Shivering, though not from the faint cool breeze on his bare skin, Shaine stood on the very edge of the lake and gazed at the bright sunset. The light played across the ripples on the water, rosy and purple and orange...
And bloody... came the reflexive thought.
But of the blood that had terrified him, and driven him from the waters onto the dry land scorned by his kin, he could see not a trace.
Jess knows. He doesn't blame me. Even Samantha told me today she doesn't hold me responsible.
The blood isn't in the water, it's on the hands of my family. The ones who were involved, and the ones who knew what was happening and yet did nothing to stop it...
He tried to ignore how hard his heart was pounding. The waters were his home, the only home he'd known for the first fifteen years of his life. The few years since were no barrier against the powerful longing—and the equally powerful fear.
Little waves splashed around his ankles as he stepped off the shore, then took another step, deeper. Soft sand squished under his feet, brought him the painfully vivid memory of him and Lew, both fascinated by this new concept of legs and feet, the two of them endlessly amused by how sand and mud and weeds all felt so different to walk on.
He forced himself to take another step, and another. Nothing could happen to him, even with his nerves in shreds there was still nothing in the lake that could harm him, the merenai had to have given up by now.
Water up to his waist, up to his ribs... this beach couldn't possibly be natural, but why should that be any surprise?
He had to swim to reach the raft—Sundark and friends had it out already, though the water was too cold for even the more hardy among them to take more than an occasional quick plunge. He hauled himself up to sit on the edge, got unsteadily to his feet, and crossed it to the edge that faced the open lake.
I've been around land-bound for too long, he thought wryly, when he noticed himself taking a deep breath.
Before he could chicken out, he dove off the raft.
The water welcomed him, closed cleanly over him. The switch from breathing air to breathing water was instinctive, and took no thought at all; the change from legs to tail took only a moment's effort, not even the damage to his gifts could take that ability from him.
It took no time at all to leave the shallows far behind, to lose himself in the depths. A joy he'd been sure he could no longer feel shivered through him; poor land-bound races, living all on one plane, up there at the mercy of the weather, needing their buildings and their clothes and all the nonsense that went along with them! No wonder merenai had always found it so easy to sing humans away from the land-bound world!
A turtle swam by; he twisted around to chase it, but it wasn't much interested. A large pike was a better game: he teased it by grabbing its tail, deftly avoiding its increasingly annoyed retaliation. He had even more fun with a beaver, once he talked it into playing tag with him, until it wandered off to forage. When a large-mouthed bass of reasonable size came too near, he snatched it before it could escape, slashed it open with a knife formed from the water before he even thought about what he was doing—only belatedly did he realize that he was supposed to be unable to use his gifts. The ice-blade was very sharp, and it took him only a moment to skin, gut, and debone the bass. The remains he left to scavengers, while he bit into the fresh raw meat: a large part of his diet for his first decade and a half.
Nothing had ever tasted more delicious.
He discovered that he was near an island, and surfaced to take a look around.
An otter on a nearby rock, a female who must be only from last year's litter, raised her head from her meal and looked back at him, wary but curious and not alarmed. Shaine called to her, asked her to come play with him.
Unperturbed, the otter finished eating, then slid into the water to join him. Otters understood playing better than fish or even beavers; they had a merry time chasing each other all over the lake, usually near the shore as the otter preferred, and frightening everything else that lived in the water. Even some that didn't; a deer that lowered its head for a drink snorted and fled when a cat-sized otter and a meren seven feet long breached the surface not five yards out.
Shaine helped the otter catch a few fish, when she began to tire—otters had to eat frequently for all that energy, something like elvenmages—and he sprawled in the shallows of a different island, waiting for her. Next year, he figured, she'd breed; for the time being, it was unusual enough that a female so young had found herself a prime territory uninhabited.
The otter, belly full, came with him on a more sedate exploration. Because of that, Shaine stayed near her territory rather than heading out into the depths of the lake; that was fine, no way could he explore the entire lake in one night. He ducked under when they neared buildings and lights, otherwise alternated breathing water and air at whim. Every so often, they stopped to fish and rest, and wandered on.
Haven's lake was pure heaven, rich in every sort of marine life that could flourish at this latitude. He could happily spend the rest of his life here; there was only one of him, there'd be no need to hunt other lakes as a full colony of merenai had to do. No need to have anything more to do with the madness of the land-bound world...
For the first time that night, he thought of Jess, though before coming to the lake he'd waited until he'd seen Jess alive and not much the worse for wear.
Jess still needed him.
It took some time to find the beach again, even with his new friend's help. In the shallows, he switched back to legs, and stood up.
On a sudden whim, he called the otter to him, coaxed her up onto the shore and inside the walls, promising her that she'd be safe. Right up to the kitchen door they went, she making worried noises at the smells, but trusting him.
Everyone else was up, having breakfast; nice timing. He opened the door, greeted them absently, and started digging around in the fridge. “Is there any chicken left from last night?”
“Third shelf, in the white container,” Deanna supplied. “Why are we having a sudden need for leftover chicken?”
“Present for a friend.” He found it, and closed the fridge door. “I don't think I can get her to come in, but you could come out and say hello.”
They were lucky none of them were cats, Shaine decided, because they'd all be out of lives by now.
The otter growled, scooted off the porch, but no farther. Shaine sat on the grass, held out a piece of the chicken to her, reassuring her in the language of the waters that no one here would hurt her, they simply wanted to admire her, she was so handsome and graceful and clever...
She came to him, took the chicken in her forepaws, and chewed on it contentedly. When she finished, he gave her a second.
“Will she get scared if I come closer?” Deanna asked softly.
“Not if it's just you, and you don't move too fast.”
Slowly, the dryad approached, and sat beside him. Shaine assured the otter that it was all right, and she sniffed warily at Deanna's hand, then accepted a piece of chicken from her.
“She's so beautiful,” Deanna whispered, and reached out carefully to run her hand down the otter's back. The otter started, but allowed it. “And so soft, softer than silk...”
“Easy,” Shaine cautioned. “She's getting pretty nervous.”
Deanna immediately drew her hand back, and reached for the chicken.
The otter devoured all that was offered, then spun around and darted back to the lake.
Deanna raised her eyes to Shaine's, smiling. “Thank you.”
He wasn't used to being thanked, definitely not by anyone as... the only word he could think of was alive... as Deanna.
“You're a lot like her,” he said, without thinking.
“I don't think I've ever had a nicer compliment. Last night did you good, y'know. You look considerably healthier and more relaxed than you did.”
“I feel a lot better, too. It's like...” He paused, searching for some analogy that might give them some idea how it felt. “Like living on bread and water for years, then being given your favourite food, and finding out that you haven't forgotten how to taste it after all. I can't put it into words any better than that.”
“In poetic and Christian terms,” Bane said. “Like someone certain he's damned to hell for all eternity, after spending some time there, then discovering that heaven is right there waiting.”
Shaine smiled. “I wouldn't call this hell, although there have been times...”
“So what are you doing up here?” Kevin demanded. “Go, beat it, go catch up with your furry little friend.”
“No. Not until this is over.”
“Until I'm dead or these demons are,” Jesse translated. “Oh, relax. Go on. Sam left this morning to do god-knows-what and gave me the day off, I don't even have to go outside the walls all day if it'll make you feel better about it.”
Shaine shook his head, and got up. A nice thing about Haven being used to werewolves: bare skin didn't cause panics. “I'm going to get some sleep. It's been a long week.”
“You're telling me,” Jess muttered.
Everyone wandered back into the house. Uncomfortable with the unaccustomed feeling of actually belonging here, Shaine retreated to Jesse's room.
Jess kept telling him to stop calling it his room...
Exhausted as much by exhilaration as exertion, he curled up in Jesse's soft bed, and fell asleep.
For the first time in recent memory, his dreams were peaceful dreams of wind and wave and song, with no trace of blood.