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All I see and know is the guy whirling around, stumbling back in shock, hand splayed over his heaving chest. Dark wet hair swept over his forehead. Big, brown eyes boring right through me.
“What are you doing?” I have to shout to be heard over the crashing waves. I lick my lips, catching salt-tinged rainwater on my tongue. Jogging toward him, I throw a hand out toward the barrier separating us. “Didn’t you read the sign?”
He continues to stare right through me, making me wonder if he even heard me.
My steps slow as I reach the path. Keeping to my side of the barrier, I shake my head, squinting through the rain. “Did you hear me?”
Still nothing.
My gaze drops, sweeping over him.
I was right. He is young. But younger than I actually anticipated.Is he even eighteen?He has to be. He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t, but still, it’s jarring.
He’s just a fucking kid. What the hell is he doing in a place like this?
No older than you during your first stint,a voice reminds me.
Lightning cracks, echoing jaggedly off the cliffs, spider-webbing the dark gray sky with white seams of light. I see it reflected in his eyes. So dark right now, they look nearly black.
I shove my wet hair back, slicking it off my face. “We shouldn’t be out here,” I say loudly. A strong gust of wind blows through, rattling the chain, spraying us with seafoam.
His jaw clenches and he turns his head, craning his neck to look up the cliff. I follow his troubled, longing gaze, a prickle of unease dancing along my spine, twisting my gut.
Wait, was he…
My gaze snaps back to the kid’s face. Wetness clings to his long, inky lashes. It reminds me of something Mel said once long ago, about how unfair it is that boys always have the prettiest of eye lashes.
Throat thick for reasons I can’t quite explain, I drop my gaze. His shirt is completely soaked through, the thin fabric plastered to his chest. His arms are rangy. Neck elongated, elegant, made more so by the natural tapered point of his chin, and upturned nose.
And he’s pale, like he hasn’t spent much time in the sun. It’s currently cast in a sort of dusky shade of violet, compliments of the ocean and storm grays.
Despite his current state, there’s a notable air of superiority to him. A refinedness that I’m well acquainted with, having married into such.
I know his kind.
“Get back to your room, kid,” I say gruffly, shaking my head, about to turn away.
“I’m not a kid.” The words come out gritted, his voice raspy.
I pause. Cocking my head, I duck my gaze just enough to peer back at him from the corners of my eyes.
He stands taller, firmer. “I’m eighteen.” His expression is grave, like it’s something terminal. And I suppose it is. Becoming an adult. Next stop upisa grave.
Ignoring the itchy feeling at the pit of my stomach, I arch him an unimpressed brow.
He huffs, glaring at me. It doesn’t last though. Maybe a second at most before he’s diverting his attention to some unseen spot on the ground.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask again, exhaustion softening some of the natural harshness in my voice.
He shrugs. “Needed air. Figured I’d go for a walk. Maybe a swim.”
I blink. “A swim,” I repeat skeptically.
Again, I find my gaze following up the path toward the distant, shadowed jut of the cliff. If he was already up there, I don’t think I’d be able to see him from down here.
“It’s storming,” I say blankly.
“It’s already passing.”
