Immortal Sea by Virginia Kantra

disappearing beneath the wave, our pure blood being diluted by this flood of humankind. We need her on Sanctuary. We need you both on Sanctuary.”
    “I left you in charge.”
    “You left Griff in charge.” Another slight, another sting.
    “He is warden of Caer Subai,” Conn pointed out with cool logic. “But you were in command of the work party.”
    “ ‘In command.’ ” Failure was bitter as brine in his mouth. “Tell me to command the sea foam or issue orders to mackerel. I’d have better luck.”
    Conn’s brows raised. “They do not obey you.”
    “They obey, ” Morgan said savagely. He could enforce obedience. “They do not stay. We are not day laborers. We are the children of the sea. We flow as the sea flows. I cannot explain to them, I cannot inspire them, to break their hands and their hearts hauling stone. Day after day, they are confined to one place, one task, and each other’s company. And every night more slip away to sea.”
    “You cannot fault them for that. Not if they come back.”
    “Most come back,” Morgan said. “Most of the time. The greatest loss is among the finfolk. We are not anchored to the land as selkies are.”
    The finfolk had no sealskins. They were true shape-shifters, able to take the form of any creature of the sea. But their fluid nature made them even more susceptible to the pull of the deep.
    “I do not have the patience—Griff does not have the power—to hold them,” Morgan confessed.
    Conn drew a breath and loosed it. In his eyes, Morgan saw the burden of his kingship. Morgan had been trapped for months on Sanctuary. The selkie prince had ruled alone from his tower for nine centuries.
    Alone, until Lucy.
    “Then we will return,” Conn said quietly.
    “When?”
    “Tomorrow.”
    Morgan bowed his head, hiding his exhaustion. “I will be ready.”
    “You do not come with us.”
    The simple command shook Morgan to a rare apology. “My lord, if I spoke out of turn . . .”
    Conn sighed. “You spoke the truth. But you are in no shape to face another crossing so soon. You need time to recover.”
    “I am well enough.”
    “We cannot afford to lose another of your line.”
    Morgan’s body went rigid. His temples throbbed. He did not need the selkie prince to remind him he was the last blood born of his kind.
    Unbidden, the boy popped back into his head, the sullen mouth, the glinting eyes.
    Morgan opened his mouth. Shut it. His suspicions were too new to voice to Conn, his ambition too raw, his hope too fragile.
    He cleared his throat. “It might do me good to stay.”
    Conn nodded in apparent approval. “Take as long as you need. There is magic on this island, in the place and in the people. You should get to know them, Morgan. As much as you dismiss them, our future is linked with theirs.”
    “Yes,” Morgan said slowly. He thought again of the boy on the sidewalk. He remembered the woman in the car with the pale face and fierce voice.
    I know you, he thought.
    “Perhaps you are right,” he said.

4

    MORGAN SLIPPED FROM THE SUN-DAPPLED ROAD into the parking lot, avoiding the clinic’s front entrance. The morning mist had burned away, leaving the air as bright and cool as crystal. Here he could not rely on vibrations in the water or the plumes of scent that trailed his prey. But his hunting instincts were the same on land or in the sea.
    Find a base of operations.
    Focus on a single target.
    Observe from a distance.
    And when the victim was vulnerable, strike.
    The dark blue vehicle sat in the shade behind the building. Locked. Morgan considered the sealed windows, the crumpled yellow box with its protruding plastic straw on the floor of the back seat. He glanced toward the quiet street.
    He might have enlisted Dylan in his search. But he disdained to ask the younger warden’s help, especially for what might be a fool’s errand.
    Besides, he hunted alone.
    He had located her vehicle. Now he must find her.
    He selected a heavy rock from the line