Page 127 of In Violent Waves

Although the beginning had not been as gripping as the romance novels she preferred, the story had picked up. It was strange reading about heroines.

But as Ophelia plucked up the courage to face her fears, Lyra felt the power of the story hum within her blood. There was so much that was possible when you believed in yourself.

Maybe that was why the mermen had blocked access to these kinds of stories.

“What are you reading?” Wilder’s deep voice rumbled through the quiet.

Lyra stopped reading and kept her finger in her place. “It’s the book your mother lent me.”

She looked at him as he continued to lie there with his eyes closed, but turned onto his side to face her. She thought he had drifted back to sleep and had turned her eyes back on the page again when he spoke.

“What is it about?”

Lyra couldn’t help the grin that spread across her lips. No one had ever asked about the books she read, or really anything about her interests.

“It’s about Ophelia vanquishing the dragon Turig.”

“Do you like it?”

She looked up from the pages to find his sky-blue eyes locked onto her face.

“I do, very much.”

Wilder smiled, and she felt her heart squeeze.

“Turig the great and evil. Turig, the slayer of knights, the widow maker.”

“You’ve read it?”

He nodded. “It was my favorite bedtime story as a lad. My mother read it to me every night.”

Lyra beamed. “So, the part when Ophelia dons her father’s helmet …”

“Oh, it’s pivotal to the climax, of course,” he finished for her.

“Exactly!” she screeched. “It’s genius.”

Wilder chuckled and pushed up onto an elbow. His high cheekbones were darkened from their brief afternoon in the sun, and the color suited his dark hair.

“I thought you preferred to be outdoors,” Lyra muttered and turned to look at her book to keep from staring at him.

“I enjoy balance. A rainy afternoon requires a good book and a cup of tea.”

The very idea of that was like heaven to her.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Lyra looked up, alarmed.

“Are we safe here?”

Wilder looked behind them and into the distance, where the storm built. When he shrugged, she snorted.

“That’s comforting.”

He fiddled with the blanket near her bare feet.

An odd sensation shot through her feet and her body as the blanket brushed against her skin, and she squirmed.

“Don’t do that,” she tutted.