hope, so full of expectation. The swell of voices and conversation faded as he untangled the collar of her sweater from where it had caught in a button.
“You used to tell me stories,” Caitlin whispered. “The ones you came up with during the day. The ones you refused to write down.”
“I remember,” Liam murmured, his fingers lingering in the soft hand-knit wool of her sweater. “You believed in them.”
“I believed in you .”
Her rich, red waves cascaded around her pale skin, brushing against her shoulders. How had he never noticed how full and soft her hair was? “You told me this was magic sand,” he said, reeling each piece of the memory in like a fish struggling at the end of a line. His gaze fell back to the dark sand in her palm. “Dust from the selkies’ pelts when they came up to the beach to dance. You said the beach was enchanted.”
“I used to think it was.”
“But you don’t anymore?”
Caitlin shook her head.
“Why not?” When she said nothing, he searched her eyes. There was a flicker of sadness in them now and he felt a sudden urge to comfort her. “You wanted to build a cottage there,” he murmured as bits and pieces of their moonlight conversations floated back to him. “So you could feel their magic. So you could see them at night from your bedroom window.”
When she bit her lip, his gaze dropped to where her teeth caught the soft pink flesh. He wanted to brush his thumb over that spot, lower his mouth to hers, and drink in the taste of her. But… it was almost like he already knew what her lips felt like melting against his. “Why haven’t you built that house, Caitlin?”
“I haven’t… gotten around to it.”
“But you still want to?” Why was this so important to him? Why couldn’t he remember the rest? “Caitlin, I…” He trailed off as cold fingers wrapped around his forearm. They snaked like ropes, cutting off his air, scrambling those first snatches of memories into dust.
Caitlin’s eyes clouded as her gaze shifted to Nuala.
“Thank you for inviting us tonight,” Nuala said, her voice as rhythmic and lyrical as the melody of the waves. “But it’s time for Owen and me to go.”
Caitlin pried her hand free from Liam’s grip and leaned down to pick up the dish from the floor. There was still a teaspoon of black sand in it and she cradled it in her hands, like it was the most precious thing in the world. “How’s the cottage working out for you?”
The surf pounded in Liam’s ears. Seawater clogged his throat. He was frozen, unable to move or speak as the sea surrounded him, filling his lungs with ice-water.
Nuala handed him her empty glass and he took it, numb. Her fingers squeezed his arm as he struggled to breathe over the icy water choking him. “I had some trouble with the heater this morning. I was hoping Liam could show me how to use it.”
“Of course.” Caitlin’s grip on the sand tightened. “He knows how to work it.”
Nuala smiled. “I hope you don’t mind if I pull him away early.”
“Not at all.” Caitlin gritted her teeth. “I guess I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
It was green and quiet. A world of ice and silence. Liam watched Caitlin turn and walk away, and he set the glass down. His fingers stuck to the stem and he pried them off one by one. But when he pulled his hand away, a crystallized seal of ice coated the glass and his gaze fell to his hand where a faint shimmer of blue was slowly spreading over his skin. A sudden movement on the couch caught his eye and he glanced up as Nuala’s son stood.
Owen took one look at the glass and Liam’s frozen hand, and he flipped up his hood to cover his face. The hood was coated in that same crystallized pattern of ice. He slipped out of the room as black and silent as a ray, a trail of water dripping in his wake.
Chapter 7
Caitlin lit a fire to ward off the morning chill. Rain smacked against the windows, streaming down the glass like cold, silver tears.
“You used to tell me stories,” Caitlin whispered. “The ones you came up with during the day. The ones you refused to write down.”
“I remember,” Liam murmured, his fingers lingering in the soft hand-knit wool of her sweater. “You believed in them.”
“I believed in you .”
Her rich, red waves cascaded around her pale skin, brushing against her shoulders. How had he never noticed how full and soft her hair was? “You told me this was magic sand,” he said, reeling each piece of the memory in like a fish struggling at the end of a line. His gaze fell back to the dark sand in her palm. “Dust from the selkies’ pelts when they came up to the beach to dance. You said the beach was enchanted.”
“I used to think it was.”
“But you don’t anymore?”
Caitlin shook her head.
“Why not?” When she said nothing, he searched her eyes. There was a flicker of sadness in them now and he felt a sudden urge to comfort her. “You wanted to build a cottage there,” he murmured as bits and pieces of their moonlight conversations floated back to him. “So you could feel their magic. So you could see them at night from your bedroom window.”
When she bit her lip, his gaze dropped to where her teeth caught the soft pink flesh. He wanted to brush his thumb over that spot, lower his mouth to hers, and drink in the taste of her. But… it was almost like he already knew what her lips felt like melting against his. “Why haven’t you built that house, Caitlin?”
“I haven’t… gotten around to it.”
“But you still want to?” Why was this so important to him? Why couldn’t he remember the rest? “Caitlin, I…” He trailed off as cold fingers wrapped around his forearm. They snaked like ropes, cutting off his air, scrambling those first snatches of memories into dust.
Caitlin’s eyes clouded as her gaze shifted to Nuala.
“Thank you for inviting us tonight,” Nuala said, her voice as rhythmic and lyrical as the melody of the waves. “But it’s time for Owen and me to go.”
Caitlin pried her hand free from Liam’s grip and leaned down to pick up the dish from the floor. There was still a teaspoon of black sand in it and she cradled it in her hands, like it was the most precious thing in the world. “How’s the cottage working out for you?”
The surf pounded in Liam’s ears. Seawater clogged his throat. He was frozen, unable to move or speak as the sea surrounded him, filling his lungs with ice-water.
Nuala handed him her empty glass and he took it, numb. Her fingers squeezed his arm as he struggled to breathe over the icy water choking him. “I had some trouble with the heater this morning. I was hoping Liam could show me how to use it.”
“Of course.” Caitlin’s grip on the sand tightened. “He knows how to work it.”
Nuala smiled. “I hope you don’t mind if I pull him away early.”
“Not at all.” Caitlin gritted her teeth. “I guess I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
It was green and quiet. A world of ice and silence. Liam watched Caitlin turn and walk away, and he set the glass down. His fingers stuck to the stem and he pried them off one by one. But when he pulled his hand away, a crystallized seal of ice coated the glass and his gaze fell to his hand where a faint shimmer of blue was slowly spreading over his skin. A sudden movement on the couch caught his eye and he glanced up as Nuala’s son stood.
Owen took one look at the glass and Liam’s frozen hand, and he flipped up his hood to cover his face. The hood was coated in that same crystallized pattern of ice. He slipped out of the room as black and silent as a ray, a trail of water dripping in his wake.
Chapter 7
Caitlin lit a fire to ward off the morning chill. Rain smacked against the windows, streaming down the glass like cold, silver tears.
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