Storm (Elemental 1)

“Hey.” Chris squeezed her hand so hard it hurt.

She was hyperventilating, choking on her own oxygen. Smoke, thick and sudden, clogged the air. She couldn’t look away from the flames. Had any kids been left on the beach?

“Hey!” Chris jerked her around. She stared up into his eyes, seeing the reflection of the inferno behind her.

He still had a death grip on her hand. “Take a deep breath.”

She inhaled and tasted fire. The water pulled back, sucking away from them the way it did on the beach at high tide, the kind of undertow that led to the big waves.

Wicked danger sparked in his eyes. “Now hold it.”

Water crashed around them, pulling her under, dragging her body beneath the waves. Chris still had her hand, but she spun in the darkness, losing sense of time, of location, of which direction was up.

Her lungs weren’t burning, but it felt like they’d been underwater for hours. Chris was pulling at her hand, dragging her deeper, towing her through the murky water.

How long could she hold her breath?

Everything was so black.

Did he still have her hand?

Her body felt foreign, heavy, a dead weight in a weightless atmosphere. How long since that last breath? Hours. Days.

Her body took over and she fought him, struggling for the surface, for oxygen, for freedom. She struck wildly, her limbs moving slowly underwater. She made contact and dug with her nails, flailing at him until he finally let her go.

She inhaled. Her lungs filled with water.

And the world went flat.

Chris Merrick was kissing her. His hands were buried in her hair, his palms burning against her cheeks. Sand shifted below her body and the stars danced above, bright like his eyes when he drew back to look at her.

Then he was kissing her again, his face descending to press to hers.

But his mouth was rough, aggressive. She wanted to whimper, but his breath rushed across her tongue. She couldn’t move.

He drew back, and then his hands were on her chest, a heavy weight over her heart. “Goddamn it, Becca.” He pushed. “Breathe.”

She did one better. She coughed and spit water all over herself.

He swore again and rolled her to her side, and she coughed up what felt like a gallon of the Chesapeake Bay. By the time she was done, she’d made it to her knees, her forearms pressed into the sand, hair pooled around her, her forehead braced on her knuckles.

Chris was kneeling beside her, the sand beneath his knees gray in the moonlight. He didn’t say anything, but she could hear his breathing, rough and almost shaking.

Inhaling hurt, but her lungs grabbed the oxygen and wouldn’t let her stop. Her voice came out as a croak. “So I should have just met Hunter at the car.”

“You were out for a long time.” Chris sounded frightened.

“Feels like it.” Then she paused. “How long really?”

“Maybe five minutes.” He ran a hand through wet hair. “God. You let go of my hand and—”

“Oh. Okay. This is my fault. Got it.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and she listened to their breathing. The wind had gone, leaving the air soft against her skin. Her feet were still in the water.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

She rolled over and sat in the sand. The closest light came from a streetlamp about twenty feet behind them. Thank god, since her shirt was completely sealed to her chest. “Where are we?”