Page 9 of Sea of Evil and Desire (The Deep Saga #1)

7

Morgana

W hy was I so nervous? This was a completely normal activity that ordinary people did all the time.

I pulled Skye’s flask out of my fur jacket and toyed with it. Opening the lid, I sniffed its contents. Ugh . I took a small sip and spat it back out. Now I remembered why I avoided brown spirits.

I tightened my coat around me and continued through the parking lot, keenly aware of its isolation. The emptiness amplified every sound, making my heart beat just a little faster.

Music wound its way through the darkening night so softly that at first, I thought I must be imagining it. But it became louder. It was the same song.

Come, ye drunken sailors, to the bottom of the sea . . .

A chill crept over me, and I spun around, searching the shadows for its source, but the lot was empty. Another gust of stormy sea breeze caught me. I inhaled metal gnawed at by the waves; the soft insides of barnacles; and the entrails of a fish a shark had consumed.

Was I going mad?

I walked faster, but the music swelled about me, filling me with yearning, a longing as deep and plaintive as the singer’s to be among the waves. To be with these sunken traitors and drowned sailors. To be among the many tantalizing smells from the ocean’s depth on the wind.

Okay, I am going crazy. These can’t be normal thoughts. Can they?

I clamped my hands over my ears as my steps turned into a jog. Maybe my mother and the doctors were right. There was something wrong with me.

I was shaking when I reached the cement at the side of the small harbor where the moored boats bobbed. I couldn’t turn up at Finn’s house in this state.

I pulled the flask from my pocket again and took a second swig. It burned, but this time, I forced it down.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the shades of evening had turned to night. I sniffed at the wind and could no longer smell the scent of the sea. The Scotch had comforted my nerves, and I started to understand why Skye used it to sleep.

I was still shaking. Confidence!

I took a third sip of the fiery liquid and peered at the tops of the large stone houses above me. The lights were on in the gray one—Finn’s house. I swallowed.

My cheeks warmed as I took another sip. Whisky was always glorified in adventure tales. Whenever the protagonists were cold and depressed, a bottle was passed around, offering momentary merriment. I pretended I was in one of those stories for my fifth sip. After that, one sip melded into another, and it didn’t taste so bad. I was warm, and my moment of merriment began. I was no longer nervous; I wanted to see Finn as soon as possible.

I picked my way up the stone stairs from the harbor to the houses perched on the slice of land closing the bay. Grass sprouted from either side of the steps, and boulders had been tactfully arranged to give each fortress privacy.

There were three of them on the cliff face, but Finn’s was the largest by far. The letter box that heralded the concrete path sloping toward the back of the gray stone structure was marked with the number two. What I’d thought was the hillside from afar was actually part of its architectural design—it had been embedded in the plateau. Grass covered the roof, and stone walls inserted the house into the clifftop. The front door was barely discernible in the dim light, a dark metal frame nestled between glass and stone.

“Come in.” Finn’s voice was distorted through the speaker beside the door, and a clicking indicated he had automatically unlocked it.

I better have one last swig.

Fumbling with the lid, I took a large gulp of the burning liquid.

When I stepped inside, I was met by a polished concrete floor. There was a mirror on the wall at the entrance, and I surveyed myself. My cheeks were rosy, but my hair remained sleek. I rubbed spit furiously onto a small stain on my white shirt.

“Thanks for coming.” Finn met me at the entrance, a grin splitting his face.

When he took my coat and hung it by the door, our bodies brushed, sending an involuntary shiver through me.

As we walked through the open-plan living area, my breath caught in my throat. The kitchen, to my left, had a metal island that complemented the polished floor. To my right was a modern hearth crafted from an assortment of feature bricks in varying shades of gray, and a set of black leather couches framed a large flat-screen TV.

He was a minimalist. There was no mess—no shelves, books, or clutter—just this sleek creation of grayscale design. Oh, wait, I was wrong. There was a telescope in the corner beside the window. Aside from that, the house looked virtually uninhabited.

Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out at the Atlantic, compensating for the lack of life in the decor. The sun had set, but flashes of lightning from the approaching storm penetrated the clouds.

“This place is so cool!” I pressed my nose against the window. Finn’s family must be filthy rich.

“I’m glad you like it.” His voice emerged from the kitchen and draped over me like silk. It was deep and comforting, familiar, and after my experience in the parking lot, I needed comfort.

“I would do anything for an endless sea view like this one.” I dragged my gaze from the ocean to lean my back against the glass. Now I was facing him.

“Anything?” The hint of a smile flirted with his lips.

“Well, not— You know what I mean.” I blushed and turned back to the ocean as thunder rumbled in the distance.

“Would you like a drink? Something tells me you’re a Scotch drinker.”

I turned to see him grabbing a beautiful glass decanter from a kitchen cupboard. I thought guiltily of the empty flask in my coat. Had he smelled it on me?

“So, what movie do you want to watch? Let me see . . .” His eyes glittered as he surveyed me. “I think you’re a romance girl, but you like to pretend that you’re not.” He pulled the lid from the decanter with a pop.

“You choose.” I swallowed. The code!

I stole a glance at him from under my lashes. He didn’t seem to be giving me sleazy vibes. Tonight, he was wearing a hand-cut singlet and jeans, which he’d rolled up at the ankles. His feet were bare, and I could see his tattoo in full. His hair fell in arrows across his brow as he poured our drinks.

“I seem to have the same song stuck in my head, and sometimes I hear it in the wind. Come, ye drunken sailors . . . ” I found myself mumbling the words at him. Oh dear, I was drunk.

He stiffened. Shit . I’ve officially made myself look like a crazy person.

He stopped what he was doing and observed me. My god, he was good-looking. My cheeks burned, and I averted my eyes, unsure how to return from this. Perhaps bringing up the song about drunken sailors was not the best way to enhance my reputation—especially when I was drunk myself. I almost giggled at the irony as I turned back to the window.

Lightning illuminated the sky, and the dark ocean was tossing under the pull of the wind.

Finn merely chuckled. “It is said the veils between this world and the other remain open for three days before and after Samhain.” He moved to my side, handing me a glass, and we surveyed the approaching storm together.

After a few moments, Finn broke the silence. “You’ve never mentioned your father. Where is he?” he asked, which surprised me. It was a simple question, but it set my heart racing. It was something you’d ask someone when you wanted to get to know them better. Or to show that you cared.

“My father—well, I never knew him.” I continued to look out to sea.

“You don’t know who he is or just never knew him?” His eyes searched mine.

“I don’t know anything about him. Mom says it’s best to leave the past where it belongs, but I think he’s why she refuses to return here.” I hooked a strand of hair behind my ear and held his gaze.

He nodded. “I know what it’s like to have only one parent. How about your grandmother? Does she have any sisters?”

I was silent for a moment, pondering the question.

“No. As far as I know, she has no other family.”

Finn traced the backs of his fingers down my arm and back again, setting my skin on fire. When he reached my shoulder, he put both hands on me and drew me to face him. My stomach fluttered, and my lips parted. This was it. I wanted him to kiss me more than anything.

“So, tell me more about your family.” He cupped my chin and tilted my head back so my eyes found his.

“There’s not much more to tell.” I shrugged but continued looking into his dark eyes, which were rimmed with black lashes.

Why does he keep pressing me about my family? Talking about my nonexistent father and dead grandmother did not set the mood.

He kept his hand on my jaw, holding my gaze captive. I swallowed as a throbbing sensation engulfed the space between my thighs. I clasped them together as desire flared in me in a way I’d never felt before.

His eyes moved to and fro, searching mine.

Why doesn’t he kiss me? Should I kiss him?

I was about to go in for the kill when he pulled his hand from my face and turned away. “Strange,” he murmured, almost to himself, as he stepped back from me. He furrowed his brow and rubbed his chin as if thinking.

“What’s strange?” I asked, although I didn’t care to talk. I wished he would touch me again.

His eyes found mine, and he stared so hard I felt it in my stomach. “I was just wondering, why are you so different?” He moved back to my side, and his hand brushed against mine. “I can’t figure you out.”

His words caught me off guard, and I spluttered over my drink.

“No, it’s a good thing. I find myself unexpectedly drawn to you.”

What did he mean by “unexpectedly”? Had he been expecting to meet me and not be drawn to me?

Confidence , I told myself as I wiped my lip and smiled apologetically.

“I feel the same way about you.” The words tumbled from my mouth before I could stop them.

Is this a date now? I drained my drink, and the corners of Finn’s mouth twitched with amusement as he took the empty glass from me.

Dizziness warped my vision as I gazed at the raging dark ocean—there was ringing in my ears, and for a moment, I thought I heard the song.

“Did you want to sit down?” It was as if he had read my mind.

I nodded, and he slipped his arm around my waist, guiding me to the couch.

I searched for the sickly feeling that usually accompanied these situations, but it wasn’t there. Was it the whisky? Perhaps I had drunk just enough to replace the overwhelming sensations with the dizziness of alcohol.

The room swayed as we sank onto the largest leather sofa, but all I felt was the warmth of Finn’s touch. He reached around and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and I took in his angular jaw, black brows, and the flecks of gray in his black irises. They were dancing like the ocean outside. No, they can’t be. It must just be the drink.

“How old are you, anyway?” I burbled.

“How old do you think I am?” There was a faint gleam in his eyes.

I examined his face again, but the whisky was warping my vision. “Perhaps twenty-eight . . . ?”

Amusement danced in his eyes. “Good guess. I’m going to get my laptop from my room. I can’t work out how to use this television.” Furrowing his brows in frustration, he gestured at the large flat-screen.

He slipped through a hall behind the kitchen, which must have led to his bedroom.

This is it.

Skye’s words echoed in my mind. Confidence! During the daylight, her advice had seemed terrible, but now, under the influence of the whisky, it seemed only logical.

I couldn’t let Finn know this was my first time. A flashback to the taunts of my youth reached through the haze of liquor. I still felt like Mad Morgana, as the kids had unkindly dubbed me. The familiar self-loathing clawed at my ankles, but I brushed it off. Slowly and confidently, I made my move. Standing up, I unzipped my jeans, kicked them onto the floor, and pulled my shirt over my head.

Finn reemerged in the living room, and I smiled at him. I could do this. I reached around to unhook the back of my bra.

“Wait!” he cried, rushing over and pulling my hands into his. “What are you doing?”

“Aren’t we going to have sex?” I asked, my throat dry.

His jaw tightened, the muscles in his arms standing out beneath his tattooed skin as he let his hands travel to my hips. My fear was gone, and I wanted him.

“Why did you have to be so damned beautiful?” His voice was thick and low.

The connection lasted only a moment before he disappeared into the hallway. He returned with a blanket and gently draped it over my shoulders.

This was odd. This was not how they initiated making love in movies!

“Sit down.” He kept his arms around me and guided me back toward the sofa. Sitting beside me, he placed a silver MacBook on the coffee table.

The truth of the situation cascaded over me in a wave of embarrassment. “You actually wanted to watch a movie? I should go.” I started pulling my discarded clothes toward my feet.

“Don’t,” he protested gently.

I ignored him and continued gathering my things.

“Morgana, you’re drunk, and a storm is blowing up outside! I insist you stay here.” His hand closed firmly around my wrist, and I let my belongings fall.

“I can’t even imagine what you must think of me—getting drunk and naked my first time at your house.” I put my face in my hands.

“Hey, look at me.” He tilted my head toward his. “I do find you attractive, and quite frankly, I think the fact that you tried to get naked at my house is amazing.” A wicked smile played on his lips. “But—” His face fell, and he paused. “But I am not a good person. You deserve better than me.”

“What do you mean?” I breathed.

“I . . .” He sighed. “I am engaged to someone else.” He expelled the last bit quickly, as if he wanted to gloss over those details.

Engaged! Just when I thought I couldn’t be any more humiliated. A sliver of jealousy poked at my insides, churning the whisky in my empty belly. Oh no! If I hurl, it will be much worse.

“So, that’s where you go those days you haven’t been around?” I steadied my breathing as the liquor eddied to a nauseating pool in my stomach.

“I guess you could say that,” he replied solemnly.

“I’m sorry. I thought this was a date, and I got nervous because I—I’m a virgin.” Word vomit was spilling from me instead. I didn’t know which was worse.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’d like to fuck you, Morgana.” His voice was low, edged with something dark, as his eyes swept over me. “Maybe if I’d been able to . . . Never mind. Something about you makes me remember my responsibilities,” he said through pursed lips. “Sometimes, I forget myself in . . . this place.” He waved a hand at the room as if his chic clifftop house caused him to act out.

“I don’t understand why you invited me here if you have a fiancée.” The whisky was curdling my embarrassment into anger.

Finn’s jaw was hard as he stared back at me. Several beats of silence passed between us. Finally, he said, “I was hoping for a friend.”

“But why would you call me beautiful if you only wanted to be friends?” Heat stained my cheeks.

“Like I said, it was unexpected.”

“Why do you keep saying ‘unexpected’? What did you expect?” There was a lump forming in my throat.

He moved closer to me on the couch, his thigh brushing against mine. I pulled away.

“I didn’t expect us to have so much in common, both with only one parent and the other one . . . distant.”

“What’s your father like?” A subject change might help me fight the brewing waterworks.

Finn’s eyes darkened, and then they narrowed a little. “I don’t want to talk about my father.”

I pulled the blanket tighter around me. He noticed, and his features softened.

“You’re drunk, Morgana. Can we talk about this in the morning?” His eyes were pleading.

By the sound of it, this night had unraveled horribly for both of us. I rolled my eyes and tugged the cover up to my chin.

He snapped open the laptop and brought up his movie choice— Ten Things I Hate About You . Fitting.

I woke with my head nestled in Finn’s lap.

Ugh . How did I find my way to him?

Removing his limp arm from across my body, I sat up. He was still asleep, and I had a splitting headache. I raised a hand to my temple as the horror of last night flooded back. My pile of clothes was on the floor at my feet, and I threw them on.

I cast a lingering look at Finn, whose head was resting on his fist, strands of dark hair splayed across the arm of the couch. His tattooed arm lay on the sofa beside him, the inked patterns and strange symbols drawing me in. An ache curled inside me—the urge to kiss him awake, to feel those arms tighten around my waist as I straddled his hips.

What am I thinking? He. Is. Engaged.

I shook away my dirty thoughts and tiptoed toward the door, grabbing my fur coat before shutting it carefully behind me. Was this what they called the walk of shame? If only I hadn’t drunk from that stupid flask. What on earth possessed me to take my clothes off?

It was still dark, but the sun had begun to cast golden hues on the distant skyline. Everything was quiet after last night’s storm. It was as if the sea and sky had thrown a temper tantrum that they now regretted.

As I padded toward home, the wind picked up. It whipped my hair in all directions and tugged at my clothing as if it had hands. I pulled my grandmother’s coat tighter around me. The wind’s caress brought Finn and his touch to mind, producing a flutter in my stomach, but the memory of last night’s horror swiftly quashed it.

Dawn was on the horizon as I reached my jetty, and the gale was becoming unbearable, but I pushed on. I let the scents consume me: sulfur from an underwater volcano, fresh seaweed, and salt—so much salt. This time, I felt less afraid.

Maybe I was just different. There was no fighting it. I am Mad Morgana .

As I approached the jetty’s tip, the gusts became so strong that I dropped to my knees and crawled. I clung to the edge of the planks as sea spray stung my face. My vision blurred, and the ocean and sky became one. The rough wood disappeared from beneath me. My hands grasped at nothing as I sank into darkness.

Come, ye drunken sailors, to the bottom of the sea.

Come, ye sunken traitors, to swim eternally.

Come, ye drowned with chests of gold.

Come, ye drowned, leave your mortal soul to the sea,

to the sea . . .