The Hunted

Leaving the clinic, the sharp scent of sea and salt slid into his pores and made his muscles relax after the antiseptic feel of the clinic. The sun was warm overhead, white clouds scudding against a clear blue sky, and the sound of gulls soaring and screaming overhead was like laughter in his ears.

A full day waited in front of him. A full day, and his mate waiting for him, somewhere nearby. The thought that she might be within earshot, even, her silken skin waiting for his touch.

The rush of blood to his groin wasn’t unexpected. The strange tightness in his chest was more of a surprise. He tried to breathe normally, remembering how easy it had been to breathe into the medical apparatus, but the tightness remained. It wasn’t his lungs that weren’t working, but the muscles in his chest, constricting around his heart with a pang that felt a little like hunger, and a little like sadness.

When he claimed his mate, all those emotions would go away. The knowledge came to him the same way awareness of her had, appearing like something he’d always known only never consciously realized until now. He had to find her. Everything would be all right once he found her.

But first, he needed to find a place that would buy his anklet. A jewelry store, or a crafts stall. Or a pawnshop. Something like that, any town of decent size would have to have those, yes? Then, he would go to this bed-and-breakfast. It burned him to take charity, but maybe, if he got enough for the anklet, he wouldn’t have to. Money was the first priority, though. He might be willing to sleep on the beach without fuss, but if he was going to look among humans, he needed to stay among them, too.

Glancing down at the sheet of paper Dr. Alden had given him, with a rough-drawn map and a name on it, he stepped onto the sidewalk, and started moving toward his goal.

Chapter 3

Beth had woken early that morning, listening to the birds doing their welcome-the-dawn thing outside her window, and cautiously probed her emotional status the way a bomb technician might inspect a suspicious package. Yes, still twitchy, even though the storm had blown through, and the skies were now clear and bright. In fact, she thought that it might even be worse now, and she couldn’t blame it on the weather.

Or the dream she’d had, all sea-green and salty, the pressure on her lungs as though she were holding her breath too long, like being held underwater but without any of the fear or agitation you might think would come from a dream about drowning.

She knew how to swim, of course. You didn’t grow up on an island and not know how to swim. But her family was odd among the Nantucket old-timers; nobody in her family went to sea for their career. Not back when there was an actual sailing-and-whaling industry based on the island, not to the navy, marines, or Coasties—although there were stories of a distant cousin in the air force, during WWII—and not now. Hell, they didn’t even own a boat, relying on the ferry to get them the short distance between the island and mainland. They stayed put on land, and did landy things—without ever getting too far from the ocean itself. She tried to remember a single close relative who had moved to a landlocked state, and failed. She had gone away for college, but come home as soon as she could, and her father had never even gotten that far away, and every cousin within two generations had been the same.

So why was she now dreaming of the sea like it was something she had been missing all her life? How could you yearn for something you always had, and never particularly wanted?

It had been an erotic dream, too, she remembered now, stretching and blushing slightly at the memory. Waves like hands stroking her skin, the water blood-warm, even as her blood warmed more. Her own hand slid down her belly, tangling briefly in the curls between her legs, curls that were still damp from the intensity of that dream.

Beth let out a deep sigh and scrubbed at her face with both hands, trying to erase all images, erotic or otherwise, from her head. “That storm just messed with you, is all. The storm, and that naked man on the beach.

“Oh, yeah. Time to get out of the house, away from the darkroom and the computer and all the stress, and put some fresh air on your face,” she told herself, throwing off the covers and making her way, shivering, to the wardrobe. Never mind that it hadn’t worked all that well yesterday; today was a new day. Anything was possible, right?

Underwear, a pair of sweats and a jog bra, and a windbreaker over that, two pairs of socks, and her sneakers, and she was ready to go. Ten minutes later, she had pulled her bike out of storage and was pedaling down the road, already feeling her mood improve even as the memory of the dream faded. The road was slick with morning dew, and the air was crisp and salty on her skin, just the way it should be. Instead of heading to the beach road as usual, though, she went upland, above town, and away from the water. It was more of a workout that way, she justified to herself, feeling her muscles protest as she headed up a steep incline. If she worked hard this morning, she could eat an éclair from Peggie’s Bakery after dinner without guilt.

Maybe even two, if she only had a salad for dinner itself.

An hour later, sweating and grinning, éclairs earned and her mood on a definite upswing, she locked the bike up outside the local diner and went inside.

“Morning, Miss Elizabeth,” the man behind the counter called out. “Coffee ‘n’ eggroll?”

“Please, yes, thank you, Ben.” The eggroll had been a joke since she was ten—it was exactly that, a hard roll with scrambled eggs inside. No bacon, no ham, nothing except egg, to which Beth would add a dose of hot sauce just before she ate it. The first time she had gone to a Chinese restaurant, the notion that there might be another kind of egg roll had completely floored her.

She sat at the counter, since there wasn’t anyone else in the diner except a trucker at one of the tables, staring into his coffee like it held the answer to everything. After dumping her bike helmet on the seat next to her, she propped her elbows up on the Formica counter and waited for the coffee and inevitable.

“Didja heah about the guy washed up on the beach?”

Glory not only made the best eggroll in the world, she also knew everything that happened in town, often before the people it was happening to knew. She should have been a reporter for the Times, not a short-order cook.

Beth looked at the square-shouldered woman, her gray curls pulled into a ponytail that should have looked ridiculous on a woman her age, but somehow worked. She and her husband, Ben, had owned the diner since before Beth was born, and she suspected they’d be here long after she had died. They were just so … solid. Like granite underfoot, only not so heavy, since neither Glory nor Ben were very large individuals. In fact, Ben was shorter than Beth was, and couldn’t weigh much more than she did, soaking wet, for all that he gave off a reassuring impression of solidity. When her parents had died, and there hadn’t been anyone else to take the teenage Elizabeth in, those two had stepped forward, fostering her until she could be on her own, so that she didn’t have to leave her home. She owed them a debt they refused to even acknowledge. The least she could do was indulge Glory’s love of gossip.

“I was there,” she told Glory. “On the beach last night when they found him.”

“Yes, but did you heah?”

Beth sighed. Obviously, there was more to the story, and Glory wasn’t going to be satisfied until she had the telling of it. “I need coffee before anything else,” she told the older woman, pretending that something inside her hadn’t done a weird flip at the mention of the stranger.

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure that she wanted more coffee after all. That flip feeling wasn’t good. Nothing that made her feel like her world was being turned upside down and roundabout like that could be any good.

Glory, unaware of Beth’s sudden mood change, was already pouring the black liquid into a thick white mug and pushing it across the counter into the younger woman’s unresisting hands.

“All right.” Beth sighed, her fingers curling around the mug despite herself. There wasn’t any graceful way to escape. “Spill all.”

“His name’s Dylan, he’s been checked out of the clinic already and Doc, as usual, refused to take any money for it. That man is going to run himself into the ground, he doesn’t watch it.”

The rant about Doc Alden was familiar territory, and Glory skipped over it to the new and interesting material. “The boy, Dylan, he was sailing, a boat called the Daughter of the Sea, all by himself although nobody seems to know out of what port. Boat’s gone now, obviously, not even flinders to be found.”

“Lucky guy,” Ben muttered, coming behind Glory with a menu for someone who had just come in, and Beth nodded in agreement. A boat that thoroughly destroyed, the captain didn’t usually survive.

“He’s taken a room at the Blue Anchor for don’t know how long. Paid in cash, too. Sold a nice piece of jewelry over at Rosen Jewelers to pay for it. Hasn’t called anyone since he’s been here, poor boy. Must not have any family. Can you imagine that—” Glory stopped, suddenly aware that Beth would be all too able to imagine that.

“And I’m a thoughtless idiot, but you knew that already. I’m sorry, baby. Here, have some more coffee and I’ll go make your eggroll.”

Beth couldn’t take offense, not from Glory. Despite the efforts of her friends, she had been alone for so long, sometimes she forgot what it was like to be part of even a small larger group. Sometimes. Most of the time it didn’t bother her.

Mostly.

“She forgot to tell you that he was single,” Ben said, sliding up to the counter and taking right over where his wife left off. “Or at least, no ring and not talking about a wife and kidlets.” He had a mug of coffee in his own hands, except that, unlike Beth, this was probably his sixth or seventh mug since the diner had opened at five that morning. Even when he was outside the diner, there was always a to-go cup of coffee somewhere near Ben.

“Probably because I’m not interested?” Beth offered, smiling despite herself.

Ben had known her since she was in the womb, and had been speaking his mind about her personal life since then. “Uh-huh. When was the last time you and Jake made the bed shake?”

“None of your damn business, you pervert,” she shot back, refusing to blush or blink.

“I rest my case.” Ben looked too damn pleased with himself for a guy who had just pointed out that her social life sucked. She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Ben was the only person she knew who could make her revert back to being a ten-year-old just by poking her.

“Here you go.” Glory returned with a platter of eggroll and a side of hash browns. “Benjamin, you leave the girl alone. You know better than to meddle.”

“He does?” That was news to Beth.

Glory knocked her husband affectionately on the shoulder. “You’ll come to your senses on your own schedule, or not at all. Nothing we can do to rush it along without making things worse. Now eat. If I know you, you haven’t eaten a thing since, oh, lunch yesterday?”

She had, actually, but in the aftermath of the storm and her dreams, she wasn’t sure if she could remember what, and Beth suspected Glory would say a meal you didn’t remember didn’t count.

She ate, and Ben and Glory both left her alone, disappearing back into the chrome-and-white depths of the diner’s kitchen.

Her own schedule? Schedule for what? On any other day the comment would have washed right over her, but today it stuck at her restlessness like a burr, and itched in a place she couldn’t quite reach. She and Jake might not have been setting the world on fire, but what did that have to do with a schedule?

And if Glory or Ben made one single comment about biological clocks ticking, she was going to clean their clocks. Of all the things she ever wanted in her life, gotten or not gotten, kids were not on the list. She wasn’t even much for pets, although her mother had fed stray cats in the neighborhood. They had all slipped away in the year after the accident; she had forgotten that, too. So much, she had made herself forget.

The eggroll satisfied her stomach, but the contentment she had earned slipped away, leaving her feeling irritable and restless all over again. What was here for her, really? Okay, the family house, and people who had known her since her mother went into the hospital to give birth, but … so what? Things that normally made her feel supported and secure now added to her irritation.

Maybe it was time, finally, to do something different. Maybe that was what this restlessness was about. Maybe. maybe she would paint the house pink. Or black. Black, with hot-pink trim.