Page 12 of The Deep End of Death (Twilight Lake #4)

Shay Mac Eoin POV

Shay Mac Eoin wasn’t entirely sure his emotions were his own.

The brig had been quiet enough since Maeve had walked up the steps like a woman walking toward her own execution. None of the other males had said a word, which seemed a feat, considering Rainn Shallows liked the sound of his own voice more than anything else.

Shay was accustomed to feeling some measure of emotion from those around him. He didn’t feed on emotions like Kelpies did, but he was aware of them—lust, most definitely. Such was the burden of the Nymph.

Shay never spoke about the way he viewed magic. Like threads floating in the air, coloring the shimmering particles around him. He’d mentioned the threads once to his father, and the resulting black eye ensured he never mentioned them again.

Maeve’s emotions dripped through the floorboards. Shay had become as accustomed to them as his own. He felt her annoyance, her disgust, and then her fear.

He wasn’t entirely sure what her plan was, but Shay didn’t like it one bit.

He kept glancing at Rainn and Tormalugh. Her mates . Why hadn’t they stopped her?

Shay rubbed his chest, feeling a peculiar burn over the skin of his heart. The strange brand on his skin stung as if a hot poker was pressed against it. The pain was so intense and sudden that he couldn’t stop the hiss of pain from escaping his lips.

“What is it?” Tormalugh slanted a look his way, his dark brow furrowed in concern.

“The mark on my chest,” Shay admitted through gritted teeth. “It hurts.”

Tor and Rainn exchanged a glance, and Rainn looked away first, a curse word on his lips.

“Is the mark linked to your mate?” Rainn asked carefully.

Cormac rolled his eyes.

“You know that it is,” Shay replied, exasperated. “I just don’t know why it fecking hurts so much.”

It had been a long time since the gods made themselves known to the Nymphs, even with all the rituals and offerings. Mating bonds between Nymphs were rare enough that he’d never met another person with a mark.

Something Cormac had said stuck in his craw. The Mer had implied that Maeve was Shay’s mate, too, and that he was just too ignorant to see it.

Though the Nymph couldn’t deny that he was attracted to Maeve, he found her rather irritating.

Those wide, clueless eyes. So trusting. So fragile.

But, if Maeve is in pain…

What if she’s hurt…

Shay raced up the steps, slamming his hands on the door of their prison. His palms burned as they slapped the wood, some kind of spell to keep them inside.

He jolted when Rainn’s voice drifted over his shoulder. The Selkie had followed him up the steps. Shay stepped aside, watching as the Selkie’s hand met the wood as if the spell was gossamer.

Selkies were immune to most magics.

A shrill scream pierced the door. Rainn’s fingers twitched.

“Was that Maeve?” The Selkie’s eyes rounded with urgency as he pushed the wooden door.

Shay shook his head. “Male voice.”

The bottom step creaked as Tor joined them on the steps. “Break down the door.” He snarled.

Shay rubbed his chest. “Maeve is angry.”

“I can feel it.” Tor’s jaw clenched. “This is more than rage.”

“Do you think—” Rainn swallowed the words. Whatever evils men could commit against a female, he didn’t want to voice them. Rainn lifted his foot and planted it clean through the door. He kept kicking, joined by Shay, until the door was nothing but splinters.

“MAEVE!” Rainn roared as he climbed over the broken wood, clawing onto the deck of the ship like a man possessed.

Shay hesitated, his fists clenched, and an unknown feeling blossomed in his chest. He felt fear for Maeve and something else, too. A kind of envy for Rainn and his connection with his mate.

Shay Mac Eoin had never felt such a thing. He knew love. He had loved his parents, even long after their passing, but the love for his village was a pressing weight that he often wished he could shrug off.

Cormac, still tied to the beam of the ship, let out a muffled protest as Shay and Tormalugh followed on Rainn’s heels.

The deck had flooded.

The waves crashed against the side of the boat. The night sky was clear, though the water acted as if caught in a storm.

Something was different, but Shay couldn’t put his finger on it. His braids squirmed with unease, twisting to grow closer to his skull as if they could hide there.

No sail.

The hulking fabric panel was gone. Leaving an unobstructed view of the moon. Despite the raging waves, the night was silent as if they’d been wrapped in a bubble that swallowed all sound.

Maeve’s rage fell from the sky like raindrops. He could see it in the threads of magic all around them.

She hung in the air, swathed in shadows—a death shroud fluttering behind her like wings.

Her white hair reflected the moonlight, stained with red. Blood or wine, he couldn’t tell.

Maeve Cruinn.

Until that moment, Shay Mac Eoin hadn’t seen her true face. The heir to the Cruinn legacy. The heart of the lake.

Maeve was a goddess .

He grabbed his chest, the skin prickled, reacting to the magic.

Maeve turned; two waterfalls of black tears had dried on her face. A strange kind of dark sludge ran from her eyes and nose.

The others always spoke of Maeve as if she was inevitable.

Shay had never seen the appeal of the girl who buttoned her lip, afraid of her words. Afraid of him .

But the female in the sky, arms wide and floating, feared no one.

Rainn skidded towards her, his arms outstretched. “Maeve!”

She glanced down at him. “Do you still love me, Selkie?” Her voice was delicate, but somehow, Shay heard it as if she was right next to his ears.

Maeve lifted her hands, the sharp nails painted red with blood. She looked down at her fingers like she had never seen them before. “Blood is made of water. Did you know that?”

“Maeve, come down.” Rainn pleaded.

“Where are the pirates?” Tor asked in a measured tone, stepping forward.

Shay realized the bulk of the ship was missing. The captain’s quarters had been leveled, leaving only the deck behind.

Maeve ignored the Kelpie’s question. She looked out to the horizon, her eyes focused where the sea met the night sky, as her body lowered to the ground so delicately that she didn’t make a splash when she landed in the water on the deck.

A low groan sounded from the bowels of the ship. The kind of unhealthy noise wood made as it reacted to the press of unrelenting water.

Her eyes were endless black, her face without pearls. Maeve coughed, letting out a stream of black sludge as she bent at the waist and vomited.

Rainn rushed forward, catching the Cruinn princess as her eyes rolled back in her skull, and she dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

It wasn’t until they carried Maeve’s unconscious body into the galley that Shay realized Cormac Illfinn was still tied to the beam.

The Mer watched, eyes blazing, as Tor and Rainn placed Maeve’s unconscious body delicately on the floor. Her face was stained with strange black sludge.

The galley was the only place on the broken ship protected from the growing storm. The deck was soaked, and the captain’s quarters had been blown away.

What did she do?

He’d seen her race towards Charybdis, a giant hulking beast with nothing but a knife. Despite her victory over the sea monster, Shay hadn’t considered what that meant.

Maeve, with her round innocent eyes and her silent stares.

The Undine princess—frightened of her own shadow.

Something wasn’t adding up.

After Tarsainn, in the panic over Lady Bloodtide’s death, Shay returned to the Nymph village. His people had needed him, and it was time to return. Shay had been hesitant to join Cormac’s crusade in the first place. He wanted the war to end.

The Nymphs abstained from the violence, retaliating only when it came to their shores. And yet, Shay Mac Eoin had allowed Cormac to persuade him to go to the Frosted Sands.

Shay had wanted no part in Cruinn’s retaliation. He believed that Maeve would return to Cruinn, the princess she was, and rally the troops.

He had waited on his shore every day, tending to his village, believing that the Undine would raze his home to the ground.

It wasn’t until he’d gone to Cruinn that he understood.

Maeve might have been the Mad Queen’s daughter. She might have been the true heir to the throne.

But Elaine Cruinn… Balor… had stolen her legacy, and Maeve was too young and na?ve to realize it.

Shay felt Maeve’s emotions. He knew that even as she lay there, prone and unmoving, she would live.

Her heartbeat echoed like a drum in his skull, refusing to leave his mind. Her breathing was solid and even.

Had she been the one to destroy the ship? Or were they wasting time tending to an unconscious girl while a monster lurked under the surface, ready to eat them all.

The Dark Sea was an untamable abyss, and Shay had no idea what swam below.

Rainn rubbed one of the red flecks on Maeve’s skin, bringing his fingers to his lips. “Blood and wine.”

“What happened to the crew?” Tor brushed a lock of hair away from Maeve’s face. “You can sense injury, Nymph. Has she been…” The Kelpie couldn’t bring himself to ask the question. Tor’s fist clenched, and he turned away.

“She’s untouched,” Shay said in what he hoped was a comforting tone.

“Her clothes have been ripped.” Tor’s jaw hardened.

“Your Shíorghrá remains pure.” Shay placed a hand on Tor’s shoulder.

Tor’s eyes blazed as he shrugged off Shay’s hand.

“I don’t give a feck about ‘ pure.’ I care about her .

” Tor cursed again, pushing his fingers through his dark hair.

“I’ve tried to give her space. After Cruinn…

she’s strong enough to protect herself, but I should have…

” The Kelpie couldn’t seem to finish a statement.

“Of course, she can protect herself,” Rainn sniffed indignantly. “She said their blood was made of water. I think it’s clear what happened.”

Tor arched a brow. “Enlighten us.”

Rainn opened his mouth, but it wasn’t the Selkie that spoke.