Siren's Call (Dark Seas) Page 14

  The need to be outside and greet the sun gripped him with a passion as fervent as the animalistic urge to mate in spring. Quietly, so as not to awaken Lily in the adjoining room, he pulled on a pair of loose drawstring pants and gathered the needed tools to bless the morning—a ritual he and his grandfather had shared in days past. Arms laden with a woolen blanket and totems, Nash tread barefoot across the sun-warmed oak floor and opened the screen door, pausing at the rusty screech of its hinges.

  He stilled, ears attuned to the slightest sound from the next room, but Lily didn’t stir. Still barefoot, Nash walked down the porch steps until his calloused feet sank into the white sand that held the warmth of yesterday’s sunlight. Cerulean warblers chirped a welcome that seemed a personal greeting for him. Chirrup. Chirrup. Come into the light. As if he had done it all his life, had walked this path before. Nash picked his way to shore until he arrived at a mound of sand dunes. In between the dunes he spotted a level middlemost point where the sand mounds surrounded him on all sides like a private oasis.

  Here.

  He climbed a dune plumaged with sea oats and arrived at a consummate ceremonial spot. At once, he spread out the turquoise, red and yellow blanket with a woven symbol of the sun and the crossed kabocca sticks. Carefully, he arranged the materials—his ever-present medicine pouch, a leather-sheathed hunting knife, a bag of cornmeal and bald-eagle and turkey feathers. He grasped the waistband of his pants and tugged, shedding the cloth that separated his body from all that was natural and free.

  Unencumbered, Nash stretched his arms toward the sky. An ocean breeze lifted his long hair to the winds; the salty air swooshed every inch of his skin in blessing. He lifted his head, closed his eyes and fully experienced creation. The eternal crash of the tides pulsed through blood and bone and sinew, the sun caressed his naked body and, through the blanket, the soles of his feet yoked to the earth’s core, grounding and centering. He inhaled the clean scent of water and salt as savory as a bountiful feast to a starving man.

  This was what he’d been missing for years, what he’d unknowingly sought in wild African safaris, in the chill, lonely splendor of the Arctic, the high mountains of Nepal and the valley of the Grand Canyon. Ancestral land held a sacred belonging unparalleled anywhere else one roamed. To walk among one’s forefathers and behold the place where they’d once breathed and loved and struggled and eventually died and returned to dust.

  Incredible. Nash dropped his hands and opened his eyes, eager to express his gratitude, his blessings, all the more precious from the guilt and regret he’d suffered the past three years. He dropped to the blanket and sat cross-legged, the totems within arm’s reach. He opened the suede medicine pouch and emptied its treasures: the tip of an eagle’s feather, a vial of dirt from the backyard of his grandfather’s cottage, tiny perfect shells he’d collected as a boy, a sand dollar, a smooth carnelian pebble and a narrow beaded bracelet crafted and handed down from some unknown female relation. He let the sunlight bathe and bless the relics, renewing their energy and spirit.

  Nash held up the turkey and eagle feathers to the light before braiding them into his hair, framing both sides of his face. And this might be what helped him heal and find answers. After bubbling burst from deep in his throat, he chanted, I seek and accept all that is offered.

  This was good. This was right. This was his heritage. No more would he shut out the gift or resist what was so freely offered. Nash again stood, lifting the bag of cornmeal. He opened it and grabbed a fistful of the golden maize that had been the sustenance of his people over the ages. With a powerful thrust, he released the ground corn, scattering it in the Gulf wind. Turning in all directions, he tossed more cornmeal in private thanksgiving. An offering to the earth in thanks for its power and bounty. Grains of yellow corn mixed with the pristine white sand. In a final movement, he emptied the bag in one fell swoop, watching the swirl of it rise upward and then fall to the ground.

  Over and beyond the dunes, a woman with silver-blond hair stood and waved. Her blue nightgown fluttered in the breeze like an errant pool of water, and then it pressed against the feminine curves of her body.

  Lily.

  She approached with a dignity and purpose he admired. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. She possessed an inner strength and beauty that called to him as strongly as any ancient spirit. He’d never experienced this call with anyone else. Never been drawn to want to completely possess a woman. This longing to be with Lily felt as natural and as deep as his connection to earth and sun. As before, an otherworldly message heralded her presence. A lone seagull screeched. Two spirits. Another squalled, but your destiny.

  She wasn’t what he’d thought he wanted in a woman. Nothing about her was normal. Lily was as mysteriously tied to the bayou as his spirit was bound and connected. Lily accepted and believed in his Choctaw roots, his connection to the land and its creatures. And he wanted her with all his heart. Mind, soul and body yearned to be one with Lily and discover all her secrets.

  And so he stood, naked and unashamed and open.

  * * *

  Unbounded black hair fluttered wildly in the wind like a constable of ravens, alerting Lily to where Nash had disappeared. The screeching of the screen door had awakened her from restless dreams of exploding cars, empty pill bottles and a dark menace hovering in the mist.

  She walked closer until she was near enough to see past the dunes and view his body.

  His naked body.

  Bronzed and muscled, Nash stood as proud and powerful as a warrior. Her warrior. For as long as he stayed and wanted her in return. Anticipation quickened her pace. She ached to be one with him.

  The first ferry ride to the island was hours away. They were alone on this paradise and Lily intended to make the most of it. They’d arrived late last night, somber and weary. Nash had matter-of-factly showed her around the small wooden lodge, pointing out where supplies and toiletries were kept. He’d immediately retired to a separate bedroom, obviously wishing solitude after the grueling realization that the past’s evils had followed him all the way to this remote bayou.

  Two seagulls screeched as they dove down and flew between her and Nash.

  As before, Lily fancied their arrival was intentional and that they mysteriously communicated with Nash. Not that any of that mattered at the moment.

  She would greet him as unafraid and bold as he stood before her. Lily slipped off her nightdress and held it casually bunched in one hand. Nash was still as a sturdy oak, but his eyes darkened with a need that matched her own. She stumbled in the sand but regained her balance and kept walking, undeterred. Nothing could stop her from joining with Nashoba. Nothing. Even if he broke her heart when he left. If she returned to sea with her mother and rejoined the merfolk, she’d do so knowing her heart would forever stay with Nash no matter where he wandered the earth.

  No. She wouldn’t think of it now. Wouldn’t allow the unforeseeable future, or last night’s events, to rob the present.

  She was so close. A few more feet. Nash held out his arms and she stepped into his embrace, his strength. They clung to each other, the breeze whipping around their bodies. She buried her head in his smooth, broad chest as her hands explored the hard, silky skin of his back, stretched taut over lean muscles coiled tight as a loaded spring. She didn’t want to move. Ever. Not even for a millisecond to let go and raise her face for a kiss.

  Nash’s hands entangled in her hair and cupped the base of her neck. He lifted her face as he lowered his own. Lily closed her eyes, her last sight the full lips coming to press against her mouth. A whimpering rumbled in her throat until Nash’s tongue invaded and quieted her cries.

  Oh, he was skilled. A master kisser. Just the right pressure, just the right amount of teasing and claiming. The press of his need against her stomach fevered her core and she rocked her hips against him. She didn’t know how it happened—there was a
sensation of falling—and then she lay on a blanket, Nash’s body covering her own. The delicious heaviness of his weight anchored her so there was no escape. Not that she ever wanted to be anywhere but here, making love with Nash.

  His erection pressed against her womanhood and she lifted her hips, aching for him to fill her as she signaled her readiness.

  Nash rose up on his elbows and stared down, eyes harsh and stern with desire. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice as hoarse as the screeching seagulls that had flown between them earlier.

  Lily marveled at the contrast of her voice compared to Nash’s. Where hers flowed, liquid and beguiling, his rumbled in a deep baritone, as powerful as an earthquake, the low notes vibrating deep in her core. “I want you,” she moaned. “So much.”

  Nash sank and lowered his head until their foreheads touched. “I’m nothing but trouble. I’ve brought pain to anyone I’ve been close with.”

  “Even if that were true, I don’t care.” Lily ran her fingers through his long hair, which was smooth and fluid as water.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you, Lily,” he said, his breath fierce and hot upon her face. “I promise.”

  She’d never felt so protected, so safe. Everything will be fine. “I know you won’t.” She kissed him and again rocked her hips against his stiff manhood, ready for him to claim her as his own, to be as one.

  Nash planted a series of featherlight kisses down her neck and shifted his body back as he edged lower. He cupped a breast in his large, calloused hand and Lily sucked in her breath. His mouth came down and suckled one nipple, then another. Wet heat flicked her sensitive buds until she pushed at his shoulders. “Let’s do it,” she said raggedly.

  “No way.”

  He shook his head, obsidian hair falling over the sides of her face, neck and shoulders, a velvet veil that obscured everything, as if they formed their own private island that excluded the world. There was only this moment, this passion, the exquisite sensations that left them both trembling and consumed. Lily could see nothing but the harsh planes of his jaw and high cheekbones and burning stare. The green of his irises darkened, lasered through her defenses until she was stripped clean—raw and trembling and desperate for Nash to claim her body. To be so filled deep inside that the soft curves of her body melded into his muscled strength and hardness.

  “Now,” she insisted.

  He grinned, a pure male smile of pride. “No. Not for all the pirate treasure supposedly hidden in Bayou La Siryna.”

  Lily would have laughed if she hadn’t been so frustrated. She was used to calling the shots in everything. Everything. But this time, Nash wielded control.

  It pissed her off. And excited her.

  Nash shifted his weight until he lay alongside her and cupped her breasts, fingers kneading the soft flesh. Eyes still on her, he rolled a nipple between his thumb and index finger.

  And squeezed.

  Lily moaned as her core tightened and inner thighs pressed together. Nash lowered his hand past her rib cage until it rested over her belly. The warmth of his fingers and hand splayed over her stomach was tender—and a pregnant pause that foretold more to come.

  She’d waited long enough. Lily shifted in the sand until she also lay on one side. Gently, teasingly, she ran a finger down his hard shaft and cupped the tight, hard sacks at its base.

  And squeezed.

  This time, it was Nash who groaned with need.

  “Now, please,” Lily breathed, face pressed into his wide chest.

  In one fluid motion, Nash lay on his back and pulled her so that she straddled his midsection. Lily threw back her head and closed her eyes. The sun shone down on her exposed skin, seeping into every pore like a blessing. The tide surged, crested, broke and then surged again, timeless and powerful.

  I’ll never be the same. Another moment, and my life changes. Lily knew it, as if the universe sang the message in her ear.

  No more begging. Nash seemed to want her as badly as she wanted him. He guided her over his shaft and entered, filling her, claiming her in a way she’d never experienced.

  They moved, slowly at first and then faster. Harder. She locked eyes with his, studying the awed, determined darkening of his dilated pupils. The blue of her irises was reflected in his like round orbs of water in a pool of blackness. Mind, body and soul joined and bound together until they melded in a fire as bright and hot as the risen sun.

  * * *

  Talk about backfire. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Opal clawed the right side of her face, her sharpened fingernails abrading the skin around the scar. She’d driven that bitch right into his bed, his heart.

  Lordy, she hated this stinking bayou that reeked like rotten fish. And the heat! It was smothering and thick as sickly sweet syrup that coated your skin until you were constantly sticky and nasty-feeling.

  The cheap motel room was as tiny and constricting as a jail cell. She’d suffered it for days now, venturing out only at night—scurrying about like a rat searching for a bite to eat. The only daylight she’d been out in was when she’d gone to Lily’s house to execute the final warning. Sneaking in had been as easy as leaving a utility room window cracked when Lily had invited her over for dinner before she supposedly left the bayou.

  Easy entrance, but no fun. There was a faint herbal scent that was off-putting, yet not strong enough to keep her away. She’d spent hours rambling about the house, seething at the opulence. Rich bitch.

  Opal held out her hand—the blue sapphire mounted on the gold ring gleamed mockingly under the fluorescent light. Lily would never miss it. She had dozens of jewelry boxes stuffed with such baubles. Opal had opened each one, fuming at the pearl bracelets, ruby necklaces, emerald brooches and precious stones in every rainbow color, every shade and hue of expensive stone.

  And that closet, row upon row of expensive, lacy and satiny concoctions. Opal ran a hand down the bubble-gum-pink nightgown she’d lifted. Lily would be breathtaking in it. But on her, the ultra-feminine gown was a mockery.

  This was supposed to be her time with Nash on Herb Island. She’d undergone three plastic surgeries until the idiot doctors claimed the scar was barely noticeable and was as good as it was going to get. Damn liars. She was a Frankenstein. She’d wanted perfection before telling Nash she loved him, but now would have to do.

  Lily was ruining everything. That woman could have any man she wanted in the bayou, yet she selfishly had to claim Nash.

  It was so unfair.

  Why didn’t they ever listen to her warnings? Lily was as daft as Rebecca and Connie had been. You tried to play fair with people, you gave them a warning, and they continued to go their own selfish way. Just once, Opal wished she’d been given more warnings growing up. But no, she was never given advance notice of when the next move would take place. One day a social worker would pull up in a government-issued sedan, tell her to pack her bag of belongings and that would be that. On to a new foster home.

  At first, Opal had been terrified of a new family and new school but always hoped this time would be better. That this time they would love her. This time they wouldn’t find her strange. This time she’d be well-fed. This time she wouldn’t be beaten.

  The memory of the last family haunted her. They’d been kind initially; the foster parents were gentle and their son had...liked her. Liked her lots. Tommy would sneak into her bedroom in the dead of night and show his love. It had been glorious up until the moment his mother had caught them. She’d shrieked and shaken Opal so hard she’d wondered if it was possible to die of adolescent-shaking syndrome. Her head had whipped back and forth so forcefully Opal had been sure her neck would break.

  The shrieking had stopped, followed by a venomous hiss. Don’t you ever come near my son again, you filthy slut. What would the neighbors say?

  That had been the first and
last warning.

  She and Tommy had been oh-so-careful after that, knowing their time together was limited since his mom had told the social worker to take her away at the end of the month. But there wouldn’t even be that if they were caught again; she’d be out on the streets immediately.

  Opal had learned to school her features, to give the appearance of calm and nonchalance, even when her inner world roiled with self-loathing and despair. The external could be controlled if she was very, very careful to mask her pain.

  On the last night with them, the foster mom had evidently been lying in wait for the creak in the hallway. Again, Opal was jerked up in the woman’s vise and the shaking and shrieking had started again. I warned you! I warned you! Opal was disoriented, the room blurry and spinning. Why didn’t Tommy help her?

  With a mighty thrust Opal never would have guessed the petite foster mom had in her, the pinching, bruising hold on her arms was gone and she fell forward, toppling into a dresser. Her face smashed against a mirror. An explosion of glass shards pricked her face and wet goo inched down her neck. She sank to the floor, palming the shredded flesh of her right cheek, her screams mingling with the foster mother’s.

  She’d escaped the system at age eighteen. It had been rough but better. The thing was to keep moving, keep on the run, keep to yourself. And always, always maintain.

  She’d survived. Opal hated the platitude “What doesn’t break you makes you stronger.”

  No. Her life was nothing but brokenness, even if the only evidence was the scar on her cheek and the ones on her forearms from the self-induced cutting. The blessed cutting that allowed a small portion of the pain to seep out with the blood. A minidetox for the soul.

  Opal rushed inside the motel bathroom and unwrapped a new razor. The thin edge of the blade flashed like quicksilver in the afternoon rays before sinking into her skin. The sharp bite of pain was so bittersweet, pain and pleasure intermingled like animal sex. Hurting so good she moaned. A ruby rush of liquid ran down her arm, sticky and hot. With the letting came clarity.