Page 200 of Dagger in the Sea

Adri took out her wedding bouquet from the straw tote bag. A thick cluster of luscious, pale pink peonies wrapped in a wide satin ribbon at the stems.

“Baby, what are you doing?” I said.

She smiled. “When a ship sinks and souls are lost, sailors toss wreaths of flowers into the sea at the spot. I want to do that now to honor Stefanos and Natalia. To honor their dagger. To relieve them, give their souls the peace they so deserve. To appease the bloody fates because only we can. Our blessing is theirs too.”

“Do it.”

Taking in a breath, she turned and threw her beautiful flowers, and they soared, a riot of pink against the pale sky, down to the sea below. Turning to me, she held out her hand, her aqua ring and wedding band gleaming in the day’s first light, and I took her hand.

We held each other on that cliff in that castle as the sun grew stronger and bolder reaching its full height in the sky. Gold fire blazed over the infinite swathe of sea. The water transformed before us. Luminous mauves and lilacs and cobalts swelled and churned into one blue. Vivid. Redefined.

We kissed.

The blue-eyed specter turned toward his Aegean once more. He fragmented in the sunlight, vanishing from sight.

* * *

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed Turo and Adriana’s story. Would you like to read more of my books? You can read Fury, Finger’s epic story, or start with Lock & Key, book 1 of the Lock & Key series, where it all began.

Turn the page for Finger’s Prologue from Fury and the Prologue & Chapter 1 of Lock & Key included here just for you…

Fury

Prologue

Finger

I was born,but not raised.

I erupted.

I am the weed that grew in the distance fed by rainwater whenever the skies deigned to yield it, sharpened by brisk winds, hardened and spiked by icy cold. Hued by occasional kindnesses, the heat of the sun’s glare.

No, I was forged the day I met Serena. A blade sharpened, a gun barrel loaded, a fuse lit.

My track was laid over her rocky earth, and it only made my soul darker, my heart denser, my blood fiercer, my purpose raw.

With her I was everything I’d never known before. Not helpless, not exposed. Not powerless.

And even through all these years without her and all that I’ve achieved in the world, I’ve been nothing but an open hand grenade, idling, ready to detonate.

Now, having broken into her house, standing here in her bedroom, selfishly stealing the air she breathes as she sleeps, that idling is over.

Her sleep is fitful. She murmurs words, she scowls and twists the sheets in a fist the same way I do.

I still have the dreams, too, baby.

“Touch me. I need you to—” I’d once pleaded with her in the dark.

In my dreams I plead and I wait for that touch to come, like it once had. But it never does. I strain against the iron, but she’s not there. I’m alone. That dream used to come more frequently, regularly. Each nightmare was a visitation reinforcing my passion for her, my passion to love her, to hate her. Each morning, my resolve would be screwed on tight once more, an unyielding cap on an ancient bottle.

This morning, before the dawn had even broken on this brand new day, that resolve was stronger than ever, but my purpose has changed.

I want her back.

I hope she dreams of me. I hope her dreams are as tangled and snarled as mine. The cut of the blade, the sting of her mouth remain fresh. They’ve inspired me, demented me.

All the jagged pieces of our hearts, be they sharp, be they blunt, red or black or gray, are indiscernible now. Me and her, we’re in pieces, shards, but we aren’t broken. She had given up, let go, and so had I. But standing here, inches away from her, I know deep, deep inside I hadn’t, not ever.

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