Oceanborne

by Katherine Irons

Genres: Paranormal Romance

Synopsis

Katherine Irons returns to a realm of elemental power, ambition, desire, and tenderness in Oceanborne. . . An Irresistible Tide Elena Carter has loved the sea all her life. As an underwater archaeologist, she works with it every day, cajoling it into giving up the treasures and mysteries of its past. But when she pulls a handsome stranger from the water in the midst of a storm, she realizes there is much she still has to learn. Taking shelter from the tempest, they experience sensual awakenings, pleasures different from any they have felt before. But the stranger, her intoxicating Prince Orion, disappears, leaving nothing but an ancient artifact. Reluctantly returning to her landbound life, Elena finds more pieces to a puzzle that baffles her even as it hints at greater discoveries yet to be made. She longs to feel Orion's arms around her just one more time, and to ask him about the secrets hidden in the deep, secrets inextricably bound up with Orion and their unquenchable passion. But who—or what—is he? And once she has known the touch of the sea, can Elena return to the world she left behind? Praise for Seaborne "A page-turning tale of forbidden love and ocean magic. . .it swept me away! —Sarah Grey

Release date: May 26, 2011

Publisher: Brava

Print pages: 369

Sample

Present day, off the coast of Greece . . .

It wasn’t a good day to die.

In Orion’s opinion, no day was a particularly pleasant one to have the flesh ripped from your bones and be devoured alive by a horde of the Phoenician war god’s minions. But apparently, Orion wasn’t to be given a choice. It was fight his way out of this quickly-constricting circle of Melqart’s shades or start singing his own Atlantean death chant worthy of a soon-to-be deceased prince.

Why hadn’t he remained on the island a while longer? Most Atlanteans could leave the embrace of the sea and breathe air for short periods of time, but his gift was the knack for remaining on land for days at a time without succumbing to the constant bombardment of poisonous substances that land walkers had created. But, no, he was impatient, as always—eager to be back with his regiment, anxious to carry the news of the latest outrage to the High Council. And where had it gotten him? Seven fathoms deep, surrounded by foul abominations that existed for one purpose—to rip him into bite-sized morsels, grind his bones between their teeth, and swallow him to the last tasty drop.

Shrieking, two of the androgynous soul-suckers surged from the ranks and closed in on him, one on the left, and the other to his right. These were fully mature shades, over six feet from saw-toothed hind flippers to snub-nosed simian heads, armed with poisonous claws—nine to an appendage—each the size of a Bengal tiger’s. They dove at him, ghoulish eyes glowing red in ashen, bansheelike faces, gaping maws filled with jagged teeth that could rip and tear through flesh as easily as a great white shark bit through a seal’s belly.

Orion grasped the hilt of his broadsword in both hands, swinging it in a figure-eight pattern, slicing one predator in half on his first downward stroke and taking his remaining opponent as he completed the swing. Cutting the creatures in half was the only way to destroy them, and the water around him hissed with a black, acidic slime that he supposed passed for blood with them. The stench was enough to sicken a moray eel! Zeus’ bullocks, but he hated killing shades.

Hissing and moaning, the circle widened, and the crunch of cartilage and internal organs grated on Orion’s ears. As usual, the horde let no life force go to waste, quickly cannibalizing what was left of their two comrades. His stomach clenched. He was a warrior, a prince who’d spent a lifetime defending the kingdom. He wasn’t easily fazed by bloodshed, but the combination of his hangover and the odor brought bile up in his throat.

What he wouldn’t give for one of his brothers at his side! A half-dozen shades would have been child’s play for him to deal with, but there were two dozen, perhaps three that he’d counted, and a second sword would have made a big difference. For all their ferocity, the creatures showed little courage. If they couldn’t swarm over a victim and conquer easily, they drifted away to seek an easier target. Today, in this spot, he was that vulnerable prey.

By Ares’ foreskin! How could he have been so stupid? This wasn’t even his fight. He hadn’t intended to stumble on the human bodies—or rather the gory remains—of two luckless German tourists on the lonely beach. Had he been hunting Melqart’s hordes or suspected they were feeding in the area, he would have had a trusted team of seasoned Atlantean warriors and their combat dolphin partners at his back.

The foul things had withdrawn into the shadows, but he could hear them all around him, hissing and moaning, gathering courage for a second rush. He flexed his shoulders and tried to think of some way to get himself out of this alive. On a scale of one to ten, ten being hopeless, he generously gave himself a twelve.

When he’d spotted the first gleam of teeth and red eyes in the depths, he’d sent out a frantic mental SOS to any friendly beings in the area. Mermen would fight beside him, as would dolphins and the occasional lone whale. Once, an ancient sea turtle had proved a godsend when he was cornered by two hammerhead sharks, but squid and eels would as soon join the shades as come to his assistance. They possessed no sense of fair play, caring only to feed their own bellies. And if he died at the teeth and claws of the horde, there would be scraps enough to satisfy the scavengers.

Attacks by Melqart’s hordes were less frequent than they’d been in centuries past. The shades were merciless, and intelligence, if they possessed such, was more a group thought process than an individual one. They often pulled down lone swimmers at night, tearing the bodies apart or simply sucking them dry, leaving the humans to believe that the deaths were caused by sharks or barracuda. The creatures reveled in blood, feeding on the life forces of Atlanteans, humans, and other humanoids. And the energy from each life provided substance to their master Melqart.

Orion should have had reinforcements, but regretfully, he was alone. He’d been on leave and had unwisely spent the last two weeks more than slightly intoxicated in the arms of a particularly well-endowed mermaid of vast imagination and dubious moral character. Mermaids were known for their insatiable sexual appetites, and this particular lady was a legend among her own kind. Orion hoped the energy he’d spent in satisfying her wouldn’t be the death of him, but she’d been wet, willing, and as tight as a sword sheath. Two dozen interludes had not been enough, and if his groin ached from the rigorous exercise, he could console himself with knowing that he’d gained a wealth of information about triggering multiple orgasms in females, especially in mermaids.

To his left, somewhere near the misty island, a siren’s seductive voice sent a frisson of ice down his spine. It was one thing to contemplate the epic dirge his brother would create in memory of his last battle against hopeless odds, and quite another to hear the proclamation of his demise from one of the pitiless hags who’d lured humans to destruction for eons.

Orion sensed, rather than saw, the circle tighten once more. “By Aphrodite’s sweet mound,” he swore under his breath. They were coming for him, coming in numbers too great for him to overcome. He flexed his sword arm, moved so that his back was guarded by a massive wall of fallen granite, and uttered an Atlantean war cry. If he had to die here and now, he’d not go gently.

Elena knew that coming too close to the jagged rocks jutting up from the sea might be disastrous. Yet, impulsively, despite the rising wind and the ever-increasing rain, she steered the Zodiac nearer to the island. The small watercraft pitched and bounced in the waves, making her question the wisdom of coming out to the shipwreck at all this afternoon. But it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been doing this half her life, and she was in a Zodiac. They were supposed to be practically unsinkable, weren’t they?

She’d approached the expedition’s charter boat captain early this morning and asked him to run her out to the site. She knew the seas were too rough for diving. She simply wanted to make certain that the unidentified boat that had been hanging around didn’t carry some amateur archeologist who might take the opportunity of the bad weather to poke around the wreck.

But Anso would have none of it. He’d given her a hound-dog look and shaken his head. “No, no, no. No today. No tomorrow. Bad storm. Big waves. Too danger.” His heavily accented English wasn’t quite as good as her Greek, but he’d made himself clear enough. Rubbing the great belly that bulged out in a hairy tire over his patched trousers, he’d muttered something to his first mate that sent the little man into spasms.

“No today,”

Petros echoed between gales of laughter. Then, he’d pinched his nose and given a bad imitation of drowning. “Antolia old boat. No today.”

Knowing her cause was hopeless and unable to convince any of her team to go with her, Elena had set off in the Zodiac alone. The thought of losing yet another day of work due to bad weather was maddening. The university’s dive permit was for a limited time, and a storm could easily cover the site in silt, burying several weeks of careful excavation. She’d called in too many favors to acquire this project, and so far, they’d uncovered nothing significant. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was no ordinary Phoenician trading vessel, and that just a few inches or feet away waited a discovery that would add enormously to the pool of knowledge about this ancient race of seafarers.

She’d had the same feeling before, two years ago, when she was an assistant on a Nile River expedition. Her hunch had paid off when she’d insisted on making one last dive, and had discovered the ruins of a previously unknown temple dedicated to Hathor, dating several centuries earlier than the rise of her cult. As an archeologist and scientist, Elena knew she should have disdained hunches as superstition, but like her father before her, she’d learned to heed that inner voice.

A curtain of drenching rain broke over the Zodiac, making it difficult to see. Elena yanked off her glasses and tossed them onto the deck. Every instinct told her to steer away from the island before a rock tore a hole in the inflatable’s side or punched through the bottom, but she felt an overwhelming need to go closer. And, if she was honest with herself, she was happiest when she was swept up in the rush, savoring life to the bottom of the cup.

Abruptly, amid the foam and churning water, a man’s head broke the surface only a few yards ahead. She stared in astonishment as the swimmer raised one hand over his head, grasping something long and black and shiny. Elena blinked, and peered through the heavy rain, certain her eyes were playing tricks on her.

For an instant, she could have sworn that the drowning man held a glittering bronze-age sword. Then, a wave broke over him, and he was lost from sight. Whoever he was, he was obviously in trouble. No one could survive in these conditions.

“Hold on!” she yelled. “I’m coming!” She gunned the motor, fighting waves and tide, guiding the Zodiac closer to the spot where he’d gone down. Her heart pounded against her ribs. If he didn’t come up on his own, he was lost. There was no chance of finding him in the churning water. He might have been caught in an undertow, sucked down to be trapped in the rocks and drowned.

“Where are you, damn it?” she cried into the driving rain. She untied a life ring and waited—breathless—for what seemed an eternity. Then, when she was certain that he was gone, he shot up on the port side. For a moment, their gazes locked. They were so close that she could see the color of his eyes. As green as the sea. Her first thought was that his expression wasn’t one of panic or despair. Instead, he looked exhilarated.

“Here!” she shouted, throwing the life ring.

He caught it in the air, slipped it over his head, and pulled himself arm over arm to the side of the pitching Zodiac. She couldn’t take her hands off the tiller to assist him into the boat, but he managed it on his own, flinging his body over the side and collapsing face down on the deck. Face down was good, because he was stark naked.

Elena didn’t have much time to admire the scenery if she didn’t want the Zodiac to run smack into a rock pillar dead ahead but, for the blink of an eye, she had a delicious glimpse of wide muscular shoulders, narrow hips, and powerful thighs and calves. No Greek sword—her eyes must have been playing tricks on her—but the man’s taut buttocks made up for it.

Her stowaway pushed himself up on his elbows, shook the long yellow hair out of his eyes, and grinned at her. Her heart missed a beat. He looked like a movie star or a model on the cover of Italian Vogue. “Run between those rocks!” He pointed. “You can beach it on the sand!”

She wasn’t certain she wanted to attempt it, but it might be their only chance. The storm was growing worse. The waves were higher, the wind whipping up a tempest as jagged lightning split the black clouds overhead. Elena had threaded between the rocks to reach this spot, but with the tide coming in, and the force of the waves, it might be more dangerous to try to turn the Zodiac and head back for open water.

“Are you sure we can make it?” Visibility was fast dwindling, and the raindrops battered her face and body.

He flung her another wicked grin, and the strength went out of her knees. “No, but if you don’t, you’d better be a good swimmer,” he shouted before moving to the bow to balance the weight. “Cut hard to port!” He pointed at a finger of stone barely visible above the waves.

Elena fought the rudder with all her strength, certain that the Zodiac would be dashed against the rocks. She could hear the roar of the surf ahead, but the channel that opened between the jagged stone outcrops seemed impossibly narrow. “Hold on tight!”

If they survived the rocks, she would have to ride the tops of the waves and slide onto the sand, and she’d have to keep the Zodiac at exactly the right angle or an incoming wave would catch it wrong and the inflatable would pitch pole.

“Now!” he shouted. “Go for it!”

She gunned the throttle, but just when she thought they had a chance a wave bigger than the others crashed over the stern of the Zodiac, filling the raft with six inches of water and temporarily blinding her. The motor sputtered. She choked and spat out a mouthful of water. “Come on! Come on!” she screamed, willing the engine to catch and fire. But her plea was in vain. The motor died, and the next thing Elena knew, the Zodiac went end over end and she was flying through the air.

Icy green water closed over her head. She kicked hard and tried to swim, but the force of the tide was too great. She found herself tossed like a bit of driftwood, slamming against rock and suddenly unable to tell which way was the surface. She held her breath until her lungs burned and dark spots swirled in front of her eyes. Panic seized her as she thought, This is what it feels like to drown.

The thunder of the surf muted as the cold sea poured into her mouth and nostrils, and her world went from blue-green to a chaos of black and gray. Time slowed and stretched, colors grew more vivid, and she no longer struggled to breathe. She sighed, relaxing her body, surrendering to the pull of the tide, letting go until a white specter loomed out of the deep. Terror greater than her fear of death surged through her as the ghostly creature stared at her with glittering red eyes and bared teeth.

Pain lanced up Elena’s thigh, and she kicked out at another shadow. With a burst of will, she twisted and tried to swim, frantic to escape this new nightmare. But she’d used up the last of her strength, and instead of moving farther away from this new menace, she hung suspended in the cold water, mouth wide in a silent scream, as the nightmare advanced ever closer.

The arrival of the female in the Zodiac had saved Orion’s skin, and he knew it all too well. Atlanteans, out of the sea, slowly grew weak and lethargic. Days—and in some cases mere hours—on land would mean certain death. But for Melqart’s shades, only a single ray of sunshine would turn them into an oily column of black smoke. Simply, the creatures boiled alive in seconds. As stupid as they were, the horde had a strong sense of self-preservation, and knew better than to follow him out of the water.

Had he merely surfaced, the shades would have swam up under him and pulled him down, devouring him in the process. The pack had cut him off from the beach, and the nearest outcrop of rock had been too far for him to reach. He’d been into the second chorus of his death chant when he’d heard the sound of a boat motor and had retreated to the nearest bolthole—in this case, a human’s watercraft.

He hadn’t expected the Zodiac to be manned by a female, a beautiful one at that. But man or woman, old or young, attractive or hideous, he was getting in that boat. The trick was in evading the shades in one piece and casting an illusion once he broke water. It wouldn’t do for a human to see him as he really was, wouldn’t do at all. And since she hadn’t run him down or leaped screaming into the sea, he supposed he’d done a fair job of disguising his appearance to appear human.

What he hadn’t counted on was the wave that had drowned the engine or the following one that had sent them sailing back into the drink where the horde was waiting. He landed only a few yards from the beach. It would have been child’s play to reach solid land and relative safety ahead of the shades if it hadn’t been for the woman.

Humans were the enemy, but this one had risked her life to save him. Had she known what he was, it might have been another story, but he couldn’t shrug off the debt he owed her. Since he’d been a small child, a code of honor had been drummed into him. He couldn’t let her die.

So, reluctantly, Orion turned his back on the shore and threw himself into the fray once more. Cut and thrust. Slice and hack. Single handed. Not only did he have to cut a path through the shades, he had to do it while retrieving the woman from her would-be executioners and using his powers to keep her from drowning.

The art of giving a human the ability to survive underwater was another arrow in an Atlantean’s quiver, one that he was somewhat rusty at. Not magic, exactly, but close enough to amaze the masses. He couldn’t wait to brag to Alexandros about this heroic interlude. This tale would make a more exciting song than one where he died in the end. Plus, he’d be there to revel in the glory.

Neither of them reached the beach unscathed. He’d been bitten and clawed in a dozen places. Blood ran from a great gash down his thigh to pool on the sand under his feet, and one of the beasts had taken a chunk out of his left bicep. The woman hung limp and lifeless in his arms. Her eyes were open, the irises rolled up so that the whites showed. Her skin was the color of bleached oyster shell except for the place where a shade had sunk his teeth into her thigh. Blood soaked the leg of her torn jeans and drops of blood dripped onto the sand.

His own wounds were insignificant. They would heal of their own accord, slower than if he were underwater, of course, but fast enough. The woman might not fare as well. She was cold, her breathing so shallow as to be barely perceptible. The rain was still beating down on them, and the wind had teeth. Overhead, thunder rumbled ominously. He decided to carry her into the cave that opened only a short distance above the small stretch of sand.

The cavern mouth was small, a place that might be easily overlooked, but he had noted it when he’d been on the island before. Centuries before, humans had taken shelter here, but they were long gone, their bones turned to dust. The floor was covered with fine gold-colored sand, and the air smelled of salt and sea.

He lay the woman face down, pressed gently but firmly on her back, and watched as what seemed like a beaker of water gushed out of her mouth and nose. Immediately, she began to cough and choke. He gave one more good compression, then turned her over, leaned down, and kissed her mouth.

Her eyelids fluttered, and Orion found himself staring into two hauntingly beautiful dark orbs. A shudder ran through her and she gave a small moan.

He kissed her again, surprised at how warm her lips were and how perfectly they molded to his. Excitement shot through him, and he flushed. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was simply repaying a debt, her life for his. It wasn’t personal. She was human, for Zeus’ sake. Humans, especially the females, were weak, pitiful things, possessing the sexual lure of a dead mollusk.

But not this one. This woman exuded sensuality with the allure of a mermaid. He had the feeling that he’d moved into a realm where nothing was as he’d expected. He was used to being in control where females were concerned. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be, and he didn’t like it one bit.

She choked again, bringing up more water. He pulled her into his arms and held her while she brought up the contents of her stomach, taking care to hold her long, brown hair away from her face. She groaned, sagging against him. He laid her back against the rocks, found a handful of seaweed, and used it to wipe her mouth. A second fistful made a poultice to staunch the ragged cut on her thigh. He pressed his fingers against the bite, closed his eyes, and willed the wound to heal. Again, since he was out of the sea, he didn’t have his usual power, but it was sufficient to close the punctures and restore the damaged surrounding tissue.

Her color was beginning to return.

He took a deep breath and conjured the illusion that he was human and decent according to human standards. It was hard to use imagination where air breathers’ fashion was concerned, and he was short on time. He covered his loins in the likeness of a pair of stretchy, red swim trunks he’d seen a French tourist wearing on a local beach. The garment was ridiculous, not in his opinion nearly as modest as being naked would have been. The woman’s lashes fluttered, and she stirred, commanding Orion’s full attention.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. He knew this was completely illogical. By Jason’s fleece, she had no gills or scales and her slender feet were completely without webbing!

Yet, he found her fascinating . . . intriguing.

Her complexion was a dusky olive, her forehead high, her brows dark and arching. Her face was a perfect oval, her nose straight, chin dimpled, and her mouth was made for kissing. He’d never been good with guessing ages when it came to humans, but he supposed she was thirty, at least, a mere child. But those eyes . . . He wondered if she was a sorceress, some sort of earthy naiad or witchling. Those eyes seemed mysterious, as if they were black bottomless pools containing all the secrets of the world.

She blinked and the corners of her mouth turned up in a faint smile. “What happened?” she whispered.

Orion’s throat constricted. This was wrong. All wrong. He shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be here. But he had no more power to walk away and leave her than he had to fly.

“Am I dead?” she asked.

He wondered what she’d seen after the boat had catapulted, throwing them into the sea, and he touched her gently on the forehead, willing her to forget everything that happened after they’d made a run for the beach.

“I hope not.” He chuckled, more in an attempt to normalize his feelings than because he was amused. “Because if you are, I must be, too.”

She tried to sit up, groaned, and fell back. “The Zodiac?”

“Flipped.”

She swallowed. “It’s expensive,” she rasped. “If I lose the inflatable, it will come out of my stipend.”

“Tough break.”

“That bad?”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen worse. On the bottom. The motor might be salvageable, but I doubt it. Those rocks gave it a pretty good scrubbing.” Not to mention the shades. He’d seen three of them tearing at it with tooth and claw. He supposed they thought it might be alive. No one had ever accused Melqart’s horde of being smart.

She swore. In Greek. Her accent was quite good. And the curse imaginative.

“It could be worse,” he reminded her. “We could be shark chum.” He brushed a long lock of damp hair off her oval face, and simply touching her sent a rush of excitement through him. “You came close to drowning.” He’d tried to speak naturally, but his voice grew husky with emotion.

“And I suppose I have you to thank for saving my life?”

He couldn’t suppress a grin. “You could say that.” His gaze traveled from her classically beautiful face down over her slim body. She was wearing the remains of a black T-shirt bearing the likeness of the temple of Apollo, and faded jeans. The top barely covered her small but nicely shaped breasts. Her waist was small, her hips wide enough to be womanly. Human or not, witchling or not, she was a package. And he wanted to possess her.

Sex with humans was strictly forbidden by Atlantean law. Not that the law prevented the occasional familiarity with the enemy. It did happen. Sadly, being forbidden added spice to the act. But it had been a long time since he’d risked arrest and severe punishment for sport with an air breather. Centuries. And she hadn’t been nearly as attractive.

He knew what Alex would say. Have her and be done with it. Get her out of your system. Orion was breathing hard now, fighting his own nature to keep from taking advantage of her. She was so vulnerable, lying here, half naked, grateful to him for coming to her rescue. Seducing her would be as easy as gathering seaweed at low tide.

Atlanteans males were endowed with super-sexual needs that required regular physical gratification.... Fortunately, Atlantean females were equally sensual beings. Adults took their pleasure where they found it without remorse or guilt. Only a few, notably the royal family and some noble lines, were monogamous. His parents had been when his mother was alive, although his father, Poseidon, had acquired many wives and even more concubines since her death. Since his older brother Morgan would inherit the throne, there was little need for Orion to consider marriage to one woman. His conquests had been many, and he prided himself on providing equal satisfaction to his partners.

Bedding this woman seemed a sensible solution to what was fast becoming a painful problem. He could disguise himself as a human by throwing a net of illusion over her, but it was difficult to hide his interest, even with the inferior sexual anatomy of one of her kind.

She pushed herself up to a sitting position, rubbed the place where she’d been bitten, and looked down at her bloodstained jeans. “I must have scraped myself against the rocks, but I don’t see where—”

“Probably my blood,” he lied. Fabrication was easier than explaining how he’d healed her so quickly. “You were lucky.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Nothing more than a skinned knee.”

“We were both lucky.” She began to squeeze the seawater out of her long brown hair. “Of course, if I’m to be grateful to you, you owe me the same. You were drowning when I snatched you out of the waves.”

“Me? Drowning? I was not.” About to be devoured alive, maybe, but to suggest that an Atlantean male could drown in the ocean was an insult. His pride prickled. “I was just out for a swim.”

She laughed. Her laughter was as enticing as the expression in her eyes. And her mouth . . . He wanted to taste those lips again.

She extended a slender hand. “Elena Carter.”

He took it. “Orion.” She had a firm grip for a woman, and he found himself reluctant to release her. Instead, he lightly caressed the fleshy mound of her palm with his thumb, reveling in the frisson of excitement it gave him.

He felt his loins tighten, and it took all his will power to keep his abundant attributes from rising to the occasion. He didn’t want to frighten her away. Slow and easy, that was best in dealing with human females. They didn’t possess the sexual appetite of Atlantean women or the staying power to continue a mutually-satisfying session for hours . . . or, in some cases, days.

“No last name?”

His eyes widened. She had him there. He didn’t have a last name. He was Orion, son of Poseidon, prince of Atlantis. What did he need with a second name? Everyone who mattered knew who he was.

“Is it a secret?” She parted the torn material of her jeans, obviously searching for an injury, but her flesh had healed perfectly.

“No.” He chuckled. “Xenos. Orion Xenos.”

“Stranger.”

“Excuse me?”

“The meaning of Xenos is stranger, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is. I never really thought about it.”

“It fits,” she said thoughtfully. “Strange that you’d be out in that water, that I’d rescue you, and we’d both end up . . . What? Shipwrecked? I don’t suppose there’s a telephone on this island. Or a taverna?” She wiped her mouth. “My friends will suspect the worst when I don’t come back.”

“No, no taverna, although I could use a shot of ouzo.” He shook his head. “There’s no one on this island at all.”

“That’s incorrect.”

His eyes narrowed. “I assure you that—”

“You’re here and I’m here. That makes two of us, so you can hardly say that the island is deserted.”

She started to rise and he offered his hand. She took it as if it were her due, as his mother or sisters might. He could almost say that she was regal, for a human. And the brown eyes that met his showed not t. . .