Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Macy opened her eyes before the fog of sleep lifted from her mind.
She only vaguely registered the presence of a large, blurred shape ahead.
Her vision cleared as she blinked away the grogginess and her eyes adjusted to the dim light.
The dark form moved; it seemed to unfold, rising from the water with a series of soft splashes.
Her brain was slow to determine what she was seeing.
“Are you awake now, Macy?” Jax asked.
She furrowed her brow; he’d left just before dark. Macy had gathered as much driftwood as she could find in the containers and collected an armful of extra clothing before the light died. She’d draped herself in cloth and sat down under her shelter to await his return…
A wave of dizziness hit her as she lifted her head. She groaned and shut her eyes, dropping her cheek back into the crook of her arm.
“Yes,” she replied, voice muffled.
There was another splash, followed by the strange slithering sound that meant he was on land, drawing closer to her.
“Do you feel unwell?”
“Hungry and lightheaded, but I’ll be fine.” Macy raised her head again and looked up. The sky was stained with the soft pinks and golds of sunrise. She’d been more tired than she’d realized.
Jax stood a couple of meters away, water running from his gray and black skin to pool on the ground beneath him.
Her eyes followed one of the droplets as it rolled down his chest, over the muscle of his abdomen, and past his pelvis, catching the light from different angles as it moved.
For the first time, Macy wondered where his equipment was.
She’d seen a few younger boys as they ran naked through town on occasion, and had seen Camrin’s once when they’d gone swimming.
As they’d grown older, it would sometimes become erect when he was with her — visible despite his pants — and she’d pretend not to notice.
However minimal, none of that experience helped her imagine what Jax’s might look like, much less where it was.
When she realized she was staring, her face heated, and she forced her eyes to his. “How long have you been there?”
Jax shrugged. He made the gesture with such ease that she was briefly overcome by how surreal the situation was — a sea monster with both human speech and mannerisms.
“I returned when the larger moon was in the center of the sky.”
Macy straightened her arms and pushed herself up, brushing aside the clothing piled atop her. She ran her hand through her hair and winced as her fingers caught in several snarls. “I meant to stay awake.”
“Weren’t you tired?”
“Yes.” Hungry and scared, too.
“Then no harm has been done.” He dipped his chin toward the driftwood. “That is for your fire?”
“Yeah.” She found her cup nearby and picked it up, peering inside. It was empty.
Jax came forward and held out a hand. She hesitated before placing the cup on his waiting palm and draping a piece of cloth atop it.
“Let the water flow through the cloth. It’ll help keep it clean,” she said in response to his questioning expression.
He nodded. “Do you need anything else for the fire, or is the wood enough?” he asked as he crossed the island.
Macy watched, fascinated by the way he moved. Though his body remained upright, he didn’t so much walk as drag himself along with his tentacles. It created an undulating rhythm to his movement; dipping, sliding, rising, tentacles in constant motion.
She tore her gaze away and got to her feet, ducking out from beneath her shelter. No more gawking at her captor. She had a fish to cook.
“Macy?”
“Oh, um…” She cleared her throat; what had he asked? “Oh! Kindling. Something that’ll easily catch fire.”
Brushing debris from her legs, Macy stepped around her tent and surveyed the crates. Some were metal with slits along their sides; she picked up the emptiest of them and dumped its contents into another bin.
Jax sauntered up alongside her. He handed her the cup; she passed him the crate.
“Bring that to the vines by the waterfall,” she said, sipping the water, “and keep it dry, if you can.”
He nodded. In the water, he moved with an otherworldly grace, arms raised over his head to hold the crate well above the surface. He was across the pool in seconds.
Setting her cup down, Macy entered the water and swam to the other side. It was cold, raising goosebumps on her arms and legs. She turned away from the waterfall as it misted her face; during the heat of the day, it would be refreshing, but it was too chilly now.
Jax leaned an elbow on the narrow ledge that ran along the length of the rock face, the crate perched beside him. Macy climbed onto the ledge nearby. She shivered immediately.
Shaking her hands dry, she forced her attention to the vegetation on the cliffside.
The mass of vines clinging to the stone began at the top of the cliff — about fifteen meters up — and hung nearly to the water.
Tufts of scrubby grass had sprouted from some of the cracks, with more growing along the base of the cliff.
Macy gathered all the grass within reach, piling the green handfuls to one side and the brown to the other. Once that was done, she went to work on the vines, shifting the glossy leaves aside to reveal the webs of branches and roots beneath.
The dead growth eventually gave way when she grasped it with both hands and leaned back, but the living vines were far more stubborn, clinging to the cliff face with silent desperation. She settled for tearing off some of the larger leaves, piling all of it into the crate.
After plucking the final leaf, she tilted her head back, trailing her gaze up the cliffside.
The vines are strong…
“Macy?”
Jax’s voice cut through her thoughts, and she turned back to the crate.
“There’s not much else I can get, right now.” She frowned down at her harvest. “Would you bring it back to the island, please? And again, try not to get any of it wet.”
He lifted the crate over his head and swam back to the island.
Knowing what to expect didn’t dull the chill of the water when Macy slipped back into the pool.
She hurried after Jax, though there was no way she’d ever be able to keep up with him.
He carried the crate to her tent, set it on the ground, and turned toward her as she pulled herself out of the water.
She shivered again, and when she looked at Jax, he made no attempt to hide the way his eyes roamed over her body — from head to foot and back again, lingering on her chest.
Suddenly self-conscious, Macy glanced down. Her soaked dress was plastered to her breasts and hardened nipples. Mortified, she crossed her arms over her chest, shielding herself from his gaze.
Jax shifted closer and tilted his head, brow creased. “Why do you cover yourself?”
Was it possible that her nipples tightened further under his scrutiny?
“W-we need to build the fire,” she said.
“What does the fire have to do with it?”
“It doesn’t.”
He held her gaze for several seconds, but didn’t press any further. Instead, he moved aside and hunkered down beside her when she knelt before the crate. She felt him watching her, and couldn’t ignore how tightly the dress clung to her body.
Keeping an arm over her chest, Macy removed some dried grass and vines from the crate and piled them on the ground. She arranged several pieces of driftwood over the pile, leaving room for airflow, and leaned back.
If they could get it lit, it would do well enough with the fish, but the relatively small fuel supply wouldn’t last very long. It was enough to cook three or four meals — maybe a bit more, if she was conservative.
One problem at a time.
“Okay. You said you had something to spark this, right?” she asked.
“Yes.” Jax twisted slightly, shifting his tentacles, and moved something into his hand. When he brought it forward, Macy widened her eyes.
“You have a gun.”
Jax raised the gun, tilting it nonchalantly. He didn’t point it at her, but that did little to ease her concerns. “For the fire.”
“How is a gun going to help us make a fire? Have you ever even used one before?”
“This gun creates heat.”
Macy stared at the weapon. He had to have taken it from wherever his people lived. There were similar weapons in The Watch, but they were rundown from centuries of use and increasingly improvised repair. Jax’s gun looked like it had just been manufactured.
“Okay.” She extended her hand, palm up.
He looked at her waiting hand, brow falling. “Have you ever used one before?”
“I’ve been taught to handle them.”
“More reason not to give it to you. Move back.”
Macy frowned, but she obeyed. Why would he hand her a weapon that could totally alter the power balance between them?
Turning toward the pile of fuel, Jax fiddled with a control on the gun; Macy guessed it was some sort of power setting. In one fluid motion, he dipped his torso forward and slid his tentacles backward, leaving him nearly on his belly. He held his upper half suspended just over the ground.
There was a soft, high-pitched whine, barely audible over the waterfall. He held the gun with both hands, pointed at the base of the kindling, and pulled the trigger.
At first, nothing happened. She was about to ask if something was wrong when a wisp of smoke rose from the pile. Within a moment, the fire ignited. Jax released the trigger and shifted into an upright position.
“It worked!” Macy grinned as the flames grew.
He watched the flames with slitted pupils. “It has a strange way of moving.”
“Just don’t touch it.” Macy rose and slid the crate to stacked driftwood, adding the remaining grass and vines to the pile. Then she flipped the crate over and scrubbed its bottom clean with a cloth. “Would you bring me the fish?”
Turning back to the fire, she set the crate over it, upside-down. The slits on the sides and base acted as vents, allowing air and smoke to flow freely, and provided a grill-like cooking surface.