All that was beneath her was sand. Ordinary, shallow water. Broken shell fragments. Pebbles. Seaweed.
Dismay tore through Alice as she wrenched herself free from Ian. The pearl clenched in her hand, she scrambled to her feet and checked the sky. It was still blood red, and the turquoise moon was still full, but there were no more clouds. It was a crystal clear night with millions of stars, and no way to access the Mageaan.
"No, no, no," she whispered, frantically searching the sky. "It can't be over. It can't be." This night, the opportunity to enter the Mageaan kingdom by an outsider was a rare occurrence, one that came with little warning under the blood red sky.
"The woman was naked in your arms, and yet she's more interested in shooting stars than you," a deep male voice said, jerking her attention back to the present. "There's no way you can claim she's yours, Fitz."
Alice jerked her gaze off the night sky and looked around. Aside from Ian, who was still in the water behind her, two other warriors were standing on the edge of the beach, watching her intently. Both of them were tall and heavily muscled, but the one on the right looked like death himself. His eyes were a turbulent black, his face angular and furious, his fists clenched as if it was all he could do not to erupt into a murderous rage. Thick black brands slashed across his forearms in the shape of a machete, and she knew he was the one who'd helped them. He was also the one that she'd sensed so much evil in, the man Ian had called Ry.
The other one was less readable. His light brown hair was tousled, and his jaw was chiseled. He was almost as large as Ry, but there was a litheness in his stance that made her half-expect to see him turn into a wild cat and leap a hundred feet onto one of the massive black rocks rising out of the coastal waters. His eyes were dark, but there was a faint green tint around his pupils. A green tint that reminded her of Flynn Shapiro, her best friend and the last person to kill her.
"Alice," Ian rasped out, his voice raw with agony.
She turned quickly to see him on his hands and knees in the water. His head was bent, hanging toward the ground, and his muscles were flexed, as if he were in great pain. His hair was drenched flat against his head, showcasing the angular lines of his skull.
Her heart tightened, and she had to force herself not to run to him. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Of course." He suddenly lurched to his feet, staggering as if it had taken supreme effort to pull himself upright. He faced her and stripped off his tee shirt, still swaying as he fought a battle she couldn't see. With a muttered curse, he thrust the shirt toward her. "Put this on," he ordered her. "Now."
For a split second, she was too shocked by the sight of him to respond. In the water, she'd been fighting for her life, almost dead, desperate to breathe. She hadn't had time to notice him, to really see him, but now... Dear God...to call him a specimen wouldn't even begin to do him justice.
Stripped bare to the waist, the strength of his frame was undeniable. He was so chiseled it was as if a sculptor had carved every muscle in great detail. Unlike Ry and the other male, Ian wasn't a bulky mass of muscle. He was wiry and cut, making every curve of each muscle strain against his skin. His shoulders were broad, but he was so fit he seemed to be only bone and steel cords of muscle. A smattering of hair across his chest, and an eight-pack of abs across his stomach were untamed male perfection. Desire leapt through her, hot, throbbing need for the man walking toward her. She swallowed, her pulse pounding in her throat as she watched him approach, each step he took making her body clench in anticipation.
He reached her, and for a long moment, neither of them moved. All she could do was stare into the brown eyes that had haunted her all those days she'd been in demon hands. She'd been so confused, in so much pain, that her mind had barely been able to process what was going on. All she knew was that those intense eyes had provided comfort and