*
Claire bolted awake, her left wrist hot and throbbing.
She fumbled for the switch on her bedside lamp, cursing when she almost knocked it over. Finally turning the lamp on, she checked her wrist, afraid that the newly healed tattoo may have become infected. It looked fine, but it hurt, just like it did when—
“Jinn—” She snatched her phone off the bedside table and speed dialed Annie’s number. “Come on, pick up, Annie, don’t be—”
“Claire?”
Relief swamped her. Annie sounded normal.
“Where are you?”
“Walking on the beach. Billie’s was packed. I had to get out of there—why are you calling me?”
Claire wanted to ask, wanted to warn her off—
“Bad dream. I just wanted to make sure you were—” A masculine laugh froze her voice in her throat.
“I’m fine. I’m here with a new—stop it, she won’t mind. Sorry, honey, what were you saying?”
“Who—” Claire had to take a drink of the cold tea on her bedside table before her throat would unlock enough for her to speak. “Who is your new friend?”
“His name is Marcus. He said you met earlier, at the—”
Annie was cut off, and Claire gripped her phone, waiting to hear the deep, sand rough voice.
“I will not harm her, witch.”
“Get the hell away from her. Now, Jinn. Drop the phone and walk away or I will—”
“Hex me? Nothing you can do will be worse than what I have already brought on myself. I wanted to see that she was safe. There is a threat here, a threat to you, and Annie is part of you.”
Claire’s heart skipped. She trusted him, though she knew she shouldn’t. His concern for Annie tightened her throat.
“Thank you for checking on her. But she has already opened herself to your considerable—charm. I don’t want her to become attached, only to be hurt when you leave.”
Amusement edged his deep voice.
“She may be young, and impetuous, but she seems too sensible to become that attached. I will do as you ask, because I understand your love of her. She may not cooperate.”
Claire closed her eyes, shaking with relief. “Rude always turns her off.”
She could almost see the smile cross his face.
“That I can do. Take some rest, Claire. Good night.”
The connection broke. Dropping the phone on her bed, Claire curled around her throbbing wrist, and wished she still had farsight. Instead, she would have to take him at his word, and believe that her trust was not misplaced.
*
“She can’t be serious.” Annie took a deep breath. It didn’t help. She was still furious. “I am not going to just leave you here because she had a bad dream. I’m a big girl, last I—”
“And she is worried for you.” Marcus tipped her chin up. “She cares, and that is a gift not to be lightly pushed aside.”
“Oh, God—where did you come from?”
She closed the distance between them and captured his lips. Heat flowed through her at the contact. Her body melted into him. His arms closed around her, strong and gentle, and she twisted both hands into the front of his shirt to keep herself from becoming a puddle on the sand.
Then between one breath and the next, he changed.
Those arms yanked her forward. Annie gasped against his lips, started to pull away. Then he somehow grew several more arms, because his hands were everywhere. The gentleman disappeared, replaced by the slimy octopus. Rage built, and when she couldn’t escape the multi-hand grip, when that grip slipped under her dress and found bare skin she bit the closest body part. Which happened to be his tongue.
He let her go and retreated, one hand pressed against his mouth.
“What the hell was that?” Annie spit out blood, felt her rage coil. She only had to snap out her hands and he’d be hunched in agony over his favorite appendage. It took every ounce of control to keep her hands clenched at her sides. “Never mind. I don’t want to hear another word come out of that lying mouth. And if you don’t get lost in, oh, the next two seconds, I’m calling the cops.”
He carefully wiped at his mouth, looked down at the blood staining his fingers. Those mesmerizing eyes met hers, pure green and full to the brim with contrite charm.
“Annie—”
She unclenched one hand, and the sand in front of him exploded into a geyser. When she could see him again he stood several feet away, his shirt torn open to the waist, blood on his chest.
“I said get lost. Now.”
With an archaic bow, he turned and moved to the boardwalk, a sudden wind whipping his hair around his shoulders. That wind brushed across her cheek, smelling of sand and sun. He climbed the stairs and lost himself in the shadows of the trees lining the path.