Part 10 (1/2)

It didn't last. Each breath became more difficult and crus.h.i.+ng than the last, and panic again supplanted wonder. Jenny's lungs burned like h.e.l.l.

The parasite s.h.i.+fted against her skull. Some instinct made Jenny open her eyes. She was surprised at how sharp her vision was in the darkness, each particle that drifted past her face distinct and bright, as though lit from within-like stars. Below, far below, something moved toward her. It was impossibly large and fast, a silver streak.

Dolphin, she thought weakly, wondering if this would become a fairy tale. Girl rescued by dolphin, carried to the surface, drawn far and away from the evil that had tossed her in to drown.

But the creature drew close, and it was no dolphin.

It was a man.

Jenny forgot she was dying. Everything faded, her life shrinking to nothing but a flash of strong white arms, silver drifting hair, and a face that was high-cheeked, masculine, and edged with faint white scars. She glimpsed a set mouth, and pale blue eyes staring hard into her own. Nothing comforting about that gaze-just that it was frighteningly intense. Fear thrilled through her, and awe.

You know those eyes, she told herself, even though it was impossible. She was dying. This was a delusion. No one was there.

But that same no one placed his hands on her arms and gathered her close against a hard warm body, and those same hands touched her face, and those imaginary eyes gave her a look of such ferocious wonder that her heart ached with a different kind of dying, and if this was death and insanity, then she welcomed it. Jenny was ready.

He pulled her toward the surface, fast as a bullet. She looked down and saw a long silver tail propelling him, and then their heads broke free of the ocean. She tried to breathe and vomited water. Coughs wracked her, so violent she half expected to taste blood in her mouth. But those arms never let go, and held her close, strong fingers smoothing back her hair. She tried looking into the merman's face, but he was too close. All she caught were glimpses: puzzle pieces, riddles.

Jenny heard a shout. She twisted, and found the boat some distance away. Les stood at the rail, staring. The merman holding her stiffened, and when she pulled back far enough to see his face, all she saw were his eyes, staring back at Les.

Staring as though he knew him.

Les dove into the water. The merman muttered, ”s.h.i.+t.”

Jenny blinked. ”What?”

He never answered. Just spun her around, fumbling for the restraints holding her wrists. It was a plastic cord, the kind that needed a knife to cut. He made a low frustrated sound.

”Kick,” he ordered hoa.r.s.ely. ”Try to stay afl-”

He was slammed away from her, caught in a torrent of foam and thras.h.i.+ng limbs. Jenny kicked hard, gasping for air-staring as Les reared briefly out of the water. Time slowed down as he threw back his head, silver water flying from his hair, waves cras.h.i.+ng against his chest and shoulders as his arms moved steadily through the water. He stared at the merman without fear. Just grim, unhappy acceptance.

The merman's expression was far more terrifying. Calculating, thoughtful, filled with a fury that hit Jenny as primal and cold. His skin was white as marble, as new snow in sunlight, glimmering with water and salt crystals. Long hair clung to his hard muscles. Scars crisscrossed his arms and upper shoulders.

Memories slammed. The beach. That boy.

Jenny sank below the surface, lungs full of air. Eyes open, staring. She saw two bodies twisting through the water, and expected to witness one human confronting a merman-bizarre, insane, as that might be.

But what she saw was even stranger.

Both men had tails.

Chapter Six.

There was a homeless shelter in New York City that played old movies in the evenings-cla.s.sics, some of the guys had told Perrin, though he had little use for such definitions, or for film. Westerns, however, were occasionally enjoyable; if nothing else but for their historical value, which he knew was minimal at best. It awed him, however, that humans could live and thrive in deserts. Fascinated him to see what deserts looked like, even on grainy film: golden rock and sand, and sharp-needled plants; and skies that never ended.

Gunfights also intrigued Perrin. Standoffs between men who refused to relent, who knew they were going to die but continued on, carried by nothing but conviction. Everywhere, he saw this, and not only in film. Humans valued the individual moral fingerprint-as long as it was just and good.

As did he. Much to his misfortune.

Wyatt Earp. Magnificent Seven. Pale Rider. Movie t.i.tles rolled through Perrin's head like some secret chant, which he hated. He wanted quiet inside his mind, a place to think, but the sun was high, spreading a glitter of light against the waves, and if this had been the desert with a gun strapped to his side, he would have felt more at home than he did now.

He had expected many things, in coming to the woman's aid.

But not this. Not . . . him.

”A'lesander,” he said, more calmly than he felt-trying to keep his eyes open against the glitter of sunlight on the water-bright, too bright. ”Thought you were dead.”

A'lesander's answering smile was bitter, cold-but that wasn't mask enough to hide the hint of uncertainty in his eyes. His skin was darker than Perrin remembered, hair a lighter shade of golden brown. Sun rich. His grandmother had been human.

”Same to you,” he said.

Three words. Just three. But Perrin was astonished at the emotions that filled him, simply by hearing the sound of that voice-like a hot poker searing an unhealed wound. Hurt like h.e.l.l. Cut the breath right out of his lungs in ways that simply seeing A'lesander did not.

All he could do was harden his heart. He had no time for anything less.

Perrin drifted carefully to his right, just out of arm's reach, and saw the woman on the periphery of his vision-head above water. ”You thought I was dead,” he said, forcing himself to focus on A'lesander: every word, every nuance. ”Why would you think that?”

A'lesander's expression hardened. ”I might have been exiled before you, but I was finally allowed back into the sea, within my clan territories. I suppose you never had that . . . luxury. What you did, I heard, was beyond forgiveness.”

Perrin said nothing: still circling, a.s.sessing. Burying all the emotions riding hard in his heart. Might be the sea, but this was still a prison yard: only one person could leave free.

A'lesander watched him, eyes narrowing. ”Imagine. Perrin O'doro, getting exactly what he always wanted. A life on land.”

”Yes, imagine,” Perrin replied. ”But you're still denied what you want most. Nothing can change that. And,” he added slowly, ”these territories don't belong to your clan.”

”But what do you think the others might give me if I dragged you home?” A'lesander cut the water with his hands, finally baring his teeth. ”You shouldn't have come here, Perrin. They won't just take your life. You know that.”

”I know,” he replied-and lunged for the other's throat.

Just a feint. When A'lesander raised his fists, Perrin dropped his right hand and shoved two fingers hard into his side, a trick he had learned in prison. Humans and Krackeni might be two different species, but the physiology was close enough to cripple. A'lesander cried out, twisting away-his expression not just pained, but shocked.

”Yes,” Perrin muttered. ”Things have changed.”

A'lesander panted, clutching his side. ”You won't stop me.”

”I'm not here for you.” Perrin sensed the woman behind him, and watched the other Krackeni's gaze flicker past his shoulder. His mouth tightened into a hard white line.

”No-” A'lesander began, still looking at her-but Perrin slammed a fist into his head before he could finish. He followed with another punis.h.i.+ng blow, and another, and another. He gave him no chance to recover. Long ago, he might have. Long ago, he would never have raised his fists. But those days were gone.

Blood spurted from A'lesander's nose. Part of his cheek looked dented. He fumbled in the water, trying to dive, but Perrin grabbed his hair and finished him off with one last blow. Suffering, for a brief moment, A'lesander's dazed gaze, which was hateful and stunned, and brought back too many memories.

The Krackeni went limp in the water. Perrin didn't let go. He stared, breathing hard, taking in that familiar, broken face. Wondering how the fight could be over so quickly. It didn't seem right.

Nor was it right to see him again. Now. Here.

He looked for the woman, but she was gone. Panicked, he released A'lesander and dove beneath the surface. He found her only a foot or so down, kicking hard, staring in his direction with those clear green eyes. His pounding heart stopped, again.