Tristan answered with a tense nod.
They walked down the rocky surface to the ocean, Tristan pausing to turn and offer a helping hand for the steep drops when they lost the light of the estate.
“I can feel you,” Austin said. “Can you tell?”
Tristan squeezed his fingertips.
“Not likethat.” Austin batted away his hand, taking his time to copy Tristan’s path, then overtook him when the ground levelled. “I felt you in the city, and it was…soft. When I reach for you, it feels gentle.”
He progressed several steps before realising Tristan had stalled. Austin paused but frowned as he found the starlight too dim to brighten the world and Tristan’s expression. Tristan ducked his head, shoulders deflating in a long, slow exhale. “Gentle?” he checked.
“Hm. What do I feel like to you?” A question Austin hadn’t thought to ask before. He had thought a connection meant different levels of discomfort, and that the question washowuncomfortable it made you.
Tristan caught up with him, hand finding his waist as he pressed soft kisses to Austin’s cheek and temple. “A storm surge,” he said.
The beginnings of such a surge were currently raising the tide high. “I like storm surges,” Austin said.
“As do I.”
With a pleased hum, Austin pulled away from Tristan, balancing on a rock hanging out over the high tide before jumping in. Austin seamlessly transformed. He was far better at it now, and he felt as though, with each change, it took less energy and effort. He could exert minute control over his own body.
Tristan led the way out to sea, bringing them past Justerra and Vi’s estate, to a yacht sitting on the ocean with a furious merman circling.
Adonis charged at Austin the second he saw him. Tristan slipped between them, and they entered a tense stalemate. Austin swam at Tristan’s back, grabbing the bottom rung of the side ladder. His tail slipped into legs, and he climbed. He emerged naked on board and stopped in surprise at the sight of Connor flat on his back, palms digging into his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Austin asked.
Hard breaths heaved through Connor’s chest. His palms pressed harder against his face. Sweat beaded down his templesand neck, and unlike in the throne room, where cold had billowed off him, heat was radiating from his skin.
Austin knelt next to him. “Are you hurt?” Surely not by anything Austin had done? The octopus had frightened him, but frights didn’t elicit reactions like this. Austin had never seen anything like this in Connor before.
He never got sick.
Cessair and the scientists had never noticed, but Austin had. Austin hadn’t particularly cared that when he caught winter colds, Connor was immune, but he’d often envied Connor’s resistance to drugs. He’d accidentally shared a tainted slice of birthday cake with Connor once, one that Cessair had sent. Austin had spent days glued to the toilet, puking his guts up after only a few bites, yet Connor had eaten an entire slice and been totally fine.
“Headache,” Connor gritted out.
Austin peered into the water behind him. “Adonis won’t heal you?”
“It doesn’t work,” someone else answered.
Austin turned sharply toward the cabin as Laurence emerged with a tub. He knelt at Connor’s side, and Austin saw the tub was filled with water and ice cubes. Laurence squeezed out a cloth and encouraged Connor to lower his hands so he could rest it over his eyes.
“Adonis has been trying to heal his headaches for weeks, but…” Laurence caught his lower lip between his teeth, biting down. “It doesn’t seem to help. Don’t speak loudly. It hurts his head.”
“Austin’s voice is fine,” Connor muttered, replacing the heels of his palms over the damp towel. “It’s soothing, if anything. It’s what hesayswith it that’s the problem, such as threatening me with an ocean full of octopus and squid.”
“You were in the wrong,” Austin said. He was so surprised by Connor’s compliment that there was no bite in his voice.
Laurence scowled. “It’s alwaysuswho are wrong when it comes to you. You never accept any responsibility for—”
“Laurence.” Connor said his name as a warning.
“Justerra is my city,” Austin said stiffly. “Do not set foot in it again.” He fixed his glare on Laurence. “Eitherof you.”
Laurence scowled. “It isn’tyours—”
“Laurence,” Connor snapped.
