Page 15 of Rainse
I gathered driftwood and kindling, coaxing a new flame from the embers of the night’s fire. By the time the first crackle filled the silence, she was awake.
“You’re up early,” she murmured, her voice rough with sleep. She pushed herself up on one elbow, blinking against the light. The borrowed shirt hung loose on her frame, one shoulder bare. My throat went tight.
“The sea doesn’t sleep,” I said, crouching to tend the fire. “And neither do I, for long.”
She smiled faintly. “You sound like a proverb.”
“Finfolk sayings,” I admitted. “My people like to make everything sound wise.”
“And are they?” she asked.
“Sometimes.” I glanced at her ribs, noting the way she winced as she straightened. “You should rest. The bruising hasn’t faded.”
“It’s fine,” she said, brushing it off, though her breath hitched slightly. “I need to move around. My muscles are stiff.”
I stood and offered her my hand. She hesitated before taking it, her fingers small and warm against mine. The contact sent another pulse through the bond, sharp enough to make me release her too soon.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, misreading my reaction. “Did I—hurt you?”
“No.” My voice came out lower than intended. “You could never hurt me.”
Her gaze flicked up, curious but cautious. “That’s a dangerous thing to say.”
“Only if it’s a lie.”
Silence stretched between us, filled with the steady sigh of the waves. I turned back to the fire before I said something even more foolish.
“I’ll make breakfast,” I said. “Stay here. The sand’s softest by the rocks.”
She nodded, still watching me as I waded into the water again. The sea was cool and welcoming. If I hadn't been hungry, I would have liked to go for a long dive. My greenskin brushed against the current, tasting it. Something about the pattern felt strange—an odd static under the surface, too erratic to be wind or an oncoming storm.
A warning.
The sea was changing.
I looked back once. Verity had her face tilted toward the sun, eyes closed, trusting me completely. The bond thrummed louder, possessive and fierce.
“Don’t stray too far,” I whispered to the wind. “Not today.”
I caught a few more fish, eating one raw in the water so she wouldn't see just how different I was from her. I could eat cooked fish, of course, but it would never taste as good as freshly caught and raw.
By the time the fish were cooked, the smell had drawn her closer to the fire. She moved carefully, still favouring her ribs, one hand pressed against her side.
“Smells good,” she said, settling cross-legged in the sand. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“It isn’t cooking,” I replied. “Just heating.”
“Still counts.” She smiled faintly, and for a heartbeat, the world stopped turning. Her smile wasn’t bright or careless like my brothers’ mates’. It was small and quiet, like sunlight through deep water.
I handed her a piece of fish wrapped in a broad leaf. She accepted it, sniffed, then took a bite. “Salty,” she said through a mouthful. “But in a good way.”
“Salt is life.” I sat opposite her, the fire between us. “We are made of the same sea.”
“That’s poetic,” she said, chewing thoughtfully. “Do all your people talk like that?”
“Only when we forget how to be practical.”
She laughed softly, and something warm bloomed in my chest. I hadn’t realised how much I missed laughter.
