“I’ll take point with Riley.” Doyle hooked on his own tanks. “Annika and Sawyer on their six. As soon as everyone’s on board, we head back.” He looked at Bran. “For Christ’s sake, don’t drop that thing.”

He jumped into the pool, and when Riley followed suit, did a surface dive and was gone.

Bran gave Sasha’s hand a squeeze. “Ready?”

“We have to be.”

“I’m with you.” Holding the shielded star close to his side, he went in the water with her.

Sasha swam away from the light, but looked back toward it twice until she saw Sawyer, then Annika, iridescent tail flashing, coming behind them.

She pushed herself, quickening her strokes so Bran wouldn’t have to slow his own to keep pace with her.

Away from the cave and the light she got a better sense of just how far and deep she’d traveled. Fresh concern for Sawyer had her turning to look back.

Something flashed toward her, sharp teeth gleaming like silver, eyes glowing virulent yellow. Defenseless, she could do nothing but try to evade. Bran swept a hand through the water. She felt the power of the current even as what came at them—and what came with him—spun away.

When Bran gestured for her to go up, to surface, she shook her head. She saw both Riley and Doyle slashing at oncoming beasts with their diving knives. She wouldn’t desert friends.

She prepared to fight, bare-handed, saw Sawyer slam his knife into the belly of what looked like a small shark with a massive maw. Annika’s tail slashed out, swept a line of them away with a force that turned them to oily black smudges on the water.

Something hit her like a battering ram in the back, sent her tumbling helplessly in the water. Three circled her, maws wide, teeth gleaming. She punched out, kicked out, adrenaline screaming through her as her fist seemed to sink into the spongy ooze of their bodies.

Lightning struck; their bodies exploded.

Annika streaked by, tail slashing attackers, as she pulled Sawyer with her.

Bran wrapped one arm around Sasha, and rode the lightning to the surface. He all but shoved her up the ladder onto the boat where Sawyer leaned over the rail coughing up water.

“Annika,” he managed. “She went back. Riley. Doyle.”

Before Sasha understood, Bran pushed the star into her hand, and plunged back into the water.

“No!”

“Stop.” Though he staggered a bit, Sawyer grabbed her arm before she could go over the side. “Take the star into the wheelhouse. Keep under cover as much as you can. I need a fucking tank.”

He unhooked hers, would have put it on, but Riley surfaced, gripped the ladder. Setting the tank aside, Sawyer leaned over to help pull her up.

“How bad?” he demanded.

“Bran blasted some of them. If he hadn’t—” As Sawyer had for her, she reached down, grasped Doyle’s arm.

“Bran. Annika.” Clutching the star, Sasha ran to the side of the boat.

“Right behind me. Find something to hold on to,” Doyle warned them. “We’re getting out of here fast.”

Lightning snapped out of the water, and Bran with it. Even as he pulled himself up, Annika flew up, the powerful sweep of her tail shooting off light. In midair, she flipped to the boat, landed on her hands, then just tumbled to the deck.

“She’s bleeding.” Sawyer dropped to his knees beside her.

“Who isn’t?” Riley demanded, but she lowered as well. “How bad is it?” she asked Annika.

“Not very bad. Not like before. But . . .” Her eyes widened, and she pointed toward the sky. “Look!”

More came, like a swarm of wasps.

Doyle started the engines, pushed them for top speed. As they bulleted over the water, Sawyer shook his head. “Not going to be fast enough.”

“Go, up front with Doyle.” Bran pushed Sasha forward.

“We’re not going to outrun them in this.” Accepting, Riley gripped her knife.

“Yeah, we can. Maybe,” Sawyer added as he pulled out the compass. “Stay down,” he told Annika, braced himself against her. “Everybody hold the hell on.”

Sasha turned into Bran, holding the star between them. Held tight as Sawyer reeled off a series of numbers.

It was like being pushed through space, so fast it stole the breath. Her legs buckled; her head spun as the world whirled around her.

Then she was falling, as if from a great height, to land with a rattling thump that would have knocked her down if Bran hadn’t held her.

“Son of a bitch, it worked!” Sawyer gave the compass a loud kiss. “Son of a bitch!”

“We’re back at the villa.” Riley cradled a wounded arm. “And we’re still in the freaking boat.”

They stood, all six, on the deck of the boat. And the boat moored on the lawn between villa and seawall. Apollo ran circles around it, barking joyfully.

“I’ve never shifted that many people.” Sawyer shrugged. “I figured we’d just try for the whole deal. We’ll worry about it later.”

“We’re still in the freaking boat,” Riley repeated.

“And it won’t take her long to send them after us again,” Doyle pointed out. “We need to get the star inside, and get ready for a fight.”

“Please take it.” Sasha held the star out to Bran. “It’s safest with you. We need to dress the wounds. I remember what to get.”

“Longitude and latitude, right?” Riley hoisted herself off the boat. “The numbers you said before you took us on the ride.”

“Yeah. Always have the coordinates of home base right here.” Sawyer tapped his temple.

“The whole freaking boat,” she said again and, clutching her bleeding arm, started for the villa.

Doyle jumped off the side, looked at Bran. “You’re sure about your plan for the star?”

“As sure as I can be. I’ll need some time for it. And need some time to call a storm. One that will knock her back, give us a clear path to go. Wherever we need to go.”

“When you’re ready, we’ll hold them off for you.”

“Us,” Sasha corrected. “I’ll be with him. I saw it,” she said before Bran could argue. “I painted it. I lived it.”

She turned toward the terrace steps. “It’s not negotiable.”

Rather than argue, he took the star inside. He’d do what he needed to do when the time came to do it.

Alone.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sasha wondered if tending wounds would ever become routine. Would she become so used to blood and gouged flesh that the sight, the smell, the feel of it would no longer cause her stomach to tighten, her pulse to quicken?

She knew what to do—some was simply instinct, but Bran was a good teacher. She cleaned the gash on Riley’s arm first, judged under normal circumstances the wound would require at least a dozen stitches. Calmly she coated the gash with Bran’s salve while Bran worked on Sawyer, and Doyle kept watch, sword at the ready now, at the doorway.

“She won’t send them yet, or come.” As she spoke, Sasha added drops to a glass of water, handed it to Riley. “Drink it all.”

“Coming at us when we’re bleeding gives her an advantage.”

“Expecting her to come at us when we’re bleeding negates the advantage. And we confused her,” Sasha added. “Or Sawyer did. We vanished, boat and all. She has to think about that. And she’s very angry. We have the star. Our finding it was one thing, but she wasn’t able to snatch it right out of our hands as she thought she would.”

She began to tend to Riley’s other wounds—all minor when compared to the gash—and realized everyone had stopped to look at her.

“How do you know?” Doyle demanded.

“I don’t know, but I do. I can feel her rage. And . . . she hasn’t been able, yet, to break through the shield Bran put around the house. I think she will, but not when she’s blind with anger. We have a little time.”

“You’ve connected with her. You’ve opened enough to make that connection. Be careful, fáidh,” Bran warned. “As she may feel, as you do, and do the same with you.”