The car's sudden stop snapped me back into my skin. I was being carried like a child, pressed against a chest that rose and fell with a rhythm I knew was wrong—too quick, too shallow. Lucian's heartbeat thrummed a frantic, uneven drum against my ear.
I didn't know why I was just staring at him.
It was a trance. A weakness in my bones.
I didn't understand why I'd let him scoop me from the water, cradle me against him, carry me away from the shore where I'd been willing to let the ocean take me. My body had gone slack, a puppet with its strings cut.
But then I'd opened my eyes. And I saw him.
For a heart-stopping, stupid moment, he looked like an angel. His honey coloured hair was plastered to his forehead with saltwater and sweat.
His eyes, usually so controlled and cold, were frantic, shattered windows into a panic I'd never seen in him. His arms cradled me like I was something precious, something that could break from a wrong breath.
Home.
