Page 138 of In Violent Waves

“Frigid,” he ground out.

Wilder urged her further, and when the water caressed her toes, she closed her eyes. It was arctic but also lovely. She inhaled big gulps of briny sea air and tilted her face to the cloudy sky. He stood behind and wrapped her in his arms.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

Lyra leaned against him and rested her hands on his.

“I will be. Are you okay?”

She could feel him nod and then press his head to the side of hers.

“I will be too.”

The water rushed up higher on her bare feet, reaching up to her ankles. The familiar feel sent a shiver that spasmed through her body.

“Are you really going to go swimming?” he asked, shivering alongside her.

“Mhm,” she murmured. “And you’re coming with me.” Grabbing hold of his arms, she pulled him with her and splashed deeper into the waves.

“Lyra!”

She laughed at the frozen look of horror on his face.

“It’s cold!”

Lyra splashed him, and his eyes darkened further, and he took a step towards her and then another, with his arms outstretched.

“Don’t even think about it,” she replied, retreating a step.

A larger wave caught her off guard and slammed against her back, knocking her off her feet, but the frigid water took her breath away. Her dress was soaked, her braid wet from the crown to the end.

Wilder laughed so hard he clutched at his ribs. Lyra flung herself at him, and they fell together into the surf. Water surged around them, and he spluttered, cradling her to his chest.

“That was unnecessary,” he drawled, but a smile stretched his lips wide.

“Now you’re cold and wet too,” she replied, looking up at him beneath lowered lashes.

Wilder pulled them to their feet, and they stood firm against another wave that crashed around them.

“Feel better?” he asked.

Lyra nodded and then shivered. She was better, much better.

Wilder lowered his head to her, and she raised her chin.

When their lips met, she felt a familiar warmth spear through her, chasing away the chill of the water.

Wilder led them to a small pond near the cottage to catch their dinner. Lyra didn’t have the heart to tell him that this was second nature to her and that they didn’t need the pole.

She had swapped her cotton gown for another, similar one she had found at the bottom of the trunk. This one was a dark gray that had a hem of ruffles.

Wilder wore a dry white tunic and linen pants. Every so often, when the light hit him just right, Lyra could’ve sworn she’d seen red crisscrossing his back.

“What do you think?” Wilder asked, as they crept through a hedgerow and the pond appeared, flanked by large willows and fragrant cedars.

“It’s nice,” she replied. “And there are fish here?”

Wilder nodded. “There used to be quite a bit. But I haven’t been here in ages, so I’m sure the occupants have multiplied greatly.”