7. 7 #3
He doesn’t move, but I see his fingers tighten slightly on the balcony railing. “I did not hear anything, if that is what you are worried about,” he says, his voice even. “I could feel it.” After a beat, he adds cryptically, “The magic speaks to me.”
I freeze just outside the doorway, arms crossed tight over my chest. Of course, he felt it. Of course, the mystical ocean guy has a magical radar.
Leaning against the frame of the doorway, I respond the only way I know how.
“Great. So you have an internal magical radar?” I say, crossing my arms tighter. “Of course you do.”
“The magic you carry . . . it ripples. In dreams. In silence. In fear. And especially when all of those are combined. I felt it through the walls. Like a current laced with turmoil.”
I try not to react, but something about his voice unsettles me. He speaks so plainly, like he’s just stating a fact. “Fantastic. So I can’t even freak out in peace anymore.”
A devilish smile curves his lips. “I’m afraid not, Fishy.”
My jaw tightens. The nickname hits my nerves like a slap. That’s Leo’s name for me—his, and only his. Hearing it from him makes my blood simmer. He has no idea the weight that word carries, and the way it sounds coming from his mouth feels all wrong. Too familiar. Too . . . personal.
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t call me that.”
His smile softens, just barely. “Why? It is what your friend calls you.”
My stomach drops. “How do you know that?”
“I heard him while you were in your chambers last night,” he admits. He doesn’t apologize, as if he hasn’t done anything wrong.
But then it clicks. The call . . . I placed it on speaker while I gathered the forms I needed for Leo. I had forgotten entirely. Leaving our voices exposed without even realizing it. My cheeks heat at the thought, but I push the embarrassment down. And
yet . . . that stupid grin of his makes it more difficult. Mostly because it’s irritating, but partially because it’s unfairly attractive. That smug smirk, paired with the breeze tousling his dark hair, makes him look like he’s auditioning for the cover of some dramatic magazine.
I am not into this. Nope. Not even a little.
“Only Leo can call me that. Because we are friends. You and I? Not even close.”
“Sure. Whatever you say, Snapdragon.” He shifts his weight, stepping a bit closer, his expression turning more serious. “We should leave soon, before the shoreline gets too crowded.”
I uncross my arms and place them on my hips. “Right. Because obviously the real issue here is being seen around town with me.”
He ignores my comment. His arrogance is almost impressive. Almost. I’ve never met someone so convinced they’re right that they don’t even bother entertaining another opinion.
“Whatever. I’ve got a boat waiting at the docks,” I sigh, pushing off the doorframe. “Everything I’ll need to survive this expedition, whatever it turns out to be, is already loaded. You know, the basics for when you’re dragged into the ocean by a deranged man who broke into your home.”
His expression hardens, that devilish grin long gone. “I’m afraid not. We’re swimming.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“No human vessel,” he says flatly. “It will not reach the exact location we are heading, and I will not risk any of your human tools tracking us. Or worse, alerting someone to where we are headed.”
My jaw drops slightly. “You want me to go to some secret underwater place I didn’t ask to go to, with no backup, no tech, and no idea what the hell I’m walking—sorry, swimming—into?”
He gives a curt nod, as if this is the most reasonable thing in the world. “Correct.”
I cross my arms again, tilting my head as I fix him with a look. “And how do you expect me, a land-dweller, as you keep calling me, to breathe underwater without any oxygen?” I ask knowingly. “I’ll drown only a few minutes into the swim.”
His gaze sharpens, though his expression remains unreadable. “Your magic will change things. You will adapt. Your body will learn to breathe as the sea does.” He pauses for a moment before adding, “Just until you relinquish the magic, of course.”
I stare at him, trying to make sense of what he just said.
Adapt? Change? The idea sounds absurd. How is any of this supposed to work?
He looks so certain. Is this really happening?
I can already feel the weight of everything.
The magic, the journey, this ridiculous, unstoppable pull toward the unknown.
The logical part of me wants to laugh. Adapt to the sea?
What’s next? Will I grow gills? I can almost hear Leo’s voice in my head, teasing me with the “sea creature” jokes we’ve laughed about a thousand times before. But this . . . This feels too real.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to meet his gaze again, trying to mask the wariness building in my chest.
At this point, I’m not sure what to do. My mind says run, but the ever-present tingling sensation beneath my skin, mixed with the odd voice from my dream, is telling me I only have one true option. What choice do I have, other than to listen?