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Hunter reeled. It had taken all his strength not to stop Skye from leaving. To not close his arms around her, and hold her until everything was all right. But he was out of strength. He strode after her through the side doors, unsure of anything but the need to follow her.
Morgan’s breathless voice halted him. “Hunter, don’t.”
He spun to face her.
Morgan looked sorry but determined. “Please – let her go this time. She’s frightened.”
She may as well have stabbed him. “Of me?”
“Not of you. Not exactly.” Morgan rubbed her forehead, agitated, as she tried to find the right words.
“Is Skye all right?” Rowena called, hurrying across the room to join them.
“I don’t know,” Hunter said, “and Morgan says I shouldn’t find out. She says Skye fears me.” He didn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Morgan rolled her eyes, almost her old self for a moment, “That’s not what I said. Don’t go after her right now, that’s all. Give her space if she needs it.” She glanced at her mother and back at Hunter. “She’s scared of what she feels for you,” she murmured, “the connection between you both. You still feel it, right?”
Hunter nodded, painfully conscious of where Morgan’s knowledge of that connection came from. It was through Morgan’s mesmerised eyes he’d taken what he’d believed was his last sight of Skye’s face, the night he exchanged his freedom for Morgan’s.
“Then she will too,” Morgan said. “But she won’t know why she feels it for you. Or even who you are. She’s...this is... It’s just bad.” Her eyes glistened with emotion. She blinked and looked away.
Rowena frowned at her and studied Hunter with the measured look she’d worn more than once when considering him. He knew Rowena didn’t know what he was. What would she do if she ever found out?
Her expression smoothed when she caught his worried eyes. “You two,” she shook her head. “Talk about being dramatic. It’s a new you, Maggie May,” she teased. “You both need to settle down a bit. Skye will be fine. Why don’t you come inside and help us out for a while, Hunter? Better than sitting in here brooding. Okay?”
She was right. And he guessed this meant she was releasing him from quarantine. He followed them across the courtyard.
“Just give her time to get used to having you around,” Rowena advised as they reached the café, her calm voice reassuring. She turned to face him. “I know Mike has concerns. But I have to back myself on this one. I’m still confident I’m doing the right thing by Skye, keeping you close enough for her to remember you.”
“Does...anyone know why this happened?” Hunter asked, unsure how far to push.
“The doctor said it was some kind of ‘temporal global amnesia’, most likely from when the dinghy Ethan found her in broke apart.” She frowned, hesitating. Her eyes met Hunter’s, piercing, as if trying to read answers in his. She took a deep breath, dismissing her thoughts, “I’m sure it won’t last.”
Hunter said nothing. Breathing water wiped Skye’s mind of her earthly life and the people she loved here. Returning to the air again obliterated him from her memories. Who knew if this was reversible? Or what it would cost her if she returned to the Nemaro once more. He looked at the two women studying him, their faces a united blend of anxious compassion and wariness. If they knew why he had come back...
Hunter welcomed the distraction of service, but he was conscious every second that once again he was in Skye’s world. As long as he was here, he had a fragile chance to win her trust, and perhaps her love, again. He would work here every second of every day just to see her. But seeing her wouldn’t be enough. What was he going to do?
Music trickled from the black boxes high on the walls, the mystery of which he hadn’t yet fathomed. The melody carried by racing, tremulous beats caught him, punching loss and longing through him. This was Skye’s song. Their song. They had danced to it together, locked in each other’s gaze, in each other’s arms. In each other’s hearts.
He turned to her mural, the figures, little more than shadows, entwined as they moved through azure water towards the horizon. He and his world had been Skye’s inspiration, perhaps imagining joining him there. His insides flexed, his pulse throbbing with a jagged edge.
That could be their life if he hardened his heart to everything else that she would lose. And returning there might stop the lives leaving her. Did that justify her losing all of this?
He turned away and saw Morgan near him. She too stared at the mural, at the entwined figures. Her questions about Jarrod came back to him.
In Lithus, when Jarrod entered Skye’s mind, Skye had pushed back against the probing search, following Jarrod’s invasive presence from her thoughts back into his. She’d seen herself there, but also...she saw Morgan. He’s really messed up, she’d said. She had no memory now of Jarrod, or her time with them in Lithus. But he guessed she could answer one of Morgan’s questions better than him.
But as for the other... Morgan jumped as if coming back to the present. She looked determined. But determined to do what? Uneasiness joined the tense conflict he was struggling to contain.
When she noticed him, her smile was pensive. “I watched a movie once,” her voice was almost a whisper. “There was this line in it...”
“Yes?”
“It went, ‘a fish can love a bird, but where will they make their nest.’”
A steel band compressed Hunter’s chest. It felt like paradise when Skye shared his world with him, and hers as well. They belonged together. If only his curse hadn’t marked her. If only his clan wasn’t waiting for him to bring her back. If only whatever he did, someone wouldn’t suffer.
Together and whole, both of them free of his curse and everything it brought into her life. Impossible to have all of that. But to not have together would destroy him. And her. How could he make this right?
“Interesting work.”
Hunter jolted, turning towards the voice, and stiffened in shock. “Davian?” he whispered. This was impossible.
“Didn’t think anyone knew my middle name,” the newcomer grinned, “I make it a general rule to kill anyone who finds out,” he drew a small booklet he held across his own throat like a knife. His humour was disarming. “It’s Liam, actually. Liam Noble.”
