Page 35 of Summer L.A.W.
A medic hovered in the doorway, looking like he’d rather wrestle a shark than treat a witch. “She’s breathing steady,” he said, more to himself than to Mason. “Just… glowing a little.”
“I noticed,” Mason muttered.
The medic disappeared, relieved to escape. Coward.
Mason leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hand still gripping hers. Her skin was cold, but she was alive. Alive was enough for now. The faint blue glow under her veins pulsed with the rhythm of the sea, and he hated how beautiful it was. The same power that nearly killed her looked almost holy.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Open those eyes. Don’t make me fish you out twice.”
She didn’t move. Just breathed shallowly, like she was listening to something far away.
He rubbed a hand over his face. You knew better than to fall for a woman who argues with the ocean.
He’d told himself he was just the muscle, the backup, the guy who could handle diving and logistics. Not the guy who gets gutted watching her fight an evil witch made of saltwater.
He’d failed to protect a teammate before. One dive too deep, one wrong current, and a good man vanished under the waves. The ocean never gave him back. But Crystal wasn’t like them. She fought the tide and won.
“Dammit, you stubborn witch,” he whispered. “You don’t get to leave me like that.”
Her fingers twitched.
Mason froze. “Crystal?”
Her eyelids fluttered open. She squinted up at him, eyes unfocused but alive. “Mason? You look terrible.”
He barked a laugh, half relief, half leftover panic. “Yeah, well, you tried drowning the bride of Poseidon, so you’re not exactly radiant yourself. Or maybe you are. You’re glowing.”
Her lips curved faintly. “Did it work?”
“Mostly. You’re the one still breathing.”
She looked down at her glowing arm. “Huh. Free nightlight.”
He swallowed hard, the knot in his throat finally loosening. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry,” she murmured, voice rough but teasing.
The cutter dipped with a gentle roll, and he steadied her automatically, one hand on her shoulder. The pulse under her skin beat in time with the ocean, steady and alive.
“Rest,” he said softly. “Rayna’s debriefing, Sahara’s poking at that cursed compass, and I’m not leaving this room until you’re okay.”
She blinked up at him, sleepy but smiling. “You stayed the whole time?”
“Didn’t trust anyone else to watch you.”
“Typical Navy arrogance.”
“Damn right,” he said.
Her breathing evened out, slow and steady, the faint glow beneath her skin dimming as she drifted to sleep.
Mason stayed there long after, watching the rise and fall of her chest. He brushed a strand of wet hair from her cheek and murmured, almost to himself, “You came back. Don’t make me test the ocean twice.”
Outside, the sea was quiet. It was his gut that was roiling.
10
Sahara stood at the head of the long table in the war room, though she preferred to call it a “strategic divination chamber.” Joell had rolled her eyes at that, which only encouraged Sahara to use the term more often.
