Page 24 of Wicked Sea and Sky

“Gavin—!” I gasped, clawing at the slick planks.

He lunged, pulling me to my feet, only for the next wave to slam us both into the fractured rail.

I slipped, catching nothing but open air as I tumbled over the side. A scream lodged in my throat.

Gavin's hand clamped around mine. My legs dangled in the void, twisting in the slashing rain.

“Marin, hold on!” he shouted, his voice hoarse with panic.

“Don’t let go!”

Rain blurred my vision. The ship bucked again, cresting on a wave.

I looked down. My stomach pitched.

The swirling light had intensified. Magic melded with the salt in the air, coiling around my limbs like tentacles. I could taste it, the acrid tang sliding down my throat, infusing my body with a dark, thrumming energy.

Gavin planted his feet. His grip tightened. Jaw clenched, muscles straining, he tried to haul me up, but his boots slid against the rain-slicked wood.

I dropped a few inches.

Terror clawed up my throat. “No! Please, Gavin—” My voice cracked. “Don’tlet me go!”

“I won't!” A sharp denial between gritted teeth.

His eyes locked on mine, determination burning in his gaze. My plea was a battering ram harsher than the waves, desperate. But then, a brutal gust slammed him into the broken rail.

His grip faltered.

My eyes went wide, mouth opening in an airless scream as my fingers slipped through his. I plummeted into the raging sea. The icy water closed over my head, stealing Gavin’s anguished cry.

I kicked, thrashed my arms, the weight of my dress dragging me down. Tight fabric tangled around my legs. My lungs burned from the effort.

Light spun in a vortex around me. I sank deeper. Faster and faster, as if an anchor weighted my ankle.

I needed to breathe. The ache in my chest was a fire only the sea could put out. All I had to do was let it in.

So simple. Just breathe.

My chest convulsed. I inhaled. Colorful lights blinded me as the pressure eased along with my thrashing limbs. I was weightless, still caught in the vortex, dragging me deeper into the depths.

A single thought burned through my last wisp of consciousness.

The comb wasn’t a gift.

It was a curse.

Chapter 9

Death was surprisingly wet.

I woke with a gasp, lungs instinctively searching for air, only to find water. It was everywhere, pressing against me and chilling me to the bone.

Lifting my hand, I fluttered my fingers in front of my face. My mind was sluggish, struggling to understand how I could breathe underwater. With no easy answers, I tried to take stock of the rest of my body and absorb my murky, cramped surroundings.

My vision blurred an array of twinkling anemones clinging to a low, craggy ceiling. As my eyesight sharpened, they resembled an imitation of starlight, their glow piercing through the water in shafts of light that reached the sandy floor.

A tremor ran through me.