Tempest Rising (14 page)

“Sure it is.” We kept walking, his long legs eating up the sand so that I was forced to nearly run to keep up. More than once I would have stumbled if he hadn’t been right there to hold me steady.

The storm kicked up another notch and behind me, the ocean thrashed and churned. Waves hit the sand with long, angry slaps that seemed to grow closer with each second that passed.

Kona’s pace grew even faster and more than once, I started to say something. But a glance at the ocean had me stumbling along behind him. Suddenly putting distance between me and the Pacific didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

As we walked, the sand clung to my toes and calves, its wet graininess like sandpaper chafing my too-sensitive skin. I didn’t complain—the clenched fist of Kona’s free hand spoke volumes—just went along with him until we were at the top of my driveway.

The storm died as suddenly as it had started.

In the glow of the lone streetlight, we faced each other. A part of me was horrified by what had just happened on the beach, but another part wanted nothing more than for Kona to kiss me again. No matter what I’d told myself this last week, I knew now that I’d been waiting for him to make a move from the first time I’d met him. Anticipating it, even.

I’d wondered what he would taste like, what his lips would feel like against mine. Now that I knew, it didn’t make things easier between us—just more complicated.

“Don’t go in the ocean at night, okay?”

Locked deep in thought, I took a minute to register his words. When I did, the annoyance came roaring back. One kiss didn’t give him the right to tell me what to do. “Why not?”

“Tempest.” He started to say something else, then shook his head regretfully. “Just trust me, okay?”

“How can I trust you when you won’t be honest with me?”

“I’m being as honest as I can be.”

“That’s bull. You’re being as honest as you want to be. It’s not the same thing.”

His eyes grew sad. “Maybe you’re right.” He turned to go.

“Why can’t you just tell me?” It was my turn to reach out for him, to grab his hand.

“Because you’re not ready for the answers yet.”

“I’m not ready for a lot of things, but it doesn’t seem like I’m getting a choice here. When we were out there, you said ‘she.’ Told me not to give in to ‘her.’ What did you mean?”

“I misspoke.” His voice was low, with a dangerous edge I had never heard from him before, but I was too pissed off to heed the warning.

“Yeah, right.” I dropped the hand I was holding, stumbled up the walk toward my house. Was this what Mark felt like when I put him off without answering his questions? I hoped not, because it totally sucked. “Go away, Kona.”

“Don’t go into the ocean in the dark, Tempest. I mean it.”

I whirled to face him. “Don’t tell me what to do. If you won’t be honest with me, you don’t have the right to expect
anything
from me.”

He made an exasperated sound, shoved a hand through his too-long hair, started to speak, then changed his mind as he glared at me. His jaw was clenched, the muscles of his shoulders and arms tight and well defined. Good—let him be frustrated for a while. It bugged the hell out of me that I felt so connected to him, felt so much for him, when he obviously didn’t feel the same way about me.

He didn’t say another word for long seconds and neither did I. Instead, I climbed the steps leading up to my front porch, sat on the top one, and waited for him to calm down.

It didn’t take as long as I thought it would, and then he was sitting next to me, his thigh grazing mine with each throbbing beat of his heart. Electricity shot through me with each innocent brush of his skin against my own, and I told myself to scoot away, to put some distance between us, but I couldn’t. The connection—when I was so adrift—felt too good.

“When I was young, my mother used to tell me fantastic stories, filled with faraway places and the most amazing magic.” His voice was hushed, his eyes focused straight ahead as he continued. “There were always strange creatures and awe-inspiring bravery. Always weird things happening and ferocious battles between good and evil.”

My whole body, my entire being, yearned toward him like a puppet on a string, dangling helplessly. Waiting for his next words and whatever truth they would bring.

“There was always a brave warrior who fought valiantly, suffering terrible wounds to save his people—and, of course”—he shot me a grin—“the beautiful maiden who depended on him. There was blood and swordplay, spells and magic wands. Destruction and salvation.” The smile faded and he turned to me. “And there was always the evil sea witch and the creatures who followed her—creatures who would do anything for her,
kill
anyone for her.”

“Are you telling me that’s what I felt out there? A sea witch?” I tried to tell myself I was crazy for even thinking about believing him, but everything that had happened tonight seemed to prove that he was telling the truth.

“She’s powerful, Tempest, and she wants you. She needs you. But you can’t give in to her.”

“Of course I won’t give in to her—I don’t even know who she is or what she wants!” Yet the insidious voice was still there in the back of my head, hissing at me, demanding that I find my way back to her.

“In my mother’s stories, the warrior always won. He rescued the princess and they lived happily ever after.”

“Like a fairy tale.”

“Exactly. But, like fairy tales, her stories were just make-believe, Tempest. Just made-up things to delight a young boy. The truth is—” He paused, and the look in his eyes was so vulnerable, so filled with sorrow and regret that it had my breath hitching in my throat. I found myself reaching for his hand and squeezing, wanting to chase away the demons that seemed to lurk right below his surface.

“The truth is,” he repeated, “that sometimes—most of the time—evil wins. The warrior dies and the beautiful maiden ends up suffering a fate worse than any she ever imagined.”

He blinked, and it was as if a shutter came down and blacked out his thoughts. He focused on me again as he ran his hand gently down the side of my face. His fingers were rough with calluses, and my heart, which had jumped to my throat at his words, fluttered like the wings of a captured bird.

“What are you, Kona? Are you a mer—” I paused. What were male mermaids called, anyway?

He laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Do I look like a merman to you?”

I was glad it was dark, so he couldn’t see me blush. “I don’t know what mermen look like.”

“They don’t look like me.” He paused. “You know, mermaids aren’t the only half-human creatures under the sea, Tempest. There are all kinds of other beings down there. I’m one of those.”

“So, what—”

“I think I’ve spilled enough secrets tonight, seeing as how I’m forbidden to talk to you about most of this anyway—at least until you make a decision one way or the other.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Wow, that’s original,” he teased, though his levity quickly faded into seriousness. “You need to stay away from the ocean at night, Tempest. I mean it. It isn’t safe—not for you.”

He leaned over and brushed his lips across my cheek in a kiss that was somehow sweeter and a million times more powerful than what had happened between us on the beach.

And then he was standing, bounding down the steps two at a time. “I’ll see you around,” he called over his shoulder as he headed down the driveway.

“Kona!” I clambered to my feet, everything he’d said—and hadn’t said—whirling around in my brain. It combined with the strange, new emotions for him that were unfolding within me. Emotions that went a lot deeper than I had originally wanted to give them credit for.

He stopped, but didn’t turn around. “What?”

“My dad’s throwing me a birthday party tomorrow night. You want to come?” I issued the invitation impulsively, knowing only that I wanted to see him again.

He paused, seemed to consider the invite. “Yeah. I do.”

“Eight o’clock. Here.”

“Sounds good.”

I almost let him leave, but there was one more thing I needed to say. It had been burning inside of me since he’d told me about his mother’s stories.

“Warriors aren’t the only ones who can kick a little ass, you know. Some maidens can more than hold their own.”

“That’s what I’m counting on, Tempest. That’s what we’re all counting on.” And then he was gone, blending into the night beyond my driveway no matter how hard I strained to keep him in view. But he had disappeared again, like he had twice before, leaving nothing behind save the tingling of my cheek where his rough fingers had tenderly stroked me.

Chapter 11

I sat on the porch for a long time, Kona’s words playing and replaying in my mind like a track from my favorite playlist. Eventually night lifted and fingers of pink and purple began streaking their way across the sky.

It was officially my birthday—I was seventeen.

I didn’t feel any different than I had before, and as I bounded into the house to check my reflection in the entryway mirror, I was excited to realize I didn’t look any different either. I hadn’t grown a long tail overnight or anything else that would make me stand out in a crowd.

Feeling suddenly optimistic, I stroked a finger over the delicate skin behind my ears. Maybe, since I’d obviously made my choice, they would have disappeared. No, the gills were still there. Though I tried to keep myself from obsessing, I couldn’t help wondering if they were permanent. A reminder of just what I’d turned my back on.

I heard a couple of pots clang together in the kitchen and with a last reassuring glance in the mirror, headed that way to see what my brothers were up to.

But it wasn’t the boys making an early-morning raid on the fridge. It was my father. Dressed in yet another pair of board shorts and a surfing T-shirt, his blond hair flopping over his eyes, he looked more like one of my friends than he did a man who was pushing middle age. Unless, of course, you looked past the camouflage and got a good look in those eyes, at the sadness he couldn’t hide.

I had just opened my mouth to ask what he was doing when he glanced up and saw me. “Sorry,” he muttered sheepishly as he started cracking eggs in a bowl. “I wanted to make you breakfast for your birthday. I didn’t mean to wake …” His voice trailed off as he got a good look at my wet hair and sand-encrusted clothes.

“Early morning swim?” he asked dryly. “Or late night?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” I circled the center island, grabbed a loaf of bread out of the pantry, and fed four slices into the toaster.

“Me neither. I’m surprised I didn’t hear you go out.”

“I was quiet.” I watched as he flicked a pat of butter into the hot pan, listened to the familiar sizzle as my stomach growled.
What do mermaids eat?
I wondered absently. It wasn’t like they could fire up the stove at a hundred feet below sea level.

“Next time, come get me.” He expertly beat the eggs, then slid them into the frying pan. “We’ll go out together.”

I couldn’t stop my quick jerk of surprise. “You would have gone out with me? But you don’t like to sur—” I bit my lip to keep from blurting out anything else.

He turned from where he was scrambling the eggs to look at me with a frown. “Is that what you think? That I don’t
like
to surf anymore? If so, you couldn’t be more wrong.”

I didn’t answer, my head ringing with the conviction behind those words. In the silence that stretched between us, the toaster sounded like a shot as it expelled the bread. Because I couldn’t think of what to say—or do—I pulled out the toast and started buttering it, concentrating on the task like it was life or death.

“Tempest? Answer me.”

I shrugged, uncomfortable. Navigating the murky waters of my parents’ relationship always made me feel like a boat with a slow leak. “You don’t go out much anymore.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” He glanced at the Pacific. “I should probably fix that.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know.” He remembered the eggs just in time and gave them a final stir before dividing them onto two plates. He carried them to the table, then gestured for me to sit.

“You’re right. For a while, I didn’t like the water.”

“Because it took Mom. I know, I get it.”

His eyes were bottomless as they met mine across the breakfast table. “No, Tempest. Not because it took your mom from me—how could it? The ocean, as powerful and beautiful as it is, is still just an inanimate object. It couldn’t take her even if it wanted to. It was her choice. She left—it didn’t take her.”

The toast was sawdust in my mouth and I struggled to swallow past the lump in my throat. We were finally going to do it, finally going to talk about my mother. I couldn’t get enough moisture in my mouth to choke down the bread and had to rush to the fridge for a glass of water.

When I could finally speak, I asked, “Then why? Why did you stop surfing? Why did you change so much when she left? It was like one day you were this super-cool dad who showed me a new trick every week and then suddenly you were just gone. I mean, you were here, but you weren’t the same.”