Bay of Sighs (The Guardians Trilogy 2)

“Really?”

“Yes, with my family. Many times.”

“How do you know?”

“I know the water—the sea—like you know a road. It’s the best I can explain. This place, these waters, we come on . . .” Annoyed with herself she shook back her hair. “I can’t remember the word. A journey to a special place. A holy place.”

“Pilgrimage?”

“Yes! Pilgrimage, pilgrimage,” she repeated to fix the word in her mind. “We believe Annika—I was named for her. She was holy and powerful, and swam all the seas to spread kindness and love.”

He brought her hand to his lips. “Then you’re well named.”

“It’s an honor to be named after one so beloved. It’s said she was nearly captured, and badly injured by seamen who hunted these waters. But one found her, helped her, tended her until she was well again. He saved her, and she saved him. He was lost, you understand? And she helped him find his way home. She gave him a gift so he would never lose his way again, on land or sea.”

Sawyer set his duffle down on the beach. “That’s pretty similar to the story passed down in my family, about the compass. But that was in the North Sea, so . . .”

He looked down at the compass, still in his hand. “Unless it wasn’t. The sailor and the mermaid, saving each other. The gift of direction. That’s a lot of parallels. Maybe it is the same, but the locations in your version or mine changed in the telling over the years. You’re Annika.”

“Yes, I’m Annika.”

“I’m Sawyer Alexei King—Alexei was the name of the sailor who was given the compass. So I’m named for him. Parallels, or maybe just fate.”

“This sacred place is where your grandfather brought you?”

“Yeah, we camped right here, on the beach.”

“So, we’ve both been here before. This place is important to us both. That’s also parallel?”

“In my book, yeah. Go on in. It’s a great night for a swim.”

“Swim with me.” And in her carefree way, she pulled off her dress, tossed it aside.

She raced into the water, dived into the roll of surf. Her tail flipped up, fluid as the water itself, then slid under the indigo sea.

Seconds later, she rose up, just to her shoulders, her smile brilliant. “Swim with me!”

“Be right there.”

He needed to set things up first, and did so quickly as she slipped under the water again. Then he stripped down, and as she had, dived into the surf. He swam out beyond the breakers, pleased his shoulder didn’t twinge, his side didn’t ache with the movement.

Then he let himself float in the cool with the white moon sailing above and stars like scattered diamonds. And he realized as everything in him eased, he’d needed this as much as she had.

Like Sasha had needed to paint, he’d needed something bright and beautiful.

And the bright and the beautiful arrowed up, head back, hair streaming. She seemed to bump the moon before she folded herself and dived in again. Her tail wound around his waist. When he started to laugh, he found himself propelled up, toward the sky. And he heard her laugh as he managed to tuck in, hit the water again in a ferocious cannonball.

“You make such a big splash.”

“I’ll say. Do it again.”

“It was fun?”

“Completely.”

This time, prepared, he pulled off a jackknife. His entry would never match hers, but he figured he rated a seven-point-five.

They played, diving, leaping, splashing, gliding.