Chapter Fifty-Eight
ANDA
I know what has to be done. It is nature. There is no choice, and there is no judgment.
My hands thrill to be around his neck, to feel the waning of his pulse. His eyes are half closed. He’s lost consciousness. I salivate, wanting to consume what’s left fluttering inside his body.
Distant memories shake within me. A palm against my skin. A kiss that tastes of chocolate. Cool scissors against my scalp. Scraping a razor against a sculpted male cheekbone, too beautiful to endure. An invitation to be hurt, offered willingly.
Hector.
I withdraw my hands to my chest. The ship above me is already half consumed beneath the waves.
Hector.
I scream so loud that the sky shudders with fear and the sisters cower, dissolving into infant swells.
What have I done?
But my heart. Oh, my heart. I miss him already, and he’s right here.
I see him with more clarity as darkness drains from my eyes. The tar-like, lifeless color recedes in my fingertips, and I recognize with full understanding where we are.
Hector.
I yank his arms toward me, and will the water to settle so I can ease us through the flapping door of the sunken ship. But it is hard. Even with my ability to change the pressure and waves around us, the boat continues to roil with anger at being taken. The deepwater surges don’t respond to my command.
Let go of that boy.
I jerk in surprise. There is a strong, winding core of current that swirls around Hector, trying to pry him away from me. But I won’t have him stolen. Never.
I grasp him firmly around the chest from behind and issue a command to the waters around us. The water concedes, and we lift upward. I push the door to the boat cabin open, but I have to kick with my human legs for the force to exit the ship. My body flails in the bubbling water around us. I have trouble seeing which way is up, knowing without instinct where to go.
You are making a mistake.
I want to scream at her. Mistakes are for those who can make a choice. It’s mine to make. You can’t stop me. This is what I want.
She doesn’t answer me. Not with words, not this time. Her fury boils within the water and it scalds my skin—a sensation I’ve never felt. There has always been that energy within me, scorching with ability, but now it’s outside my body. Huge, and expanding. And there’s something else that’s also changed. My hunger is still there, but it seeks its nourishment from a different source. Not to extinguish, but to kindle.
I want life.
I kick and kick, pulling Hector up with me. Luckily, we are buoyant and let ourselves shoot up like corks. As our faces break through the water’s surface, I gasp for air. Hector’s face is ashen, his eyes still half closed. Our bodies crest over the huge waves, up and down, and still he won’t wake up.
“Hector!” I scream, shaking him. For an agonizing ten seconds, he does nothing but let the lake water flow over his face, into his throat. “Hector! Wake up!” I grasp him around the chest and squeeze him so hard that water pours out of his mouth. I squeeze him again and again, as if just embracing him could spark an awakening. Just when my arms are so tired they burn with pain, Hector coughs and sputters. He gasps a few times more, then pitches lake water from his throat.
I cling to him as the waves around us grow even larger. He coughs, a terrible barking dissonance, the most gorgeous sound of life I’ve ever heard. We cling to each other, hard.
“What happened?” he tries to yell, but his voice is bubbly and hoarse. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know!” I scream back. It’s the answer to everything.
The storm rages on and tightens its hold over the area around us, as a fist squeezes a sodden tea bag. We kick and paddle, trying to stay afloat though the waves try to pull us down with each mighty wall of water. Hector is still wearing his orange life jacket. Were it not for that, we’d both have trouble keeping our heads out of the water.
My body is tiring, and I’ve never known this type of exhaustion in the water. My muscles crave air, and sugar, and rest. I keep kicking, though my calves feel leaden and tight with lactic acid. A wave of water crashes over us, and we spin beneath the surface, water forcing its way into our noses, burning our sinuses, blinding us. We fight again for the surface, coughing and sputtering for a blessed few seconds before another wave comes over us.
Hector’s arms find their strength—what little he has to offer—and give it to me. For a second, his eyes meet mine and ask the other question he wishes to know.
Why can’t I control it? Why won’t I stop the storm?
Do you really want to know, Anda? Mother asks me. Let me show you.