Page 63 of Crashing Tides

“I forgot my question.”

Taking a step closer to me, he says, “Want me to help you remember?” Then he’s pressed dangerously close to me, his mouth hovering at the shell of my ear. “Or do you want to forget your own name?”

“You should probably know that I’m a Libra and I hate making decisions,” I choke.

Then he’s flush against me, his chest to my back, murmuring, “Then let me decide.”

His hands slide down my ribs, my shoulders, reaching for the front of my slacks, teasing at the button there, then drifting lower. When he grinds against me, I can feel his arousal, and fuck, fuck, I’m really going to let him have his way with me right here on the edge of a cliff, no questions asked.

I should probably take control, do something besides shiver as his hand sneaks beneath the hem of my shirt, skating over my abdominals. He sucks a bruise just below my jaw, gives a contented hum that makes my dick twitch in its fabric prison.

Anybody could see us out here.

I should turn and face him, reciprocate. But every movement he makes is more tantalizing than the last—the slow grind of his hips, the scrape of nails across my skin, his tongue and teeth at my throat, his free hand reaching down to caress me through my jeans.

I melt against him, let him take over. Fuck, he can do whatever he wants with those clever hands.

I almost don’t notice the rumble at first. It’s distant, more vibration than sound. As soon as I blink my eyes open, it’s too late.

The ground gives way, and we tumble down into that writhing ocean. Beneath the turquoise waves, I glimpse dozens of faces, all staring up at me with bottomless, empty eyes. Their fins are ragged as the sails of drowned ships.

When I wake, I’m torn between arousal and horror.

These aren’t dreams, I think, fumbling wildly for my phone. Someone or something is trying to tell me something.

But they have to be dreams, I realize, taking a deep breath, blinking against the bright white of my screen. That was the beginning of a wet dream that somehow morphed into a nightmare, I’m sure of it. There is zero significance here. No message, only the desire that still burns molten in my belly.

I’ve definitely considered what it would be like to fuck Duncan. At this point, I like him well enough. He’s weird, but I’ve grown to appreciate his steady presence. When I don’t see him, I’m antsy.

But now, I’ve gone from idly wondering to full-on desperate.

Just a dream, I tell myself. He’s hot, but you don’t want him like that.

What if I do? What’s wrong with that? Jeremy’s already moved on. Why the fuck can’t I?

Fine, I decide after half an hour of tossing and turning. I can try to gauge Duncan’s interest, then go from there. I’m not totally sure if he’s attracted to men, but I have a sneaking suspicion he’s attracted to me.

Even if he isn’t, he seems like the kind of guy who would want to stay friends, who wouldn’t hold it against me for asking.

It’s fine, I tell myself. Duncan is safe. If he wanted to kill me, he’s already had a lot of opportunities.

At four a.m., I’m still awake. The gym won’t open for another hour, but my mind is whirling. On a whim, I drag one of Mom’s notebooks from the bin under my bed and slip out to the common area in just gym shorts and a t-shirt. There, under the dim light, I read through her divination journals.

They’re jarringly similar to my own. Her class was more advanced than mine, but she’s predicting the tides, recording the stars, practicing numerology.

Then I get to a section called, “Crystal ball training,” and things are… strange. Mom’s handwriting grows erratic. Her prophecies are short, only a line or two each, scrawled hurriedly.

I’m nauseated after reading them.

Underworld. Tunnels. A flood.

Pass the red door. Right, then left. Crumbling wall, broken staircase.

Grinning portrait. Chalice of seawater and blood.

When I turn the page, I find a human heart lovingly sketched. Blood spurts from the ventricles. Written inside are the names Nancy + Tobias + ?

I spend a long time staring at the heart. Tobias. Is that my dad? Am I the question mark? I flip around until I find a page dated March 22, 2003, and yep, this would’ve been Mom’s final semester at Halea. I arrived in October.