Page 85 of Dagger in the Sea

“Many, many pirates over the centuries.”

We were on the historic trail of marauding pirates. Somehow that seemed fitting. The deep valleys and steep mountainsides were laced with miles of stone walls. Constructed of wedged and piled flat stones, the handmade walls outlined an endless pattern of loping terraces of land. Unusual flat crags of jagged stone jutted out of the cliff sides giving the landscape an otherworldly quality.

“The stone here, it’s different,” I said. “The rock shimmers, like it’s been scrubbed with gold. It actually glitters.”

“Yes, the stone here has layers of different minerals and can be split into thin plates.”

“And that’s why they build walls and small buildings out of them.”

“Right. There’s lots of marble and quartz everywhere as well. I used to go hiking with my grandfather. He knew these things.”

My ears popped with the height. A series of medieval oblong towers dotted the steep mountains. “Are those dovecotes?”

“Yes, the Venetians left them behind.”

“The Venetians were here too?” I sat up in my seat.

She nodded, eyes focused on the road. “They came here for a holiday after a Crusade in the 1200’s and stayed awhile.”

“And they left their love of pigeon poop behind.”

She laughed. “Great fertilizer.”

Adri powered the jeep around yet another tight curve, and I said a silent prayer of thanks to Dionysus for the perfect choice of vehicle. It gripped the road and easily managed the steep turns. A small black goat perched on a sliver of rock glared at us as we rounded the bend.

“The asphalt is good here,” Adri said, shifting. “But it ends in about fifteen minutes.”

So much for that prayer.

Soon enough the asphalt vanished before us and we were left with a dirt road strewn with all kinds of stones and rocks. Adri downshifted and cut her speed, as my feet pressed against the floor of the jeep, my one hand gripping the bar above me. Twisting around a cove—the sheer drop steep as hell—we passed around a huge, round tower planted on the side of the mountain, a vestige of medieval construction.

“Watch now,” she slanted her head to the right as we swerved to the left, Adri gripping the steering wheel, her lips pressing together, forehead lined. Focused as fuck.

I shifted in my seat, and there it was in the distance, a perfect cove, turquoise water glittering in the sunlight edged with a pale halo of shore. Something out of a travel magazine or a postcard but it was no glossy ten-cent photo. It was real, and we were heading there together.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” her voice soared. “Andros has many, many amazing beaches, but this one, Vitáli, is my favorite.”

“Are they all as challenging to get to as this?”

“Many, yes. We’ll get there, Turo. Don’t worry.”

“I have no doubts.”

Her cheeks reddened, a small smile lit up her face and that flare of heat went off in my chest. She enjoyed my compliment. And it wasn’t bullshit, it was the truth. Ordinarily I’d hate being driven around by a female. Especially a female I wanted to bed, but this girl driving this jeep was the take charge tigress I’d seen at the party in Mykonos, on the Russian’s boat, and I fucking liked it. She hid the tiger more than let it out of its golden cage. Her quiet roar had my blood racing in my veins.

“Eyes on the road, Lovely. Eyes on me later,” I said.

She let out a low, sly laugh. The tigress wanted to come out and play.

The road descended, and that insane, impossibly perfect beach grew closer, nearer. A surprising clearing of emerald-green grass spread out before us and opposite, stood a small building with a covered veranda filled with tables and chairs and a donkey in the yard.

Adri slowed down. “That’s atavérna, a restaurant. We’ll eat there later.”

“Of course we will.”

Just past the field on the edge of the shore, Adri pulled in to a wide patch of rocky dirt and parked alongside three other vehicles. We’d made it.

We got out of the jeep, and I stretched out. Vitáli Beach was a hidden cove surrounded by a rise of low mountains.

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