Page 36 of Crashing Tides

Spots fill my vision until they’re all I can see.

Darkness takes over. Then, all at once, the pain abates.

I cough again, let out a sob as I test my fingers, my toes. Thank fuck, I can finally feel my feet again, though they’re frozen, nearly numb. The tide reaches me, rushes over my legs, and I feel that. I bend my knees, crack my ankles, and let out a long moan of relief.

OK. Things are working again. That’s good. That is… one less thing I have to worry about.

On my hands and knees, I finally raise my gaze to the wolf.

The wolf is gone. In its place is a naked man, lying motionless on his side.

“Fuck,” I choke.

Shifter. Right.

The tide crashes over me again, and I stumble to my feet. With some confusion, I notice that I can feel the sand squishing between my toes. I look down. In the darkness, I can only just make out the silhouette of my bare legs and feet.

Instinctively, I reach for my belt loops, and discover that I don’t have any, because I’m not wearing anything on my lower half. My shoes, socks, underwear, pants—they’re all gone. In sheer panic, I grasp at my shirt. At first, I only find my coat. I run frantic hands over my torso, and find the remains of my shirt, cut off above the nipples.

The fabric is fucking shredded. Just absolutely destroyed. The sleeves are intact from the elbows up. Everything else is sliced to ribbons.

I try not to think about that. Instead, I pull my coat tight around me. It’s just long enough to cover my ass, which is going to have to be good enough for now.

I turn to the naked man.

He’s not moving. My heart crawls into my throat, thrums pitifully.

“Shit,” I say. My voice is scratchy, no longer melodic. Probably from all the sea water I’ve swallowed. “Hey,” I say, kneeling beside him, shaking his bare shoulder. “Hey, wake up.”

Nothing happens.

I spread my palm over his ribcage, let out a sigh of relief when his chest rises and falls. Good. He’s still alive.

In the darkness, I can’t tell if he’s injured. The wolf was bleeding. Is the man?

Water races over my ankles, and splashes over the man’s stomach.

Shit. We need to move. I grab him by the shoulders, drag him over the sand. But my arms and legs feel like Jello, and he’s heavy. “Come on, come on,” I mutter, giving a heave.

Finally, finally he stirs, fingers twitching uselessly at his sides.

The moon chooses this moment to emerge from behind the clouds. Now I can just make out the planes of his face, the shape of his nose and jaw.

I jolt at the familiarity.

It’s Duncan Stirling.

Chapter

Twelve

For a second, I can barely move. Duncan’s eyelashes flutter, but he doesn’t seem to recognize me. Nor does he realize anything’s amiss. Instead, he gives a groan, and his eyes close again.

“Wake up!” I hiss, but he’s already dead to the world.

I dig my fingers into his shoulders and focus on hauling him out of the water. “Why are you so heavy?” I pant, like I’m expecting a response. Like I don’t expect a man who can turn into a wolf to have a surprising amount of muscle mass.

After what feels like hours, I’ve managed to move us a safe distance from the waves. I give up then, sinking down to the ground until I remember that I’m not wearing pants. My junk just touched the sand. What’s waiting down there? Crabs? Sea anemones? All things I didn’t want near my toes, let alone my sensitive bits.