BAM.
Another punch from below. The force hurtled him to the surface. He lashed wildly, twisting to defend himself.
In the shadowed depths beneath him, a monster slid into sight. Broad white snout, massive pale sides, a flat, dark gash of a
mouth . . .
Another shark.
Holy shit.
The thing was huge, twice his size. Panic stabbed his chest. His heart hammered. His ribs throbbed.
Flight or fight? His shark self screamed for blood. But he was battered, bruised, afraid. In open sea, the monster shark
would certainly outswim him. Maybe, if he could make it to the island, he could lose himself in the rocks?
Zack dived.
The other shark glided to intercept him. Zack switched course, but his pursuer changed direction, too, anticipating his
moves. He braced for another blow.
But instead of striking with its snout, this time the monster merely brushed him, bumping his side. Zack bunched his body,
whipped his tail to get away.
The shark circled after him, its movements graceful, almost lazy in the clear black water. Zack plunged and zipped, back
and forth, making another run for the rocks. The shark cut him off with a second warning bump. Abandoning his plan, Zack
fled.
Water streamed. Fish scattered. The monster pursued, moving occasionally to bump or block him.
He was being driven. Herded, Zack realized, with the portion of his brain that still functioned in his terror. Forced in the
direction of World‟s End.
His body was stretched, his strength depleted. His sides hurt. He couldn‟t concentrate. His mind darted behind, ahead. If he
could reach the cove, the shallow water might save him.
In a last burst of hope and energy, he drove himself at the shore. Waves churned. His belly scraped bottom. With luck, the
monster behind him would beach itself on the rocks.
Frantically, he flailed and felt his limbs pop and change, felt his skin shrink and wrinkle, felt his tortured lungs expand. His
mouth gaped as the surf foamed around him, as the cold air struck his shivering back, his starving lungs. He was naked.
Vulnerable. Human. If the shark caught him now . . .
He clawed his way up the beach on numb knees and frozen hands, desperate to get up, get out, get away from the rush of
the water.
He collapsed for a moment, his cheek pressed to the sand, the webbing melting from between his fingers, his face wet with
salt and tears and terror. Must breathe. Must move. Summoning his last strength, he crawled to his discarded clothes. Stared,
dumbfounded, at the pile on the sand.
That wasn‟t his shirt. Those weren‟t his shoes.
“You must not go into the water,” Morgan said behind him, “until you have learned to defend yourself.”
13
HIS SON SPRAWLED, BEACHED, BLINKING, NAKED on the sand. No longer shark, but human.
The fear and temper that had driven Morgan to herd the boy ashore threatened to explode in all too human ways now they
were on land. He clenched his fists, willing them to subside.
The boy was back and safe for now.
He strode out of the surf. “Get up.”
Zachary spat. “Get away from me.”
Not an auspicious beginning to the discussion they must have.
Perhaps he had been rough on the boy, but the threat, and his own pumping terror, had taken him by surprise.
“Are you all right?” Morgan asked.
Zachary curled to a sitting position, covering himself. “Leave me alone.”
Morgan‟s eyes narrowed. The boy appeared unharmed. Bruised, embarrassed, angry, but unharmed. But there had been a
definite taint of demon in the water where he found him. The children of the sea were immortal, but they could still be killed.