Page 28 of Summer L.A.W.

Magda paddled past her, grinning. “Be glad it wasn’t blood.”

“Or numbers,” Sahara muttered, still scribbling invisible equations in the air as if she could balance the Atlantic’s checkbook.

Joell blew a strand of wet hair out of her face and shook her head. “You people and your priorities.”

The whole coven started laughing then, exhaustion and adrenaline cracking into ridiculous giddy relief. They straddled their boards, trading quips and mock complaints as they paddled back to the sand like a half-drunk summer camp.

Crystal let herself laugh too, but it came out brittle around the edges. She was alive—more alive than she’d ever felt—but the Sea Witch’s words were still echoing in her bones. Sister, and the dead will rise. What was that about?

They hit the shallows, boards scraping sand, witches tumbling out of the surf with varying levels of grace. Mason was already there, dragging his sorry, battered self out of the waves like he’d wrestled a submarine. He caught Crystal’s hand before she could follow the others up the beach.

“Hey,” he said, voice low enough that the witches couldn’t overhear above their chatter. His thumb brushed her knuckles, rough and gentle all at once. “You okay?”

Crystal blinked at him. The question was so simple, yet it nearly undid her. She swallowed hard and forced a grin. “I grew gills and got called ‘sister’ by an aquatic psycho. Would you be okay?”

Mason huffed out a laugh, then tugged her closer, his forehead nearly touching hers. “You scared the hell out of me.”

She should’ve joked again, batting it away. But his eyes were too raw, too honest. The words stuck in her throat.

“I’m still here,” she whispered. “Still alive.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice rougher now. “Don’t stop being alive.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Striding up the beach, Victoria was loudly lamenting her ruined manicure, and Lioness was trying to balance her surfboard on her head like a library book, only to have it slip off onto the beach backward. Chaos as usual.

But with Mason’s hand on hers, the heat of his body close, Crystal made the rest blur into background noise. His eyes searched her face like he expected her to vanish any second.

“I mean it, Crystal,” he said, voice low and wrecked. “You don’t get to scare me like that again.”

Her throat tightened. She wanted to crack a joke, to defuse the tension, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she leaned in, forehead to forehead, saltwater dripping between them.

“I’ll try not to,” she whispered.

He let out a shaky laugh that turned into something hungrier. Then his mouth brushed hers. It was a soft, tentative kiss, tasting of brine. Tender. Testing.

Crystal’s chest clenched, and then the dam inside of her cracked. She surged forward, kissing him back like she’d been holding her breath for years and finally found air.

Mason made a rough sound in his throat and pulled her closer, one arm circling her waist, the other tangling in her wet hair. The kiss deepened, tender flickers burning hotter, until it turned frantic, mouths colliding, salt and heat and need colliding harder than the waves behind them.

Her hands slid up his chest, gripping his shoulders. His lips claimed hers again and again, each kiss harder, more certain. The world narrowed to the press of his body, the fire in his kiss, the way he clung to her like letting go wasn’t an option.

Somewhere up the beach, Joell groaned theatrically. “Really? We nearly drown, and they start their own rom-com?”

“Shh,” Magda murmured. “Let them have it.”

Crystal would’ve laughed if she had energy to spare. But she didn’t. All of it was tangled up in Mason—his mouth, his hands, the way he kissed her like she was the only thing worth saving.

Mason’s mouth was on hers again, insistent. His grip on her tightened like he was afraid the tide might steal her away again.

Crystal slid her arms around his neck, pressing closer until there was no space left between them. Her gills fluttered uselessly, forgotten, because she didn’t need water. She needed this.

The crash of waves, the chatter of witches, even the seabird’s piercing cry—all of it blurred into nothing. The world shrank to the heat of his body and the frantic rhythm of their kiss.

Mason broke away just long enough to drag in a ragged breath, his forehead pressed to hers, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone like he couldn’t believe she was real. Then he kissed her again, deeper, until she moaned into his mouth and clutched him closer.

Salt spray cooled her skin, but his hands set it alight anywhere he touched. His lips moved over hers in a hungry rhythm, tender at first, then raw and reckless, like two people who’d been waiting too long and almost didn’t get the chance to love.