Forgotten Sea by Virginia Kantra Page B

place?”
    “A school. A private boarding school.”
    “For what? Wayward girls and boys? The criminally insane?”
    “Nephilim.”
    He forced his gaze from the pale swell of her breasts.
    “Neff . . .”
    “Neh-fill-eem,” she pronounced carefully.
    He tested the word against the echoes of his dreams like a man dropping a stone into a well to test for depth. But there was no ripple, no memory, nothing.
    “What’s that, like a cult?”
    “The Fallen children of air.” She searched his eyes. “You really don’t remember? Anything?”
    When she looked at him like that, with those clear, dark-lashed eyes, he wanted to say yes. To a drink in a bar, to a ride in her car, to sex on her narrow white bed . . .
    “Justin?”
    “I remember the sea,” he said. 
    The sea and a sense of loss.
    “That’s it?”
    “A dog.” A flash of memory, tall as a wolf, graceful as a deer, with a thin whip of a tail and a narrow, bearded muzzle. Justin smiled. “I remember a dog.”
    Lara frowned, apparently not amused. Or satisfied. “What about your life before you went to sea? Your family? Your childhood?”
    Fatigue and pain and the echo of Zayin’s voice, prying, sliding into his dreams, needled his temper. But Lara was his only ally. His only hope.
    “I don’t have a family.” Or want one. He didn’t want to be tied down. Tied up, drifting in the cold green sea, everything gone, lost . . . “I don’t remember my childhood. I don’t remember much of anything before seven years ago.”
    Except in his dreams . . .
    “What happened seven years ago?”
    “Shipwreck.” Beneath the towel, she was naked. He forced his gaze up to meet her eyes. “I was the only survivor. Norwegian freighter captain found me tied to a mast and fished me out of the North Sea.”
    “And since then?”
    He grinned. “Sweetheart, I’d be happy to tell  you the story of my life some other time. Right now, I just want to get the hell out of here.”
    “You can’t leave.”
    He looked her up and down. “You going to try and stop me?”
     “N-no,” she said slowly.
    “Good. I need your help.”
    “I can’t—”
    “A car.” He interrupted before she had the chance to say no. “I figure you owe me a lift.”
    “Where are you going?”
    An island, its green hills forming a jagged cup around the shining sea, its ancient stones imbued with power . . .
    “Anywhere there’s water,” he said firmly. “A shipyard, a marina. I’ve got contacts, I can get a berth.”
    He needed to be at sea. Assuming he could find a boat captain willing to hire a crew member with a broken skull and a hex burning around his throat.
    She shook her head, her damp hair sliding like water over her bare shoulders. “It’s too dangerous.”
    “I’ll be okay. I’ve had practice flying under the radar.”
    “You have very good shields.”
    He had no idea what she was talking about. “I have very good papers.”
    “Papers?”
    He shot her a grin. “The best money can buy. No memory, remember? No birth certificate, no social security number.”
    Her gray eyes were clear and solemn. “It can’t have been easy creating an identity on your own.”
    “You do what you need to do to survive.” He wasn’t proud of it. When he jumped ship on the New Jersey docks, he’d been a kid, exact age unknown, without money, education, or prospects. For a couple of years, he’d done any work that was offered, legal or not. “Anyway, as long as the police aren’t searching for me, I’m good to go.”
    “Not police. But there could be . . . people looking for you.”
    He didn’t like that ominous little pause.
    “Why?”
    “Because of who you are.” She moistened her lips. “What you are. What you did during that fight.”
    Fuck. “Did I kill somebody?”
    He couldn’t go to jail. Being locked up again would kill him.
    She shook her head, her gaze dropping to her lap.
    He got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “So, these guys who are after me .