Page 47 of Crashing Tides

That bothers him. He squirms like he’s uneasy. “I… Sorry. I was afraid you’d find out about… you know.”

Oh. That, at least, makes sense. “I won’t tell anyone,” I promise. “Not even Jane,” I add, since I’m sure he’s wondering.

“Thanks,” he sighs. Then he looks at me, abruptly serious. I want to break eye contact, but there’s something hypnotic about the intensity. My stomach twists. “I’ll always be there for you,” he says. “Seriously. If you ever need anything, tell me.”

This is getting too weird. I’m gonna throw up again. My head is pounding. “Um, OK,” I say. Then, because I’m praying this is the last time I ever talk to him about anything, I add, “I’m sorry about your neck.” On impulse, I reach out, brush the tip of my finger over the bandage.

He shudders beneath the touch, starts to reach for my hand, then stops himself. “Don’t worry about it. You were unconscious when it happened.”

Oh, thank fuck. I pull away. “I was?”

He shrugs. “Well, you kept flailing, but you wouldn’t wake up.”

Which leads to another question. “If you saw… what I was, then why didn’t you just let me sink? I would’ve been fine, right?”

There’s a burning fervor in his gaze. I shudder beneath it. Heat pools in my stomach.

“I didn’t notice at first,” he admits. “And… I wasn’t sure if you would be OK. I don’t know how any of that works. I mean, what if you got lost at sea? Or what if your gills weren’t working?”

Gills. Of course I had fucking gills. I reach for my neck, run my fingers over smooth skin, trying to imagine what the fuck gills feel like.

“Look,” he says, leaning forward, teeth gritted. “If you ever want to talk,” his voice lowers into something barely above a whisper, “about shifter stuff, I’m here for you. I’ve been this way my entire life. There are things you should probably know.”

He’s not wrong about that. I tense. “Like what?”

“Like laws and ethics. How to keep people safe. How to keep yourself safe. That kind of thing.”

I nod slowly. “I’m guessing there aren’t many research materials at the library.”

“Not as many as there used to be,” Duncan grouses. He runs a hand through his hair. It sticks up enough to reveal the pointed tips of his ears. “I checked.”

Well, fuck. Maybe I should take him up on that offer. I climb to my feet, extend a hand. He hesitates before he takes it. When our palms touch, his nostrils flare.

“Text me your number,” I say. “I need to…” I rub my temples. “I need to get this concussion under control. My head is killing me.”

“Do you need anything?”

He looks worried enough to make this awkward, so I quickly say, “No, I have pain meds in my room.” And then, because one of us has to be awkward, apparently, I say, “Thanks for checking on me. I’m glad you’re doing OK.”

And then I bolt. My temple is screeching, my stomach is in knots, and I honestly have no idea what to think of that fucking interaction.

It’s a relief to get home.

Chapter

Fifteen

Two days later, I’m sitting in bed trying to catch up on homework when Aleo bursts into the room. He does that a lot, so I’m not startled, but I am annoyed.

“Hey,” he says, way too loud. “I found something you’re gonna wanna see.”

I look around the room like he might be talking to someone else. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Come on. It’s that stupid symbol you’re always going on about.”

Not once have I mentioned the symbol to Aleo.

He rolls his eyes. “Look, you get drunk and talk to Jane about it all the time. I’m not deaf. Let’s go.”