Page 39 of 'Til All the Seas Run Dry

“Fuck the curse! You’re a monster!”

She could have said nearly anything else and he would have accepted it. But that word, that horrible word, it caused something to snap inside of him. “And you? You are nae a monster as well? You are nae human, Jory, and if you’d told me that back then, we wouldnae be standing here screaming at each other!”

She scoffed, crossed her arms over her chest and glaring at him. “Oh, really? If I’d told you I was a selkie, it would have stopped you from tearing at my throat like an animal?”

“Nay,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Nay. It wouldnae have stopped me. But I would never have left if you had. If I had known, I would have stayed by your side. I would have waited for you to heal, to return to me. I wouldnae have left to go destroy that warlock and his entire band. That’s all I could think about, Jory. Revenge. I was consumed by it. I—” He broke off suddenly, not sure how much more to say.

“You what?” she seethed. “If you hadn’t gone and fought in that foolish war, you wouldn’t have encountered that goddamn warlock at all! And I wouldn’t be cursed either!”

“Cursed, Jory? But?—”

“Cursed to be trapped here on land! Cut off from my home, my family, everything else I loved. You cursed me when you took my sealskin and left me for dead!”

She was screaming now, looking like a vengeful goddess, her eyes flashing dangerously. She was terrifying and beautiful. And she was going to leave him. When she spun on her heel and rushed to the steps, scrambling up the first few, he was there, crowding behind her, his arms wrapped tightly around her legs. She froze.

His face was pressed in the gap between her thighs, just below her thick backside. He couldn’t let her leave. Not yet. She stood as still as if she’d been turned to stone, the only thing giving her away as a living creature being the way her breath heaved in and out of her chest. But he could smell her. Through the denim of her jeans and the cotton of the panties he knew she was wearing beneath them, he smelled her. Another smell he’d chased. Earthy and musky, with a hint of salt and sweet, that had driven him to madness how many nights, when he’d worked tirelessly for hours to drag more of that scent, that essence, from her writhing, pleasure-racked body.

He inhaled deeply, drawing that smell into his lungs, and his fury abruptly died.

“Marjory,” he said, his eyes tightly closed, blocking out everything but the feel of her body in his arms and her scent around him. “Jory,” he corrected. “That warlock cursed me. But the real curse was living day in and out without you. Knowing I wouldnae ever see you again. Knowing that I was the reason you were gone. That was the curse. To have been so verra happy, so verra loved, and to lose it all by my own hand.”

She exhaled a shaky breath. If she’d commanded him to release her, he would have. Without hesitation. If she’d asked him to let her go, to send her the sealskin, and to never speak to her again, he would have agreed. Because her pain was his pain, and any lies she’d told him paled in comparison to what he’d done.

“Then why did you leave me in the first place?” she asked, her voice thick with tears. “Why did you have to go fight that damned battle?”

It was a question he’d asked himself a million times at least—literally—ever since. He’d had more than enough. They’d kept sheep and lived off the sea’s bounty, and Jory had woven the finest yarn to trade for the rest. He hadn’t needed glory or recognition. But…

“I… I wanted to give you the world. You deserved to live like a queen. I didnae have a castle or a title or even a family. I had my sword and my strength. Men paid a great deal for that. I wanted to give you everything you deserved.”

“I only wanted you,” she whispered. “I gave up everything up for you.”

He dropped his head, the top of his skull pressing into the soft meatiness of her calf beneath the bend of her knee.

“Wasn’t that enough?” she asked, and he could smell her tears, heard them drop and splatter onto the wood steps. “Wasn’t I enough?”

If he could have clawed his own heart out of his chest and offered it to her, if that would have made a difference, he would have done it. He would have knelt at her feet and let her take from him what she felt she was owed.

“Jory,” he said cautiously. “Can I… can I hold you?”

16

She didn’t answer as much as she collapsed backwards. He caught her. He always had. He always would, if she let him. He gathered her in his arms and sat on the hard steps, holding her like a groom holds a bride as he carries her across the threshold. As he’d carried her across their threshold so many times.

Her eyes were closed and she wept into his chest, her tears soaking the white cotton of his T-shirt as he held her, stroking her hair softy and murmuring to her in whispered Gaelic. Endearments. Praise. Telling her how brave she was. How strong. How perfect. How much he’d missed her. How much she meant to him. He spoke so fervently and softly that he wasn’t sure she even understood him, but it didn’t matter. He’d been speaking those truths about her, about his memories of her, into the endless void for centuries. He didn’t need her to hear them. He only needed her to keep letting him hold her like this.

Eventually, her sobs eased to sniffles. He dropped his chin to the top of her head, tucking her closer. She let him. He leaned his head to the side to look into her eyes, which were bright and clear, even if the skin around them was red and puffy from her crying.

“I’ve known vampires. I’ve heard that the first few months are horrible. That you need… a mentor. Someone to help you be safe. That otherwise, vampires cause too much damage and have to be… dealt with.”

“Aye,” he replied, because it was true. There was no larger governing body for vampires, just as there was no supreme council of supernatural creatures operating in tandem or opposite of the mortal institutions. But there was an unspoken law among his kind that, if a new vampire wreaked havoc, if they went rogue and put the rest of the community in danger of discovery, they must be dealt with. His entire species depended upon secrecy. Most creatures like him did.

“What did you do then?” she asked, playing with the soft cotton of his shirt, pinching a bit of the fabric and rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger.

That answer was simple.

“Well, when I left you, I went after those men. I dinnae remember it. Have you heard of the Berserkers?”

She shook her head.