Page 113 of 'Til All the Seas Run Dry

He allowed the support of his knees to go slack, lowering himself carefully to sit on the sandy floor of the cave, the rock held in his lap like a lover. She jerked her head in a way that felt like a nod before turning and swimming away, leaving him alone at the bottom of the sea, cradling a rock the way he’d cradled her in his arms before it had all gone to hell.

Callum sat on the floor of the cave, watching the sunrise lance through the water in sharp bursts, watching fish come and go, mesmerized by the dappling of light on the surface of the water, so far above his head. He hadn’t seen sunlight—real sunlight—in so many years. But from the deep shadows of the cave, he was safe to enjoy, to be mesmerized. He couldn’t help but remember the other time he’d watched a sunrise from the dark safety of a cave. Of another goodbye.

But this wasn’t goodbye. It couldn’t be. Jory hadn’t said so, but she’d made him believe that she’d be back. And so he waited all day, watching the spear shafts of light shift directions as the sun traveled across the sky. The water, the world, grew darker once more, and when Callum knew the sun had set completely, he dropped the rock and began the slow swim back to shore.

He felt weak and shaky as he kicked his feet and reached with his arms. He was tired from the journey, from the nerve-melting emotions of the past eighteen hours, and he needed to eat. There was synthetic blood in the refrigerator. He’d had it shipped to a demon friend of his who lived on the island and looked in on the house from time to time.

The water grew shallower until he was crawling, the surf rushing against his back as he rose to stand. His hands and legs trembled as he walked away from the water, making his careful way towards the house.

But there was a splash. Several, in fact. Angry stomping through shallow water.

He turned, and there she was. His Jory. Striding from the sea like a vengeful goddess, her sealskin wrapped tightly around her body like a towel, her eyes bright in the darkness.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she shouted. “You could have died! Do you understand that, Callum? You could havedied,and then I’d have to make a deal with the underworld to revive you so I could kill you myself!”

He felt a weak smile pulling at his lips, so very tired, but she kept shouting, stalking closer until he could feel the warmth of her breath against his face.

“You’re off your head, Callum MacLeod,” she shouted. “What did you mean, just sitting on the damn beach like a godsdamn martyr just waiting for the sun to take you? Don’t you understand that you can’t leave me? Not again? Not ever again, you fucking bastard!”

A grin split his face, and he felt his eyes crinkle.

“What are you smiling for? Did you hear me, Callum? If you try something so stupid ever again, I will bring you back from the dead and murder you myself. So help me gods, I’ll do it. You know I will.”

The last sentence disappeared into a sob.

“Jory,” he whispered, reaching out with a shaky hand.

“Because you’re mine, Callum MacLeod,” she said, stepping closer, touching his jaw with featherlight fingertips as the salt water dripped from his hair and down his face. “Do you hear me? You’re mine. You always have been. From the moment I saw you on that beach, more than half dead from wounds and baking in the sun, I knew. I gave up everything to be with you. And I would do it a thousand times over again. You don’t?—”

His lips crashed against hers, and she rose onto her toes, pressing into the kiss with a desperate fury, her hands clutching at his cheeks as his arms banded around her, crushing her against him.

He kissed her with abandon, as if it was the only kiss he’d ever have again, determined to suck the very marrow out of it and nourish himself with the memory of how she felt in his arms, her mouth pressed to his, the taste of salt between them. Salt like blood. Salt like the sea.

She was strong. So much stronger than she’d been before. He felt her meeting him, matching him, pressing her body with equal force against his, pulling him closer.

He staggered, feeling his strength slowly ebbing, and she propped him up, her palms flat against his chest.

“Callum, Callum, mo cridhe, what is it? Are you well?”

“Hungry,” he whispered.

She gathered him closer, wrapping her arms around him and drawing his face to the crook of her neck.

“Eat,” she whispered back.

“But—”

“Eat, my love,” she repeated, pressing firmly against the back of his head.

He groaned, letting his teeth sink carefully, so very carefully, into her throat. The taste of more salt burst across his tongue, and he moaned softly, drawing deeply, taking her into him. She stroked his head with gentle fingers, furrowing through the wet strands with such care that it gave him goosebumps. Something that hadn’t happened in centuries. Something he’d forgotten all about.

She whispered to him, soft love words in languages he didn’t know, and he drank, feeling her strength fueling his own. After a while—what was time, after all?—he carefully drew his fangs out of her neck, licking over the punctures with his tongue to close them. Then he licked the spot again just because he wanted to.

Callum raised his head and looked at her. The face of a goddess of the elements. His goddess, sculpted from the earth of clay and ebony and jade.

“Are you satisfied, my love?” she asked, her voice soft and warm.

He dropped his forehead to hers. “You came back to me,” he said, closing his eyes. “How could I be anything but satisfied?”