying surrender to him moments ago, she would not compromise where her children were concerned.

Frustrated, he rolled from her to sit on the edge of her mattress. “And Zachary?”

“I won‟t stop him from seeing you. But if you care for him—if you care for me at all—you‟ll back off. Give us time.”

Instinct and pride, primal, possessive, rose to refute her. Back off now? Leave her when she was vulnerable? When she was

his? She would only use the opportunity to withdraw even further behind her formidable defenses.

And yet . . . She had no reason—he had no right—to expect otherwise. “I can accept you won’t be around forever . . . ”

He nodded stiffly, still with his back to her. “Very well. I will come back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday. Zack‟s at the store all day.”

“Sunday, then.”

“We need one day together as a family.”

A family he was not part of.

He cast a sardonic look over his shoulder. “Will one day make such a difference after fifteen years?”

Her smile trembled. “If it‟s the last day.”

Ah, God.

He wanted to reassure her that he would not rip Zachary unwilling from this life and her arms. But he could say nothing

until he had spoken to the boy. Zachary was finfolk. The choice must be his.

“How much time do you need?” he asked.

18

FOR THREE DAYS, IT DID NOTHING BUT RAIN, a hard, cleansing downpour from clouds piled like oyster shells,

thick white and luminous gray. The runoff penetrated every cranny of Liz‟s house and leaked under the duct tape holding her

broken window together. The chill permeated her bones. The smell of loam and moss and pine was everywhere. Rain splashed

in the road like a river, collecting in puddles on the saturated ground, driving the tourists to the mainland and the islanders to

the clinic for every twinge and sniffle aggravated by the creeping damp.

Liz advised ibuprofen, saline rinses, and rest, and wished she had a home care remedy for the anarchy brewing in her heart

and head.

“How much time do you need?”

She wished she knew. Morgan‟s absence ached like a bruise. She had made him promise to stay away from them until she

had a chance to think, until she and Zack had a chance to talk, until she could figure out what was best for him and Emily.

But Zack seemed content to say nothing, to do nothing, to slide through the days and nights with as little fuss as possible,

as if ignoring the issue would make it go away.

Part of her was grateful for the respite after the stress of the past few years, the shock of the past few days. She found

herself a silent coconspirator in avoidance, doing her best to recapture the rhythm of their earlier life, making pancakes,

watching movies, playing Go Fish around the kitchen table as if everything were normal. As if Zack were normal. Hoping,

selfishly, that the simple family pleasures, the familiar family routines, would be enough to hold him when the time came.

She knew they would not hold Morgan.

Something had changed the last time they‟d made love. In him. In her. She felt it. But his words lay stark between them. “I