Surrendered to the Sea Read online

  Surrendered to the Sea

  by

  Dessa Lux

  © Dessa Lux 2017

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Design by Morgan Wilcox

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  A Note from Dessa Lux

  Chapter 1

  When Father North was displeased, all the ocean knew it. His cold presence drew the attention of his sons; several of Lir’s brothers gathered to see what had brought him into Lir’s domain. If Lir were to suffer their father’s wrath, they would suffer for it as well, for all their domains in the sea flowed into one another.

  Lir himself, dreading what his father might require of him, hesitated as long as he dared before he made his appearance. When he couldn’t put it off any longer he gathered his awareness and his being from the farthest reaches of his domain, taking a form that matched the one his father currently wore—the shape of a land-dweller.

  Lir made his hair youthfully black where his father’s was icy white, and his muscular shape reflected his own strength—but his father was, of course, bigger and stronger no matter what form they each wore. Lir’s brothers, gathered in similar shapes, kept their distance, floating here and there among the shadows of the creatures who occupied Lir’s domain.

  “So,” his father said. “You do know how to look like a land-dweller when you choose.”

  Lir scowled but didn’t answer. Of course he could take a land-dweller’s shape; he was a god of the sea, even if he was not among the eldest of them and only held a middling-sized domain. He might not have any islands or coastlines where the land-dwellers visited him, but he knew well that his existence—even Father North’s existence—owed something to the land-dwellers, and their belief in the power and nature of the sea.

  “I shall not bother to repeat myself yet again,” Father North said. “I shall not hear your arguments about how land-dwellers are no concern of yours because your domain does not touch land. If you wish to continue as one of my sons, ruling this domain, you shall learn to respect land-dwellers and have a care for their ways. You have the turning of one year to prove to me that you have learned; if I come here again and find you simply drifting on your own currents without a care for what comes or goes, I shall send you out of your domain to live among them. Perhaps that will teach you to care.”

  Lir stared, his jaw hanging open. “Father! You cannot—”

  “You’ll find I can,” Father North informed him, and then he was gone, leaving behind only a lingering chill. Even Lir’s brothers fled from his presence, likely knowing just as well as Lir did that there was no way he could change his own nature so completely in the mere turning of a year.

  He was cursed, then. He had one year left as god of his domain in the sea, and after that his father would banish him, perhaps give his domain to Mar, perhaps raise up a new son to take Lir’s place.

  He might as well, Lir thought, letting his land-dweller shape dissolve back into the sea, becoming one with his domain again. Even a newborn godling would please him more than I do.

  Along his eastern edge, Lir was aware of his brother Mar’s presence, rocky and rough as always, his judgment and temper as quick as his current.

  You could try doing as you’re told, Mar pointed out. I don’t say you’ll like it, but doing your duty must be better than what Father’s going to do to you if you don’t.

  Mar, who held the coastlines of two great islands as well as several smaller ones, had never seemed to have much use for land-dwellers either, as far as Lir remembered. They drowned in his domain, polluted it, and rarely offered anything at all to it on purpose anymore.

  But Lir had never had his own land-dwellers at all. Not that he could remember.

  You knew once, Mar told him. It’s past time you learned again.

  Lir tried to remember, but nothing came to him. He let himself sink deeper instead, his awareness spreading itself over miles of currents, from the depths to the foam on the waves. So many living things dwelled here, but not one of them could teach him what his father wanted him to know, and that meant that Lir was doomed.

  ***

  Chapter 2

  Devon Griffith curled down small against the rail of the yacht and stared out at the sea. He was on the lowest part of the deck, the only place close enough to the water for the spray to kick up at him as their wake churned white behind them. The white water was the brightest thing around them; the sky was mostly covered in clouds, stars and the waning moon only occasionally peeking through to be reflected in diffuse sparkles on the dark water.

  During the day there might be whales or dolphins to see, and this deck would be the most crowded spot on the ship. Now, in the darkness when his parents, their important friends, and most of the crew were sleeping, Devon was alone with the darkness of the sea.

  He was nineteen, and he probably should have been off having a spring break with friends before his season arrived and kept him close to home until his spring heat came and went. If he looked at Facebook, it would probably be full of his classmates partying in Miami or Mexico or wherever else werewolves went to escape the lingering Midwestern winter.

  Devon wasn’t going to look at Facebook. He had never really wanted to be at college and hadn’t made any friends to speak of. His parents had spent a year and a half pushing him to join an omega fraternity or sign up for some of the other omega-friendly activities on campus. They had come up with one Facebook introduction after another to other omegas, and even betas and humans, who they thought he should connect with at school. He had finally managed to fail out of college at the end of the last semester, badly enough that even his parents admitted defeat.

  Now he was officially “taking some time to think about his goals.”

  That was what his parents called it, though it mostly meant that he slept a lot, avoided everyone, and constantly lost all track of time. His whole life seemed to have disappeared under a gray fog.

  It had shown up sometimes before, he thought; it had seemed familiar when it arrived. But now, with nowhere to go and nothing to do, it never seemed to go away. Even when his parents dragged him off on this vacation, shopping and preparing in New York and then flying to Spain and setting sail, the fog followed him. Big cities, beautiful places, nothing shifted it. He was starting to think that it didn’t matter what he did; it would follow him everywhere, smothering anything he might ever try to do. So why try anything at all?

  Now that they seemed to have given up on him finishing school and launching his own dazzling career, Devon had no doubt that his parents would want to find him an advantageous mate. That would mean an alpha ten years older than him at least, maybe more like twenty or thirty. Soon they would suggest someone his parents’ pack did business with, or would like to—the same sort of person whose offspring they’d been trying to get him to make connections with at school.

  Devon thought he’d probably like to get married. He wanted that much more than he had ever wanted to go to school, or pursue some kind of suitable career the way his parents thought he should. But his parents never talked about him falling in love
, or about the kinds of mating bonds people had in books and movies and the stories on omega websites his parents had never paid enough attention to block from his computer.

  He used to daydream about a future from one of those stories: a mate who loved him for him, not for his parents’ pack and money and connections. A mate who would spend time with him, share a life with him, instead of being away doing business except when Devon went into heat, or when they wanted Devon to show up and be the perfect trophy omega at some high-powered event. He wanted to have children, children who he could love for whoever they turned out to be, and not give away to nannies and prestigious schools, constantly pressuring them to make the right friends, pursue the right interests. He didn’t want to spend eighteen years telling his future children that they needed to be the very best and make the pack proud.

  He just wanted them to be happy.

  He just wanted to be happy himself. But that seemed impossible. He didn’t think he even remembered how to feel sad, after all this time feeling nothing but gray.

  And what chance did he have of one of those daydreams, really? What alpha would look twice at Devon just for himself? He had no ambition, no accomplishments. He wasn’t special or smart or beautiful; he really only wanted to be ordinary, and he didn’t even know how to do that. He barely knew how to be alive.

  He closed his eyes and tilted his face into the salt spray so that even he couldn’t tell if it was also wet with tears. He just wanted to know how to be happy, or how to stop being so unhappy all the time. He just wanted something to change, or to stop having to try to figure out how to change things when everything he wanted seemed so pathetically small and so far out of reach all at the same time. He had no idea who he could ask for help when no one would even understand why he wanted a life like that.

  Devon opened his eyes again and looked out over the sea. If I slipped—if I went under—no one would know. It would be so quiet, and no one would ask me questions, and I wouldn’t have to think of anything anymore.

  Once he thought it he couldn’t stop thinking of it—the cool pressure of water all around him, the welcoming dark, the escape. No more questions. No more quizzes and books and advice. No more waiting for his parents to try yet again to find some way to fix their disappointing child.

  Just the sea, and then nothing.

  Devon was barely aware of the moment of deciding. It seemed so simple, so obvious, barely like something that required a decision at all; certainly easier than getting up to get a glass of water on days when he stayed in bed. The cool touch of the sea would wash away everything else, the fog and Devon himself together. He swung his legs through the rail and pushed himself through in one smooth motion, gasping in a deep breath and holding it as he fell into the white froth of the ship’s wake.

  He was battered by the rough water, almost bouncing for a few seconds before he went under. He swam downward in the darkness—really dark, even to his werewolf eyes—and found himself thinking, I don’t know how to do this.

  A little of his breath escaped him in a rush of bubbles then, a giddy little laugh at the absurdity of that. Of all things, he hadn’t planned this properly. He had no idea how to throw himself into the sea and drown.

  He swam on for a few more strokes, the pressure of the water tightening around him. His chest ached and then burned with the need for air. He kept himself pointed downward, into the dark depths; he felt the pressure in his ears and on every inch of his skin, trying to force the air from his lungs.

  He knew he had to let that last breath go, but somehow he couldn’t make himself do it. He felt like his chest was on fire and still he held on, his jaw clenched and lips pressed shut.

  It wasn’t until that breath finally did escape in a rush of bubbles, water forcing its way into his mouth as the water escaped, that he realized he’d somehow started swimming up. His body took over then, hauling him toward the open air. He coughed and gagged seawater when his head broke the surface, gasping in air in noisy, hacking gulps. There wasn’t a single thought in his head until he realized he was floating on the surface, staring up at the clouded sky.

  The moon broke through for a moment, and he felt its light on his face as he stared up at that crescent in the dark sky. He thought, Oh. I don’t want to die, actually. I would miss the moon.

  He would miss—so many things, really. His children, never born. The little bits of happiness he might yet scrape out of whatever dull life his parents herded him into, if only...

  Only then did it occur to him to try to look around and see where the yacht had gone. He dragged himself upright with a monumental effort, trying to ride the waves. He thought he saw the lights of the yacht some distance away, but there was no way to gauge how far. He tried to swim a few strokes in that direction, but he could see it was useless. He would never catch up.

  Even with a werewolf’s strength and hardiness, even if that desperate urge to survive buoyed him up again and again, he couldn’t swim all the way to shore. At some point he would lose consciousness, drown, and sink, to be crushed in the sea’s depths. If it were cold enough for ice, he might float on some until he was found, frozen but revivable, but the open ocean was big enough to swallow even a werewolf without a trace.

  He rolled onto his back, sinking into the cold embrace of the water again, feeling the way it was already sapping his little strength. He tried to wiggle his fingers and toes, and wasn’t sure if he was succeeding.

  Well, he thought, looking up to try to find the moon again. It had gone behind a cloud, as if it didn’t want to watch what would happen next. I suppose I succeeded at that, at least.

  The sea wrapped around him, drawing him deeper, the water starting to slide over his face as he bobbed along the surface. It felt almost like the moon’s touch.

  “All right, then,” he whispered, just to hear his own voice one more time before the sea took him. “You can have me, if the moon won’t. I’ll be yours.”

  Cool water washed over his face, and he added in a failing mumble, “I just hope it doesn’t hurt too much.”

  It didn’t hurt at all, though. The last thing he was aware of was the sea wrapping warm arms around him and holding him up. He smiled at the impossible image before everything went dark for the last time.

  ***

  Chapter 3

  It was hardly the first time a land-dweller had plunged into the waters of Lir’s domain, but given his father’s recent ultimatum, this one caught his attention more quickly than most. A whole cycle of the tides had passed, and none of his brothers had offered Lir any more useful advice than that he ought to try.

  Well, here was a land-dweller for Lir to learn from, right? He could try and see what this one would teach him.

  And then the land-dweller did something that sent a jolt all through Lir, from his warmest southern waves to his deepest depths. It spoke to Lir, a tiny whisper with all the force of prayer behind it. And the words it said...

  “You can have me, if the moon won’t. I’ll be yours.”

  Lir was already rushing to that one particular point in all his domain, solidifying himself into a shape that could gather up the person who offered themselves so handsomely to the god of the place. When his little land-dweller added, “I just hope it doesn’t hurt too much,” Lir was already reaching for it.

  “Never,” Lir whispered, breathing air for the first time he could remember. “Nothing will hurt you.”

  But his land-dweller didn’t respond, limp and senseless in Lir’s arms.

  Hell. He couldn’t fail so quickly, especially not with someone who hadn’t merely blundered into Lir’s domain but actually gave themselves to Lir.

  Transforming his lower half into something a little better suited to propelling himself through the waves, Lir propped the land-dweller’s head on his shoulder, his arms firmly around its chest, and headed south. Land-dwellers had to keep warm as well as keeping their heads out of water, he knew that much. The late-winter sea couldn’t be good for this one,
and Lir’s domain didn’t extend far enough south for even his warmest waters to do his land-dweller a bit of good.

  Still, he spared a bit of his awareness to beg a favor from his warmest brother, trying not to think too much about how long it had been since he had paid any proper attention to George and how little he deserved the favor. George didn’t seem to hold a grudge, though. By the time Lir reached the southernmost reaches of his own domain, a finger of a warm current was slicing through, and Lir could focus on finding a less hands-on solution to keeping his land-dweller’s head above water.

  He twisted the warm current into a little gyre, circling around them without exerting a downward pull, and began collecting anything light and solid that he could coax up. He didn’t have as much floating plastic detritus as Mar did—except that as soon as he thought of that, he found a rogue current carrying a whole wealth of the stuff his way, dumping it right into the gyre until the water turned thick with it. He sent thanks to his brothers, and assured them that he could use as much plastic as they could send.

  Lir coaxed up algae to grow on it, bonding the particles into a semi-solid cushiony mass, a raft big enough to lay his land-dweller on. He hadn’t anything warm to cover his human with, though, so Lir encouraged the raft to keep growing and climbed up himself, becoming fully human-shaped so that he would be warm-blooded from head to toe. He took his land-dweller in his arms and held it close, running his hands over it to warm and dry it with friction. There was something cold and wet and heavy tangled around it, but Lir quickly got rid of that, so that there was nothing touching his land-dweller but Lir and the quick-growing carpet of green beneath him.

  The human kept breathing, its heart beating steadily in a rhythm that Lir’s land-dwelling body instinctively matched, so Lir knew he hadn’t failed it yet. It shivered for a time, then grew pleasantly warm in Lir’s arms, nestling closer and even turning over to press its face against his chest. Lir, feeling rather proud of himself for passing the first test, stayed in his land-dweller shape and let himself doze along with his little human, keeping it close and warm through the rest of the night.