Find Me (Immersed Book 1) Page 6

  “Well…” Hunter’s hesitant voice called her attention to him again. He looked disconcerted, and seemed to be framing his reply with care, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “The weight of your clothing wouldn’t make a difference in terms of moving you through water. You removing your clothing would certainly be…distracting…” the smile he’d been fighting won out, and his lips curved upwards, the expression in his eyes making her stomach flip.

  She dropped her head in confusion. He continued courteously, the smile still in his voice. “Come now, before you change your mind. Your clothing will dry.”

  Skye knew she should move, but new feelings were spilling into her already overcharged state, bewildering her, and she simply couldn’t work out what came next. His hand lightly touched her chin, gently tilting her face up to him. His expression was solemn but kind.

  “Skye? Will you let me make you safe?” he asked again.

  She looked into his eyes and felt that she could. As if recognising it, he lifted the bag from her, looped it over his own head, and slid his long arms either side of hers, placing a hand supportively behind each of her shoulders. It should have felt intrusive, or inappropriate at least. It didn’t. They stepped to the very edge of the water-lapped rock. Her mind teetered on the edge of freefall as they slipped together into the cold sea.

  7. Warning

  Skye’s breath hitched at the engulfing chill. Hunter’s long legs pushed them off, and they moved as one away from the disappearing rock, effortlessly, more like gliding than swimming, his strong arms holding Skye so that her head was clear of the water. Her saturated clothes both clung and wafted about her, eddying with the water. Her teeth began to chatter.

  A wave impacted them and instinctively she clutched closer to him. Even as she registered that this was the closest she’d ever been to a boy, his arms stiffened, his breath hissing as if only now responding to the cold. He held her further away. Seeing his face, her heart sank. His expression suggested he’d rather be anywhere but here. It seemed ironic that the one guy to hold her like this seemed to wish he didn’t.

  She tried not to think about the water surrounding them, tried not to look around while avoiding his face. She’d heard about panicked rescuees taking their rescuer down with them. Fear tightened its grip. She began to shake.

  “Watch me, Skye, focus only on me. There is nothing to fear, you are safe.”

  Avoiding his eyes, she focused on the beads of water trailing down his forehead and cheekbones and clinging to his dark eyebrows. His skin was warm now beneath her hands. He’d been cold before. Or maybe it had been her own coldness she’d felt? Unconsciously she drew closer to his warmth. His shoulders tightened under her hands and another hiss of sound escaped him.

  Realising she’d closed the distance between them again, she pushed out to the furthest arms length possible. “S-sorry,” she whispered. Her teeth chattered harder as the coldness of the water swirled in where his warmth had been seconds before.

  “No, it’s…” he said tightly. “It’s just…” For a few heartbeats tension strained between them. Then as if abandoning whatever had constrained him he drew her gently close. Neither of them spoke, and as the welcome warmth seeped through her, easing her shivers, she became aware of a different kind of tension. She hadn’t been carried through the water like this since she was little. But there was nothing about this that made her feel like a child.

  She was excruciatingly aware of his closeness, of the warmth of him against her, the warm column of his neck now lightly touching hers, of how her arms twining around him felt as if they were holding electricity. If he felt her trembling, she hoped that he would attribute it to the water. Nothing good could come from these feelings. And yet she couldn’t stop clinging to him.

  As the warmth between them built, her tension dissolved. She felt both lightheaded and heavy as lead in his arms. As if, should he let her go, her body wouldn’t know whether to sink like a stone or float like a feather on the surface. Her head was thick like syrup, dream-heavy. His skin beneath hers and the water around her became one.

  “Warm…” she sighed deeply, all thought and fear melting into the ocean of warmth.

  A violent but muffled curse drew her thick wandering thoughts back. Iron hands gripped her arms and shook her, and cold water swirled like a shock between her and the source of heat as the muffled cursing continued. She gasped and spluttered as the sudden movement splashed water into her face. Had she fallen asleep? How was that even possible?

  Hunter was holding her the furthest distance from him his long arms could manage. So far, that her own arms flailed about until she caught hold of his wrists. His expression was one of disgust.

  “Sorry,” she whispered again around the lump suddenly filling her throat, blinking fiercely as she tried to get the punched-hole feeling in her midriff under control. But Hunter’s husky “Sorry,” echoed hers, increasing her confusion.

  He drew her closer once more. Not so close that she could wrap herself around him again, but close enough that she could grip his shoulders, cooler now under her touch, and see his face. She risked a fleeting glance at him, and was startled by his look of intense concentration.

  She tried focusing on the sea around them. Bad idea: with water sucking at her clothes, the sound of distant breakers rose inside her head. They would never reach the shore. The sea would pull them both under and swirl them around in the darkness, searching…

  “Skye, stay with me. Watch my eyes.” His quiet, commanding voice pulled her back once again to concentrate on steely grey eyes, noticing again those hints of turquoise and green around his pupils.

  As if to help distract her, he began to turn gently about in the water, like waltzing, or ice-skating, effortlessly. It felt a little like flying. His arms slipped further around her, but he kept a small careful distance between them, his legs only occasionally brushing against hers, cool water flowing between them. “See, Skye – the water’s not so bad,” he encouraged.

  Like this, with him, the water did seem not so bad. Better than not so bad. As if sensing her pleasure Hunter’s face lightened, his eyes warm. He sped up in playful spirals, his smile widening. Her confusion over his changeable moods was lost in the sense of flying, circling together through the water. Then once again he slowed, loosening his hold.

  Fear spiked as she began to sink. Then her feet touched firm ridges of sand. She was waist deep at Bascath Beach, safe.

  Beneath her relief Skye was conscious of disappointment. She let Hunter go, staggering momentarily in the water. His hands were instantly there steadying her, but just as swiftly released her when she found her balance. He stood an arm’s length from her. The distance felt as potent as their closeness had. It was impossible to read his eyes.

  He lifted her saturated bag off over his head and held it out to her, his cold fingers brushing hers as she took it. “I want you to be safe, always.” His voice was grave. “Skye?” When she nodded, he whispered “Keep away…”

  Embarrassed by the sting of rejection, Skye dropped her gaze, concentrating on keeping her sodden bag above the water lapping her waist. She couldn’t mistake the note of warning. He meant it. Did he mean from the sea…or from him?

  When she was composed enough to look up, she was shocked to find she was alone. How had he gone so fast? Disconcerted, she turned and waded blindly towards the beach and collided with someone in thigh-deep water.

  “Watch it!” a girl’s sharp voice rang out.

  Skye was momentarily engulfed in a wet tangle of tanned limbs and candy pink, before strong hands grasped her arms and steadied her. Her heart leapt – was he still with her? She looked up into hazel eyes in a tanned face, disappointed the cute guy smiling at her wasn’t Hunter.

  He smiled at her as if her recognised her, “Hey!” Then his smile faltered. “You okay?”

  “Um…sure.” He looked familiar.

  “Only…” He looked bemused, “did you fall in?”

&nb
sp; “Oh.” Skye registered her dripping state, and the steady trickle of water draining from her bag. “Got caught out by the tide,” she muttered. She should probably feel foolish, but somehow couldn’t. Her mind was too full of Hunter. His voice telling her to focus on him. The feel of his warmth against her. Her blood tingled.

  “Ethan, she’s fine. Let go of her already.” The girl sounded annoyed.

  “Oh, right. Sorry.” He dropped his hands. “You should get dry, get some warm clothes on.”

  Skye glanced up at him. His golden hazel eyes were fixed on her quizzically. “Warm clothes – sure, that’s where I’m headed.”

  The girl took his arm, “You can’t rescue everybody, and she’s clearly not in any need of it. Are you?” she demanded of Skye. Skye shook her head ‘no’, and pushed past them, splashing out of the water.

  Higher up the beach she stopped. Sounds of children playing nearby mingled with the wash of the surf. The warm air was laden with holiday ease. Everywhere she looked people were doing exactly what they were expected to do at the beach – enjoy themselves. Hunter’s face was nowhere among those around her. Feeling as if she’d returned from a different world to one she didn’t quite fit anymore, she slowly left the beach.

  At The Towers, leaving drips and sandy smudges on the polished tiles, Skye stepped out of the elevator on the tenth floor. A uniformed cleaner vacuuming the hallway shook his head at her messy footprints but grinned good naturedly when Skye mouthed “Sorry”. His smile widened as he took in her bedraggled state.

  At the apartment door, she fished in her sopping bag for the door card, grateful that plastic didn’t mind water. Hurrying to the bathroom she emptied her shoulder bag, then stripped off her wet clothes and redundant bikini and slung them all into the hamper. She showered quickly and dried her hair, then changed into her favourite long retro skirt and a skinny T-shirt. Feeling a welcome sense of ‘normal’ returning, she checked the clock. Not yet one o’clock. She had time for one more mission before meeting Morgan.

  Perching on one of the balcony loungers with juice, a towel and her ruined Anderson’s Fairy Tales, Skye closed her eyes for a moment. She breathed in, listening to the distant murmur of the street below and the beach beyond, centring herself a little more. The mingled scents of hot pavement, sun-warmed flowers and the sea brought back long ago walks to the beach from their old cottage. Would her happy memories ever come completely pain free?

  Sipping her juice, she inspected her ruined book, debating if she should just toss it. It looked beyond salvageable. She sighed, putting her glass aside, and began carefully separating each translucent leaf, dabbing with the towel as she went.

  These old stories, the underlying menace and cruelty, the doomed-to-failure heroes, had rung truer to her than the Disney versions of happily ever after. They acknowledged that sometimes the people who tried hardest, or had the most to lose, lost. Virtue wasn’t rewarded. The wicked triumphed, and evil didn’t get paid out, or not until the hero had suffered horribly and you had to wonder if the reward was worth the price. After losing her mother, she’d related to the razor-kiss of dark twists and cruel fates. In the real world, happily ever after seemed possible only in a ‘don’t expect too much’ way. Even then, it was a dicey long shot. She pictured her father, his crystal tumbler and his lonely research.

  She paused in her drying efforts. Maybe this wrecked book was a sign: time to let go? Move forward? That felt impossible with the hooks of her past so neatly spliced through her skin. Continuing her task, she brooded over her morning.

  Why go there: that Cove, those rocks? Where her mother had drowned, if all she’d ever been officially told was true. Her dummy run effort had failed miserably. She was glad Morgan hadn’t been there to see it.

  But someone had been there, had seen her fail. Hunter. Her insides ricocheted as she registered properly: she’d been in a virtual stranger’s arms, had clung to him. In his arms she’d been able to glide effortlessly beyond her fear. She closed her eyes and recalled him tracing the path of her tear. Her stomach seemed to dissolve. Something inside her was changing. It felt like the turning of a tide.

  The breeze caught at the page she held, carrying her thoughts to her father, his rustling papers, typing at his computer. Unable to let her mother go, even in his work. Every reason she had to protect herself from these new feelings was there in her father and his pain. She compressed her lips and tried to think about nothing but the book in her hands.

  When she’d done as much as she could, she stood the book in a sheltered corner of the balcony to finish drying, and left the apartment.

  8. Talk

  Skye joined the tail end of a tour group trailing into the restaurant that took up half of the apartment building’s ground floor, conscious of the ocean murmur each time the street doors opened to admit someone.

  As she entered the restaurant’s swing doors, the din of voices raised over clinking tableware swelled around her. Crowded eateries weren’t exactly her idea of fun, but time with Morgan, even if across a busy room overcame her impulse to bale. Uncertain of restaurant protocol, she hesitated near the door, but Morgan joined her almost at once.

  “Annie showed up!” Morgan smiled. “They’re really busy so they still need me, but Mum says I can have lunch with you.”

  “She is an excellent woman, and God bless Annie,” Skye pronounced.

  “Hear, hear.”

  They slid into a recently vacated window booth, pushing the jumble of dirty dishes still cluttering the table forward to attract the attention of a server. Skye looked around with interest. So this was the dreaded landlord’s snare? Judging by the crowds, there were no complaints about the food. She wasn’t surprised, although she guessed most of Rowena’s excellent cooking would be for apartments upstairs.

  Rich food smells mingled with the soft tang of brine and scented flowers wafting through wide open windows further along. She couldn’t see the sea from her vantage point. Her sudden need to made it difficult to keep her seat. She forced herself to settle for the glimpse of blue sky, so eloquent of the ocean below it. A memory came back to her, her dad telling her why Mum had chosen Skye’s name. “The sky touches both the land and the sea at once,” he’d reminisced. She’d liked that.

  Morgan nudged Skye’s foot under the table and she looked around. The plates had been cleared and fresh cutlery set without her noticing.

  “The queue at the buffet’s not too long. Hungry now? Or wait a bit longer?”

  Skye’s stomach growled. “Definitely now.”

  The girls joined the small crowd at the laden table. Skye piled a plate with salad, roast meat and tiny crisp roasted vegetables, and stepped away from the busy table while Morgan filled a plate for herself.

  “…cursed, yes,” A woman’s eager voice insisted. “Apparently there’s a history of it around here – assaults, disappearances. And most of them, you know – mysterious.”

  Skye turned. Nearby, three women and a man sat talking over their meals.

  A second woman chimed in. “I remember stories here about sea spirits when I was little. Some said they collected the souls of the drowned, others said they did the drowning.”

  Skye rolled her eyes. The stories this village had spawned!

  “Load of rubbish,” the man replied. “Sea spirits, for Pete’s sake!”

  “Where was it? The girl you heard about?” the third women asked.

  “There’s a hidden beach near the open coast, apparently on the way to that fabulous Ocean Beach. What’s it called...?”

  “Ciarlan Cove.”

  Skye went still.

  “It means black beach,” the second woman added.

  “Sounds appropriate,” the sceptical man sneered, and they all laughed.

  Skye jumped as Morgan nudged her shoulder. Following Morgan back to their seats, Skye’s thoughts raced. Something had happened to a girl at Ciarlan Cove? Something recent? Or something ten years ago...? She felt a steel band constrict her chest.r />
  As they wriggled into their booth she noticed Morgan glance back at the table of four. Skye grabbed a roll and bit into it, staring at her plate as she chewed mechanically, hoping Morgan hadn’t heard them. She didn’t want to talk about it. She jumped when Morgan plucked a roast potato from Skye’s plate. She took a big bite and crossed her eyes at Skye. They both giggled, mouths full, and Skye relaxed.

  Finishing the last morsel off her plate, Skye felt her stomach was close to exploding. It was incredibly easy to overeat in a place like this.

  “Dessert?” Morgan wiggled her eyebrows wickedly.

  “Kidding, right? How can you possibly have room?”

  “Always room for dessert!” Morgan stood. “Sure now?”

  “Okay, maybe a meringue. Or two. But would you mind – could you get it for me Mags? I’m totally too stuffed to move.” Skye pulled what she hoped was a helpless and appealing expression.

  “Sure, you delicate wee flower. Hey, the coffee’s not too bad here either.”

  “Oh, yes please. Coffee, definitely.” That one she didn’t have to think about.

  Unable to resist the call of the sea beyond her vision, she moved to a vacant stool at an open bi-fold window to wait. She sighed with pleasure at the horizon glistening beyond the stone wall and milling pedestrians. With her stomach delightfully full, the steady noise of the busy restaurant and the dazzling light off the ocean were soporific. She felt drowsy and pampered. She could definitely get used to this.

  Then she stiffened. A voice had woven its way out of the general clamour so gradually she hadn’t registered what she was hearing. The speaker wasn’t directly outside her window, but near enough to be easily audible. The voice was young, female, and Skye wanted to strangle it, stuff it back down whichever smarmy throat it came out of.

  “She’s staying with Morgan for the summer,” the girl’s voice continued. “It’s so freaky, practically connected to one of our best friends.”