Fear the Drowning Deep(41)
Fynn leaned close. “I’d never call you that.”
“No? I’m shaking because of a wet plant!” I turned to him, not quite meeting his eyes. “Did you feel the least bit afraid when you swam out there earlier? I mean, something out there sliced you open.”
He shook his head. “No. But fear can be a good thing. You can’t have courage without it. And it makes you alert. You notice things others don’t—like the fossegrim. You stand a better chance of helping this town than either Mr. Gill or the authorities.”
I tried to smile, but we were still on the beach, and much too close to the sea. “Are you afraid of anything?” I asked. Fynn nodded, but kept his silence. “What, then?”
“You.” As I blinked at him, he hastily added, “The way I feel about you. It … confuses me sometimes. That’s why I’m glad we’re out here.” He took my hand and squeezed it. “Doing this together. I think it’ll help me clear my head.”
“Does your confusion have anything to do with Lugh? Because we’re—”
“No. But we can talk about it later. Right now, it’s time you made peace with the sea.” Fynn scooped me into his arms and stood, holding me dizzyingly close. I put my arms around his back and felt his heart beating as hard as mine.
Brave, calm, self-assured Fynn was nervous.
A wave thumped me on the back as we moved forward, and droplets sprayed my face. I took a calming breath and inhaled his familiar scent—brine and lavender water and damp earth. The smell of the air after a rainstorm. Fynn.
As we passed the breaking waves and glided into deeper water, a feeling of weightlessness overtook me: my body remembering childhood explorations of the sea. A small voice whispered that if I let go of Fynn, I could float here forever, no different than a feather or a leaf.
“Look around you.” Fynn’s voice startled me, much louder than the slight hiss of the waves.
I tilted my head, studying the sky. Fat white clouds drifted along while a lone bird circled the sun. There was hardly any wind to speak of. The water moved in gentle ripples, nothing like the dark oceans in Mam’s recent paintings.
Bracing myself, I dropped my gaze, expecting to glimpse a dark shape slithering beneath us. But there was only the flowing skirt of my bathing dress, and Fynn’s legs kicking as he treaded water.
“This isn’t as horrible as I’d imagined.”
Suddenly, it struck me just how alone we were, and that made me as nervous as what might be hiding below. I tried to focus on the boy in front of me, the boy who believed me so effortlessly, and all the things I wanted to say to him. “Fynn, I—”
I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Promise me that, whatever happens—whatever you remember about your past—you’ll stay with me until we can leave this dismal little town and carve out a life for ourselves together.
Ridiculous.
As I raised my eyes to Fynn’s, his hand slid to the back of my neck, and he pulled me closer until our lips touched. Startled by the sudden warmth spreading down my body, I gasped against his mouth. He made a low noise, almost like a growl, but the sound was swallowed by another, firmer press of his lips to mine. I ran my hands along his back, feeling the tensed cords of muscle working to keep us afloat.
“You still confuse me.” There was a haunted look in his eyes, one of sorrow and longing and something almost feral.
“How is that possible?” I demanded. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“That’s just it. You’re here, and you taste so good, yet all I want to do is …” His tongue grazed my bottom lip, teasing my lips apart. I wasn’t sure how I knew what he wanted, but I did. He ran his tongue over my teeth, tasting of salt and dark sugar—maybe treacle.
How had I ever been cold out here?
Fynn’s fingers knotted in my salt-crusted hair and tugged, easing my head back to expose my throat. His lips left mine, leaving a kiss on my chin before moving to my neck. I closed my eyes, shutting out the sea, the sun, dulling my senses to everything but him.
Though I was floating in the seawater, I’d never felt so safe—until the roar of the waves broke through. I clutched Fynn’s shoulders, the warmth of the past moments quickly replaced by dread. Fynn smiled against my throat before the heat of his lips moved away.
“It would seem the current has found us. Are you ready to head to shore? We’ll ride the waves in. Hold tight.”
I squeezed his shoulders harder. His assurances didn’t stop me from wanting to vomit as the current, like a giant shepherd’s crook catching errant sheep, jerked us toward the breaking waves.
I struggled for breath as we rose with a swell, and nearly fainted when the large wave threw us into a mixture of soft sand and swirling sea foam.
“Bridey? Are you all right?” Fynn had landed a few feet away and slid across the sand toward me.
If I could walk into the sea, I could do anything. So this time, I kissed him. And though I bumped my nose against his in my haste, he didn’t seem to mind. His hands found my waist, pinning me in place.
Keeping my movements slow and deliberate, I ran my hands over the scars of the wounds that had brought him to Port Coire. His injuries seemed to belong to a more distant past. Together on the beach we were fierce, out of reach of the water’s threat. We’d faced down the ocean and emerged whole, with only sand in our hair to show for it.