Chapter 19

chapter 19

Maeve

My breath turns to stone in my lungs when the kelpie takes Lizzie over the edge and into the water. She’s going to die. More than that, she’ll be terrified when it happens. I can’t let her go. Not yet. Not like this.

My body takes over. There’s no time for my brain to provide all the ways this is suicidal. There’s only motion. I throw myself from the crow’s nest with every bit of strength I have, propelling myself well outside of the range of the ship and drawing my skin close around my body as I fall. My stomach is in my throat. I’ll only get one chance at this.

I shift in the air, my body growing and morphing. It feels like stretching after spending hours in a cramped space. Even now, even with panic screaming through my mind, there’s a sliver of joy in the ability to do this.

I dive into the surface of the water face-first, my body narrowing to take advantage of the momentum of the fall.

I fully expected the water horse to drag Lizzie into the depths, but it’s a handful of yards below the surface. Just deep enough to drown. She’s trapped on its back, its magic holding her in place despite her struggles. And she is struggling. Blood saturates the water around them as she drives her fingers into the water horse’s side again and again. It’s not nearly enough.

She has a few minutes. Maybe a few seconds.

I charge through the water in their direction, pouring every bit of strength I have into pure speed. The water horse is easily twice my size, but it’s distracted with the vampire attached to its back. More than that, its horse shape is made for running on hard surfaces. I am made for the deep.

I’ll only get one chance to strike unchallenged before it’s an all-out fight. I have to make it count. I dive deeper, coming up from below, where it won’t expect an attack. Lizzie sees me first and her crimson eyes go wide. There’s no time to reassure her. No time for anything.

I hit the water horse in the stomach hard enough to spin it toward the surface. Even over the roaring in my ears, I hear its pained cry. It’s so fast. It turns almost instantly and lashes at me with its hind claws. I dodge out of the way easily. This is a fearsome beast, but I am not prey.

I twist around it, distracting it as best I can as I wait for another opening. I can hold my breath for a prolonged period of time, but I don’t think Lizzie is able to. She’s a vampire, but vampires are mammals just like humans. She can’t go without oxygen indefinitely. Not like the water horse can.

I charge again, though this time I don’t have quite as much speed behind me. It doesn’t matter. My entire body is a weapon and my teeth are just as sharp as the kelpie’s. I dodge another kick and rip into its hindquarters. It screams in pain again, but it hasn’t released Lizzie.

Blood clogs the water. It’s in my mouth, thick and coppery and not enough. I have to save her. We’re running out of time. Distantly, fear clamors that we’re going to draw bigger and more fearsome predators if we’re not fast. There’s no time to worry about that now. I have to save Lizzie. We have to kill the water horse, or at least drive it off and save the crew and the ship.

Overhead, the Serpent’s Cry continues to cut away from us, the crew running for their lives. Of course they are. They’re not warriors. They owe no allegiance to us. They’re hoping that the water horse is too busy murdering us to come after them. I don’t blame Alix and the rest of them for that choice, but I have no interest in dying today. Or letting Lizzie drown.

The kelpie spins to face me, its fangs snapping closed inches from my side. I barely twist out of the way in time and slap it with my tail.

It startles back and shudders. I get a glimpse of Lizzie wrenching herself off its back, its magic obviously waning as its distraction increases. But instead of pushing off and rushing for the surface, she clings to its neck and drives her fingers into its throat. The water horse lets out a shriek that I can feel in my bones, but I don’t stop to feel sorry for it.

It’s us or the kelpie.

I dive for the back of its neck, using my bigger body to knock Lizzie free as I sink my teeth into the top of its spine and twist and spin and wrench as hard as I can. Once, twice, a third time. On the fourth, its spine snaps and the creature goes still. I push it farther down into the depths, hoping that any other predators in the area will go after the body instead of us.

I sweep back up, coming beneath Lizzie’s flailing body. She wraps her arms around me and I swim as quickly as I can to the surface. Her gasping breath is music to my ears. We survived. But we need to get out of the water, and we need to do it now. It’s not safe. The dead water horse will draw other predators, and we need to be well away from here when that happens.

I’m not able to speak in this form, but Lizzie eases her grip on me so that I can swim easier and tow her to the ship. It takes a matter of seconds. But the entire time, I’m paranoid that something will rise from the depths and attempt to take a bite out of us.

As we come even with the Serpent’s Cry, I fully expect the crew to ignore us—or try to finish what the water horse started. But Rin leans over the railing and tosses down a rope to trail in the water before us. Lizzie wastes no time wrapping it around her waist. Ze pulls her up onto the deck with quick movements, far stronger than zir lean body suggests. Less than a minute later, Lizzie is back safely aboard the ship.

Now it’s my turn.

It wasn’t until I’d regained my skin that I realized exactly how much I’d lost alongside it. How much strength and speed, how much confidence. Even now, days later, I’m not entirely certain how much of that was actually physical or mental. Regardless of the cause, I’m easily able to scale the side of the ship and vault over the railing to land on the deck at Lizzie’s side. She’s on her hands and knees, coughing up water.

She’s breathing. She’s alive. That’s all that matters.

I crouch at her side, my hand hovering over her back. I don’t close the distance, don’t try to help beyond offering my presence. Both because I don’t know if she’d accept it and because I don’t want to weaken her standing with the crew. If they become even a little less scared of her, we might be in danger.

After a few moments, she sits back on her heels and clears her throat. Her wet hair is plastered to her face, her cheeks are gaunt, and her eyes are glowing a bright crimson. “Like I said, I’ll handle it.”

That’s certainly one way to put it. I lift my brows, but she’s very pointedly not looking at me. A giant splash makes us all jump, and I look back in time to see something massive breach the surface, the water horse’s body in its giant jaws. My mind shies away from identifying exactly what that creature is.

I clear my throat. “Maybe it’s best we pick up the pace as much as possible.”

“Good idea.” Alix doesn’t point out that we were already at the maximum speed possible without magical aid. They just go back to the helm and start shouting orders at the crew emerging from belowdecks. Everyone is wide-eyed and shaky, but they go about their jobs with quick efficiency.

Living in Threshold means coming face-to-face with a wide variety of creatures that want to eat you for dinner. There aren’t many natural predators to selkies in the waters around Viedna, but the sailors and the C?n Annwn come through with plenty of stories about the horrors that haunt the deep.

Horrors. Monsters. Things that need to be put down, according to them. More like they’re creatures who are predators without any morality of their own. That doesn’t make them evil. But, either way, I’m not interested in becoming the snack of a predator of the deep.

I move closer to Lizzie, and she holds up a hand. “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t say anything.” She’s most assuredly not fine. There are brackets around her mouth that I’ve never seen before and her pale skin is downright waxy. She’s not shaking, but she hardly looks steady on her feet. Almost drowning is a terrifying experience for even the most hardened sailor, let alone someone actively afraid of the sea. I don’t say it. I have a feeling that Lizzie will snap my head right from my shoulders if I put her fear to words.

Not that I’m going to let that stop me from finding a way to comfort her. “Let’s get you dry.” I ignore her faint sound of protest and wrap an arm around her waist, dragging her with me to the captain’s quarters. The crew very pointedly doesn’t look at either of us as I guide her inside and slam the door behind me.

She spins on me and snaps her fangs. “I said I’m fine.”

“If you were fine, you wouldn’t be throwing a tantrum like a child.” If I thought that she would accept softness, I’d give it to her, but she only knows thorns. There’s a part of me that mourns that, but I will create a safe place for her to land in the emotional aftermath of this experience?.?.?. after I’ve gotten her out of her wet clothes and checked her for injuries. The vampire heals faster than she has any right to, but that doesn’t mean she’s uninjured.

“A?.?.?. tantrum.” Her voice goes low and deadly. “Just because we’ve fucked—”

“I highly suggest you stop right there before you piss me off.” I cut in. “I know you’re scared out of your mind right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to allow you to take it out on me. Get those wet clothes off and let me check you for injuries.”

“I. Am. Fine.”

The fact that she keeps saying it and hasn’t once questioned whether I’m okay only highlights how shaken she really is. Lizzie can be a cold bitch, but she has shown a remarkable amount of caring when it comes to my safety. Sharpness doesn’t seem to be working. Softness it is, then. I march over to her and drag her into my arms. She tries to push me away, but only a little.

Her hands finally come to rest on my hips, fine tremors in her fingers. “Godsdamn it, Maeve.”

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” I say into the crook of her neck. “You scared the shit out of me. There was a moment there where I thought I’d lost you forever.” The words are almost a confession, almost a declaration that I have no intention of making. Because I will lose Lizzie forever. Not to death but to her family and obligations and a realm far beyond Threshold. At least in that scenario, I have the comfort of knowing that she’s alive. Not a water horse’s meal.

She takes in a breath, and it shudders out in a sound that’s almost a sob. Still, she holds herself too straight. As if she’s afraid to bend, because that means she’ll break. My heart aches for her, for the lessons that she had to learn that told her never to show even the slightest bit of weakness. I don’t tell her that she’s safe with me. I don’t think she’ll believe it. I just hold her as tightly as I can until the tension melts out of her body and she collapses into my arms.

“I’m fine,” she whispers.

“You will be.”

When I’m certain she won’t fight me, I ease back and pull off her wet clothes. She doesn’t say anything. She just lifts her arms so I can get her shirt over her head and steps out of her pants after I work them down her legs. Passive. That alone is enough to freak me out, but I manage to keep my worry internal as I guide her unresisting body to the large tub in the captain’s quarters. It’s one of the few ostentatious things on this ship. I was delighted to discover it’s similar to the one at the inn, with magically warm and clean water. It’s even shielded so that it won’t splash out of the metal tub. A useful trick on tumultuous seas, no doubt.

Lizzie resists, digging in her heels as I push her toward the tub. “I’ve had enough water to last me a lifetime.”

“You’ll feel better once you get the salt off your skin. Trust me.”

She resists for a heartbeat longer and then allows me to usher her into the tub. I watch her closely, waiting for the moment that she relaxes. It doesn’t come. She huddles in the center of the tub, her knees drawn to her chest. Which is just a testament of how truly terrified she was.

Best I can tell, Lizzie spent most of her life on land before coming to Threshold. There’s nothing quite like the sea to remind you of the fact that you’re not truly unkillable. The sea doesn’t care about your magic or your strength, and certainly not your stamina. It’s the ultimate equalizer. It’s perfectly rational to be terrified, but if Lizzie has spent lifetimes being an apex predator, she’s not going to be comfortable with fear. She’s certainly not going to thank me for pointing out that it’s a perfectly reasonable response.

My clothes are already starting to dry stiffly against my body, so I pull them off and drop them in a pile next to Lizzie’s. When I turn around, she’s slid down in the tub until her chin touches the surface of the water, her dark hair spread out around her as she watches me. “You were brilliant down there,” she says softly.

Brilliant.That’s not a word I would have used to describe the desperation in my attacks. I’ve killed for food and I’ve killed to protect myself, but it’s never been a fight like that before. I think my hands are shaking, but it’s easy enough to put the aftermath of the battle into the back of my mind when I can focus on her instead. “I wasn’t going to let it take you.”

“I’ve underestimated you, Maeve.” She smiles a little, though her eyes are still haunted. “I suppose I should thank you for saving my life.”

I shift uneasily on my feet. I don’t know what to do with this version of Lizzie. I don’t know how to comfort her in a way she’ll accept. “There’s no thanks necessary. Like I said, I wasn’t going to let you die.”

She lifts a hand. “Come here.”

I want nothing more than to go to her, but I still plant my feet and force myself to stillness. “We both just had a big scare. I hardly think that jumping into the bath with you is the right solution.”

“Probably not. But it can’t hurt.”