Wickedly Wonderful(59)
“I’m sorry he interrupted such a lovely evening,” Beka said, echoing his thoughts. “Let’s just pretend he never showed up, and we can move on to whatever was next on the agenda.”
Marcus gave her a slow, wicked smile, feeling the smoldering heat rise to the surface like molten lava, irresistible as a force of nature. “If you insist,” he whispered, and bent his head to capture her lips with his own. He put all his yearning, all his gratitude for the gifts she’d given him, all that heat bubbling up within him into the kiss, feeling her lips yield beneath his.
She returned his fire with fire, kissing him back with a wild abandon that left them both trembling and enraptured, wrapped around each other in the midst of a crowd, focused only on each other.
Overhead, fireworks lit the sky, but neither of them noticed.
* * *
FROM A STAND of straggly trees overlooking the beach, Kesh watched them embrace and thought about death.
Bad enough that Beka had shamed him in front of that peasant. But for her to choose a mere Human fisherman over him—this he could not forgive. Or permit to go unpunished.
Yes, he was already poisoning her with the radiation-tainted fish he fed her at every romantic moonlit dinner. But he had never really intended it to kill her. When she had grown ill and weak and given in to his wishes, he would simply have suggested that she take an especially large dose of the Water of Life and Death. She was a Baba Yaga; it should have been sufficient to drive the poison from her body. Then, even more grateful, she would have been his to use as he pleased.
Now, though, a cold rage filled that place where his soul would have been, had he cared to possess such a useless thing. She had the audacity to reject him. Him—a Prince of the Selkie people. Baba Yaga she might be, but she was still merely a woman, and a foolish one at that. Look how she had fallen for his lies, swallowed up each charming twist of the truth as he slowly used her own weakness against her. He had had such hopes for their future; him as a king on the land, with her power at his beck and call.
But he would have to find another way. He did not need her magic. Not after tonight. No, now he needed only one thing from the Baba Yaga—her screams as she died in agony, calling his name.
* * *
BEKA CALLED MARCUS’S name as she came into sight of the Wily Serpent the next morning, and he raised a hand in greeting, his usual scowl replaced by something that looked like it might grow up to be a smile.
She ducked her head, hiding one of her own, as she swung about with her gear. Chico and Marcus Senior were there, checking the nets over one more time before setting out.
“Morning, Beka,” Marcus’s father said gruffly. “Joining us again, I see.” Despite his pallor and the dark shadows under his eyes, he was clearly still the captain of the ship. He pretended to be annoyed, but it was just a game they played. Chico winked at her as she walked by; her presence on the ship always seemed to put the old man in a better mood, and that made life easier on everyone.
Everyone except Marcus, who’d only mellowed a little where his father was concerned, although to be fair, his father hadn’t mellowed back any either. They were at least being civil to each other, which was more than could be said for when she first started going out with them, but it was as if neither one wanted to be the first to bend and show affection to the other.
Beka sighed a little but refused to let the old wounds between the two men ruin her lovely mood. Despite Kesh’s unexpected arrival, she and Marcus had enjoyed a wonderful evening, far beyond anything she’d imagined when she’d agreed to go to the barbeque with him. She still thought Chewie was out of his mythical mind, suggesting that she’d fallen in love, but she had to admit, the kiss she and Marcus had shared on the beach had been . . . remarkable.
Legends had been written about less.
He’d kissed her again when he’d brought her home around midnight, but that time had been gentler, quieter. Maybe he’d begun to regret the passion he’d revealed in that first one. Or maybe it was just the inhibiting presence of Chewie, standing by the door of the bus waiting for her like a giant furry chaperone, his dark mass barely visible against the backdrop of the summer night.
Either way, there had been a glimmer of something like hope in his voice when he’d asked her casually, “So, are you coming out with us in the morning?”
She hadn’t actually intended to; the odd weakness and fatigue she’d been feeling were starting to make diving difficult, and she’d meant it when she’d told him earlier that she didn’t think there was anything to be gained by gathering more samples. But the thought of not spending the day in his company was almost painful, so she decided that maybe one more day of easy exploration near the surface wouldn’t hurt anything. She could always start her research when she got home in the late afternoon.