“A lycan president.”

“We could do a hell of a lot worse.”

“And likely have.”

“Definitely have,” she said with a grin. “But hey, three nights a month, a lycan couldn’t answer that three a.m. phone call, so no-go there.”

“And a Secret Service code name ‘Furry’ lacks dignity.”

Very deliberately, she tipped down her sunglasses, peered at him over them. “You made a joke.”

“I considered a career in comedy.”

“And two for two. I have to circle this day on my calendar.”

The way her eyes danced with humor, so gold in the sunlight, made him want to touch her. Just touch her hair, her skin.

He started to lift his hand to do just that when with a shimmer and a shudder of air the others appeared on the boat, and saved him from what he realized would have been a grave mistake.

“Dead-Eye strikes again,” Riley said. “Perfect landing.”

“Practice makes perfect.” Sawyer glanced around. “You picked a good spot.”

“I thought so. Settle in, friends and neighbors.” Riley turned back to the wheel. “Where to, Anni?”

“Oh.” Annika managed to look sexy even in one of the macs borrowed from Bran’s mudroom. “If you sail as if we were going back to Bran’s, I’ll tell you when to stop.”

“Good enough. Enjoy the balmy breezes while you can.”

“You call this balmy?” As Riley steered the boat out of the cove, Sasha huddled beside Bran.

“Compared to what it’s going to be like under the water? This is damn near tropical.”

CHAPTER NINE

Even with wetsuits, the Atlantic shivered in, and it swallowed the sun. Riley, armed as Sawyer was with an underwater pistol, switched on the headlamp on her balaclava so its beam cut through the dank gloom of the water.

They swam in pairs, Annika and Sawyer in the lead—with Annika turning somersaults before she swam ahead. Sasha and Bran followed, and Riley couldn’t complain when Bran circled a hand in the water, added light with a swirl. She took flank with Doyle.

They all knew what could streak out of the sea, if Nerezza had the strength for it. Mutant sharks and toothy fish thirsting for blood. Both Doyle and Sasha carried harpoons.

And look at her go, Riley thought, watching Sasha cut through the water, remembering how nervous the novice diver had been on their first dive off the coast of Corfu.

She learned fast. They’d all had to shore up personal weaknesses on this quest. Maybe that was part of the whole, she mused, turning weakness into strength, and for all, learning to trust enough to become that clan.

She watched a school of mackerel—just ordinary fish—head away from them, followed Bran’s silvery light toward the mouth of a cave. In front of it, Annika executed a graceful turn, waved, then slid inside.

Singly now through the narrows, and again two by two when the channel widened. Then spreading out to search for . . . something, Riley thought. A glow, a sparkle, a feeling, anything that would lead the way to the last star, the Ice Star.

Cold enough for it—that thought crossed her mind. With the patience of her calling, she searched the underwater cave inch by inch, using her eyes, her gloved fingers, doing all she could to keep her mind and instincts wide open.

But she nodded when Sawyer tapped his wrist, once again took flank with Doyle for the return trip to the boat.

When Riley hauled herself out of the water, she saw Bran holding Sasha close, laying a serious kiss on her.

“Oh, God, that’s wonderful. I’m warm again.”

“Magick mouth?”

Bran laughed over at Riley as she dripped frigid water onto the deck. “Just a personal benefit.” He took Riley’s arms, squeezed lightly. And warmth flooded her.

“Excellent, even without the lip-lock.”

He moved to Annika.

“I like kissing,” she told him, and brushed her lips to his. “And I like warm.”

Bran slapped both Sawyer and Doyle on the shoulder. “No point in any of us shivering our way through this. “Anything, fáidh?”

“No, sorry. It’s so different from where we’ve been before. All so shadowy and stark in a way. But I didn’t feel anything. Anyone?”

“I felt good,” Annika told her. “But there’s no singing, like there was for me with the Water Star.”

“Up for round two?” Riley asked.

Sasha turned her back to Bran so he could help her change tanks. “It’s what we’re here for.”

The second dive of the day gave them no more than the first. In Riley’s book that meant two locations checked off.

Routine, Riley told herself when they secured the boat below the cliffs of Bran’s house. Part, an important part, of discovery was routine.

They took the easy way—Sawyer’s way—back to the house. And she folded herself into routine by scarfing down leftover pizza, closing herself in with her books.

The rain came back in the night, lashing rain with grumbling thunder that echoed off the sea. The storm woke her from a dream she couldn’t quite pull back. And with the crashing waves, whirl of wind, she doubted she’d pull back sleep either.

She dragged on a sweatshirt, flannel pants. She wanted to see the storm boil over the sea and cliffs so slipped out of her room, walked quietly down to the sitting room that faced the Atlantic.

Glorious, she thought as she opened the doors. It flashed and burned, whipped and snapped so the wind screamed with it. Like a banshee, she decided, since it was Ireland.