Page 175 of Bewitched By the Sea Monster
“Rune Bloodworth is aneel?”I gasped.
“Aye, likely forever. In all the texts I’d read, none say a rebounded curse can be reversed.”
That drawling response came from Onyx.
I whipped around. Too fast. Not only did I crack my shoulder against Alistair’s cheek—he laughed as I blabbered an apology—but I put a wicked crick in my neck.
Onyx stood back, watching the melee with her hand propped on her hip and her lips pursed.
“I’m glad you couldn’t wield that curse, Onyx,” Alistair said. “It would’ve beenterribleto see it rebound on you.”
Onyx flashed him a look that could have melted the skin right off his face, and then barked at the crowd, “Oi! Ye lot wanna keep standin’ and wringin’ yer hands while the eel suffocates? How about ye make yerself useful and throw him overboard?”
And when Onyx commanded, people obeyed.Iwas half tempted to spring to my feet and go help them heft the massive, wriggling eel over the railing—I might’ve, if Alistair hadn’t been holding me with an iron grip.
“Rune Bloodworth, though, Onyx. Why?” Alistair prodded gently.
“He was willin’ to do it.”
“Of course he was. Rune would doanythingto put money in his pocket. He doesn’t care who he hurts along the way.”
“You know him?” I asked.
Alistair squeezed my hip. “I knew Magix. They gave me some wicked headaches…I…hmmmm…I don’t know how many years ago. Onyx! How long have I been a sea monster? I swear I knew this before, but I’m blanking now.”
She scowled. “Six years.”
“Oh, damn. I’m almostfortynow. Right?” He muttered numbers under his breath. “Uggh, it’s May? I’ll be forty in August. Pippi, be honest, do I look like an old man?”
He tucked one of the blankets around his naughty bits before he leaned back and spread his arms, giving me an open view of his leanly muscled and long-limbed torso, which was exactly as I’d remembered from the dreams. But his face—the one thing that had always eluded me before—wasethereal.The more I stared at it, the more the shapes fascinated me. High and wickedly sharp cheekbones curved toward his pale eyes, giving him a rather severe expression. The wet-and-grey speckled hair plastered to his head didn’t help to soften that impression, although he’d have a proper mop of curls when the strands dried.
His mouth was his defining feature, though. Those plump, luscious lips formed a sexy smolder when at rest, but they also shaped themselves into the derpiest smile I’d ever seen.
And he smiled at me now, watching me inspect his face.
“I think you’re handsome,” I said.
He beamed.
“A perfect silver fox.”
His lips flattened into that smoldering line. “I’ve grey hair now?”
And he looked so adorably flustered, as though someone had snagged a cookie right out of his hand.
I kissed him.
My lips caressed that fascinating mouth of his, drinking in the soft groan as it lumbered out of him. Lavishing over the shape of him, all the hard angles and soft flesh.
His hand went to my cheek, stroking feather-light patterns.
Mine smoothed over his pecs, and a tingle of delight shocked me when the long lines of delectable muscle bunched and rolled under my palm.
He murmured, breathing nonsense words against my mouth, as he suckled and nibbled on my lips. Words meant to be felt more than heard. Expressions of love, of adoration, of relief, and of sorrow, all branded into my very soul.
And it was too much.
His vibrant emotions overwhelmed me.
