Page 15 of Crush
Spinning, not knowing which way is up anymore, my eyes pop open in the black sea and I kick, kick, kick to what I hope is the surface, not trusting the spiraling currents brushing against my skin. To help with the swim, I toe my shoes off as I break through—thank God—and scissor my arms toward shore.
Thorne’s blurred form splashes into my vision between cresting waves, the torches surrounding him lighting his skin orange and red, a true devil waiting for me to emerge from brackish waters.
He smiles, his teeth unearthly white, but they act like a beacon to focus on every time I break for a breath.
Crooking his finger, Thorne beckons, mouthing something I can’t read. Cheers sound out up above, Charlotte screaming the loudest beside Jaxon on the shore, buried in her nice, warm, dry blanket…
I want that damned blanket.
Swimming harder, I push until my limbs burn and my lungs ache. Only about twenty feet to go until my feet will hit the sand and I can walk out of here, a mermaid gifted her legs.
I’ll make it. I’ll make it—
A strong, watery hand pulls me down.
7
Ember
It’s so quick, so brutal, that I get in a squeak of air before I’m pulled under.
Thrashing, I try to twist out of the sudden current, instincts screaming at me to fight against the ocean’s claws.
My panicked kicks are enough to get my face above water, and I open my mouth wide, gasping for air before I’m claimed again—
“Float! Fucking float, Ember! Stop fighting it!”
Saltwater buckets over my head, and the waves become angrier. My heart slams into my throat, but somehow, Thorne’s voice gets around the panic, and I remember that same teaching.
When caught in a riptide, don’t fight against it. Float on your back. Let the riptide carry you until you don’t feel the pull anymore.
Though I can’t think of a worse thing to do when the ocean wants to drown you, I stop flailing, allowing my limbs to become lightweight. I float to the surface, letting the current take me away from shore.
My heart’s a battering ram, my breaths not doing much better, but I focus on the starry sky and the paintbrush gray clouds and the distant rolling of thunder.
I’m okay. I’ll survive. I’m okay.
Water splashes into my eyes, and my entire body shivers as my clothes are yanked and tangled with every rising wave, but eventually, the pulls become less. The ocean quiets.
I dare to sink out of my float and tread water instead, seeking the shore immediately.
Flickering torches on the haven of the cove beckon, but they’re tiny flames from my vantage point. I’m about fifty yards away.
“I’m going to d-d-die of hypothermia b-before I even make it,” I whisper to no one. The ocean answers by siphoning a wave into my throat.
Coughing, I start to swim parallel to the shore, away from that goddamned riptide. Rather than freaking out, I keep my eyes on that beach, and those blankets, and Thorne’s arrogant little face that I will ruin by ripping off his nose.
“Ember!”
My ears perk at the distant call.
“Ember! Hang on!”
Splashing follows, and I peel my gaze off the shore, pinpointing the movement.
Arms scissor through the water, a dark head rising and falling between strokes.
“Thorne?” I whisper. Then with elation, I say, “Thorne! Over here!”