Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
CIARAN
Ciaran sat beside the bed where Sawyer slept soundly. Propped up on pillows to an almost-sitting position to prevent secondary drowning, he looked so peaceful. A far cry from what had happened just an hour ago.
They’d carried him inside, stripped him out of his wet clothes, wrapped him in blankets, and put him to bed.
Again.
Sawyer’s habit of needing to be pulled out of the bay and saved from drowning and hypothermia was concerning. Ciaran had thought it was fucking weird the first time, even the second. The third time had been deliberate, but now it’d happened a fourth time?
At least now Ciaran might understand why.
Lusca.
Sawyer had said that name. He’d said she’d called to him.
And Ciaran hadn’t ever told him her name.
He’d referred to her as the kraken, of sorts. And Dylan had only said “she.” No one had said her name out loud for a long time. And for good reason.
There was no way Sawyer could have known it. Unless she’d spoken to him.... Called to him.
The thought made Ciaran feel ill.
He kept running the scene over in his head. How it had happened.
Sawyer had been right there behind Ciaran one second, and then in the next, he was at the edge of the pier, looking into the water, just a few metres away. Ciaran had called out, asking him what he was looking at, and then everything happened so fast.
Sawyer went in headfirst, and before Ciaran or Fray or Kellan could react, Tobin flew out from behind Fray and dove in after him.
Ciaran was in the water a second after him, and Tobin was already bringing him up toward the surface.
Ciaran had helped haul Sawyer onto the pier, rubbing his back as he coughed and coughed.
Human lungs were so fucking stupid.
Tobin had sat on the pier beside them, fully human, hair wet and trying to catch his breath. He’d been angry, his eyes wild. “He smiled at me,” Tobin said. “He fucking smiled at me like he’d just run into me in the store and not at the bottom of the fucking Cove.”
And then Tobin had said something else that sent ice through Ciaran’s core.
“We weren’t alone down there.”
Ciaran was thinking about that as he watched Sawyer sleep.
He was thinking about a lot of things, none of them good.
He hadn’t even needed to ask the others to go search the Cove. Fray had begun stripping off right then and there, and Tobin shot to his feet and followed him back into the water. Otis, Hendrix, and Aurin were right behind them.
Kellan had stayed to monitor Sawyer, and Dylan was wearing a hole in the carpet with his pacing.
“Wanna take a seat or something?” Ciaran asked, voice flat. “You’re making me nervous.”
Dylan winced and slid into a seat at Sawyer’s small table. He sat on his hands, but his leg bounced. “Is he okay? Why isn’t he awake yet?”
“Kellan said he’s fine,” Ciaran replied, and not for the first time because Dylan asked him every few minutes. “Almost drowning is exhausting, apparently.”
The front door to the police station opened, and Kellan came in, book in hand, Salem the cat slipping in between his feet.
Kellan’s brow was furrowed, the eyes behind his glasses worried, and Ciaran knew whatever news he was bringing wasn’t good.
He stayed in his seat beside Sawyer’s bed. Wild fucking horses couldn’t drag him away. “What is it, Doc?” he asked, his monotone voice resigned.
Kellan grimaced as he opened the book to one page in particular. “In 1180, the King of Norway—”
“I don’t need a history lesson on the kraken,” Ciaran said with perhaps too much bite. But Kellan was prone to long explanations, and honestly, Ciaran wasn’t up for it.
Kellan held his breath for a second, then started again. “Bear with me, I’m setting a precedent.”
Ciaran immediately felt bad. “Sorry.”
Kellan’s gaze drifted to Sawyer, and his face fell. “It’s okay.”
“As you were saying?” He gave Kellan what he hoped was a smile, though it hardly felt like one.
He went back to his book. “The earliest known recordings of the kraken are well documented, in books, on maps, in folklore. From the fourteenth century onwards, every few hundred years.”
Ciaran tried to be patient. “And?”
“Correlating evidence of fisherman claiming lack of fish supplies at the same time, or in the lead-up to sightings of the kraken, is also well-known.”
Ciaran knew this, and he gave Kellan an eyebrow that said as much.
“So I got wondering,” Kellan said, sharper now, probably annoyed and probably justified to be so.
“If there were any precursors or indicators not listed directly but that could possibly correlate to the kraken’s appearance.
” He licked his lips, eyes serious. “I’ve been cross-referencing history books, and I keep coming back to the siren call. ”
Ciaran’s gaze shot to Kellan then. “What?”
“The siren call. Many different folklores speak of it, from mermaids to selkies. There aren’t any direct mentions to the kraken and a siren call, but what if they were weeks apart, in different locations?”
“Kellan,” Ciaran said, urging him to get the fucking point.
“There are reports of sailors and fishermen, and even their wives and daughters, claiming to have a calling to the sea. Weeks before the appearance of the kraken.”
Ciaran’s hearts began to squeeze...
Kellan continued. “In 1528, doctors cited mass hysteria in a Norwegian fishing village where one third of the townsfolk literally walked into the sea.” Then he read directly from the book.
“’Some twenty men, and even two women, stood up and, in unison, faced the sea.
As if in a trance, they walked into the water.
Then weeks later, ships reported sightings out at sea. ”
“Oh shit,” Ciaran breathed, then turned to Sawyer who was still asleep.
“There’s more,” Kellan said. “More instances, I mean. In 1743, translated from Icelandic. ‘A pull so undeniable, so harrowing, it speaks to the bones. A man has no will but to sink into the depths, into the kraken’s maw. No will at all’.”
Ciaran’s blood ran both hot and cold, his skin shimmered in the attempt to stay human.
Kellan read some more. “’To blame the moon or mead is foolish when—'”
“You think these are linked?” Ciaran asked. “The siren call weeks before the event?”
Kellan nodded. “Knowing what we know now, yes.”
“There’s a pattern,” Dylan said.
Ciaran had almost forgotten he was there, but when he looked over at him now, he saw him clutching the cat to his chest, wide-eyed.
“Two hundred years, more or less. The Bass Strait boys said, ‘She’s overdue.’ That’s what they said.” He began to rock back and forth. “Oh, fucking hell. It’s gonna be bad.”
Kellan dropped the book onto the table and slid his hand over Dylan’s neck, cupped his jaw, and made him look up. “Dylan,” he said sternly. “Look at me.”
Dylan snapped out of his spiral, which impressed Ciaran, and obediently looked up at Kellan. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” Kellan murmured, running his thumb along Dylan’s cheek.
It was a surprisingly tender moment between them, and Ciaran was reminded that, as their doctor, Kellan knew Dylan’s anxiety better than most.
“Breathe with me. You’re okay here.”
And Dylan breathed in and out, slow and measured, and his leg stopped bouncing.
Ciaran really needed to be more appreciative of Kellan’s efforts.
Sawyer stirred and opened his eyelids, capturing Ciaran’s attention, and he quickly took his hand in both of his and sat on the bed beside him.
“Hey,” Ciaran whispered. “Glad you could join us.”
Sawyer groaned, and then he coughed, pressing his hand to his chest. “Ugh. Why do my lungs hurt?”
Ciaran gently touched Sawyer’s cheek, his forehead, his chin. “Because human lungs are stupid,” he said. He locked eyes with him. “You scared me. Again.”
“Sorry,” Sawyer said, trying to sit up. Then he noticed Kellan and Dylan in the doorway. “Oh.”
Salem wriggled out of Dylan’s hold, jumped down, then quickly hopped up onto the bed and trotted up to Sawyer’s legs, meowed once, then laid himself down.
Ciaran couldn’t even be mad. “See?” he asked. “You made everyone worry.”
Sawyer squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what comes over me.”
“Yeah, well,” Ciaran murmured. “About that. Kellan has a theory.”
Kellan came into the room. “Which we can talk about later, when you’re feeling better.”
“I’m really tired,” Sawyer admitted.
Ciaran brushed Sawyer’s hair back and cupped his cheek. “Get some sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”
Sawyer smirked, but then he seemed to think about something and lifted the blankets so he could peek underneath. “I’m naked again,” he said. “And you’re not in here with me.”
“Okay, that’s my cue to leave,” Dylan said, but he only got to the door, seemingly waiting for Kellan.
Kellan snorted quietly and gave a nod. “Me as well. I would remind you both that physical exertion is to be avoided, but I’d have better luck holding back the tide.”
Ciaran gave Kellan a smile. “Thank you, Kellan. For everything. We’ll talk later, yes?”
Kellan nodded. “Of course. The others will be back soon. I’ll intercept them for you.”
Ciaran chuckled. “No, it’s fine. I’ll be out to see them.”
Kellan stopped at the doorway. “I uh, I took the liberty of calling Norway.”
“Oh?” Ciaran was surprised, though he really shouldn’t be because someone in this consortium needed to be the acting leader when Ciaran clearly hadn’t been.
“Yes,” Kellan said, brows knitting together. “I uh, I wanted to ask him about the siren call thing, to see if my theory held water.” He cringed at himself. “So to speak.”
Ciaran couldn’t help but smile at him. “That’s fine.”
“I told them what the Bass Strait consortium had said, and then, of course, that all marine life seems to have evacuated from the trench.” He glanced at Sawyer before he met Ciaran’s eyes. “And I had to tell them about you and Sawyer so they got the whole picture.”
Ciaran wasn’t sure he liked that. “And?”
Kellan let out a long breath. “They’re concerned, naturally. Very concerned.”
“About us?” Sawyer asked.