Dark Destiny (Dark Sentinel #1) - Lexxie Couper Page 0,28

with him.

To ask if he’d found Fred?

Squirming tension twisted through his gut again, lower this time. Almost in his groin. He bit back a groan. His brother had most likely spent the night chasing a paranormal Peeping Tom and all Patrick could think about was the deranged woman herself?

“You seriously need a swim, mate,” he muttered to himself. He only hoped the surf was still cold.

It wasn’t. But despite its pleasant temperature, it achieved what he wanted it to. As he swam out past the shallow sandbar of the beach’s eastern end, any thought of the mysterious woman, the shadowless man, and the memories he’d long denied, vanished, replaced by the calm meditation of stroke after stroke after stroke.

The outgoing tide pulled gently on his body as he moved through the water, not too strong but there all the same. The waves were small and peaky, barely more than six feet, a leftover from the larger southern swell out beyond the shark nets. This stretch of water would be the ideal patrolled swimming area for the morning. He rotated in the surf, treading water for a bit as he triangulated his position with the patrol tower back on the beach, committing to memory his location and where exactly he would erect the flags.

Turning back to the open sea, he headed toward Backpacker’s Express, the undercurrent growing stronger the closer he swam to the infamous rip. Even still, it was a mild undercurrent. Perhaps the notorious, dangerous strip of water was playing nice for a change.

Normality unraveling?

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. Swimming directly into its pull, he uprighted himself, treading water again to gauge the rip’s real strength. He smiled, feeling the current pull at his body with little force. Unless there was a major change in conditions the rip was unlikely to claim any unsuspecting victims today. That was good. It meant he and Bluey and the rest of the team might have a relatively relaxed day. Well, as relaxed as any day on a beach populated by over forty thousand people, the majority of which were overseas tourists who’d never set foot on a beach before, let alone—

Something grabbed his right foot.

Hard.

And pulled.

He went under, his whole body tugged a good five feet or so below the surface. Cold, salty water surrounded him. The grip on his ankle grew harder. More insistent.

He kicked out, trying to dislodge the—

The what? Seaweed?

Icy fingers sank into his ankle with what felt like needles puncturing his skin.

He kicked again, dragging his arms through the water in an effort to release the hold on his leg and reach the surface. Jesus, his lungs felt on fire.

What’s got you? What dragging you down?

Whatever it was pulled him deeper.

Cold water pressed against him, filled his nostrils. He blew out a burst of precious air through his nose, the released bubbles churning past his face in a chaotic storm, surging for the longed-for world above.

Fuck, he needed to breathe!

He kicked again, opening his eyes against the briny ocean, desperate to see what had him. Seaweed? Fishing net? Shark?

The dark, dawn water revealed nothing. He could barely see his thighs, let alone what gripped his—

Something grabbed his knee. Something stronger.

Cold terror roared through him. He sucked in a gasp and icy-cold water poured into his lungs.

Christ. He was going to drown and he didn’t even know what the fuck had him.

Focus, Patrick. Focus.

A wave of powerful calm rolled through him, quelling his crippling fear. He kicked out, his foot and shin striking something dense and solid below his waist, his trapped leg thumping what felt like a body.

The water churned around him in angry agitation. Became hot. Hotter.

He lashed out, picturing his foot smashing against whatever held him.

Something pierced his knee. Nails? Claws? Teeth? A surge of absolute rage ripped through him, hotter than the heavy water pressing against him. He kicked again, the unformed image of his assailant shuddering with the savage force of his blow.

Christ! He needed air! He needed to breathe!

Another kick. Another mental attack.

The hands on his ankle and knee slipped. The water displaced around him, a sudden surge of icy temperature engulfing him from below. He struck out again, dragging his arms through the water, pulling himself toward the surface even as he attacked whatever held him. Picturing its unseen form reeling from each delivered kick.

Air! I need—

He drove his free leg downward, his heel striking something solid and fluid at once.

Another violent surge of icy water rushed past him and suddenly he was