It was a concession of monumental scale for him. He was not demanding she come ashore; he was asking to be allowed to stand in her water.
Shuyin studied him. The raw hunger in him was being tempered, shaped by her calm into something more patient, more devoted. It was a fascinating transformation to witness. She lifted a hand and traced the line of his jaw, the gesture exploratory. His breath hitched.
"You may stand at the shore," she said, her tone granting a royal decree. "But the tide comes and goes on its own nature. It does not apologize for what it leaves behind, nor for what it takes."
"I will take whatever it leaves," he vowed, capturing her hand and pressing her cool palm to his lips. His eyes were closed, his entire being focused on the point of contact. "Shells. Stones. Even if it's just wet sand. I will take it."
