Silas and the first unit of wolves—the ones supposed to 'secure' the area off Demons Tangle—set off about fifteen minutes or so before the vehicles arrive that will carry Sean and me. I half-expected that Ian and Darby would also go—Ian at the very least—but both declined on the pretense that they were going to catch up with Ivan and Kasey. With the excuse that this is nothing more than a field excursion.
Which it's not, but I sort of understand.
While Darby has some skills that I'll never have and others that I'll never match even if I live as long as she has, this situation—this is happening in my element. Water in its various forms is in my dominion and as such, I'm technically the girl for this job.
It still always feels like I'm standing in a downright immense shadow having her as a sister.
As for Ian, he likely does genuinely want to visit with Ivan since they grew up together in Candlewood and, as I understand, are quite good friends. I also think he's trying to hang in the wings and let Silas primarily, but also Sean, take point on this investigation. Maybe particularly because it's in Desert territory, but a lot too because he's fanatically protective of Darby after everything that happened in Candlewood.
Which is laughable really. Since after what happened in Candlewood, wolves, vampires and witches are scared of what Darby can do. Humans would be too if they knew we existed.
Turns out that the impacted development off the Demons Tangle actually sits in a low-lying area beyond the rocky head that wasn't visible on our drive into the valley where the Desert packhouse and its surrounding community rests. As such, the drive takes no time at all, though it is steep and feels quite isolated.
A lot like another circumstance I remember all too clearly.
The damage is most obvious closest to the waterfront. Most of the houses there have been leveled to the foundations, some of them more than once if I'm any judge. Their remnants are cast about in piles all over the streets and the rest of the neighborhood, and there's a substantial build-up of similar debris along the shore—a soggy collection of lighter materials that was originally carried out when the water receded and has since washed up again. A few parts of sturdier brick structures still stand and it takes me a minute to figure out that they're all that's survived of the older stone break water.
A few gulls and other shore birds pick through the rubble, capitalizing on the ruined food and the dead and dying sea animals that were caught up during the unfortunate event. As we ease our way through, much of it has been cleared off what remains of the streets using bulldozers and stands in high piles, tongues of pale sand visible in between.
"Sweet Arianrhod," Sean breathes. "It's as horrific as Candlewood was."
That's not entirely true, but it's not far off. In Candlewood, we lost almost four hundred people and wolves three years ago. All told, here, there were only eighty-four.
This time.
The Moon goddess knows how many of them were lost in total from all these incidents. I genuinely hope they were actually lost and not something worse.
Towards one end of the main thoroughfare through this neighborhood, there's a dilapidated vestige of an old lighthouse, and our driver steers towards it. Beyond the parked vehicles from Silas' party of wolves, amid the piles of rubble I spy a few ruined nets and a couple mangled kayaks. The vehicle we're in has barely stopped when Sean leaps out of it and dashes around the back to my side to open my door.
"This place smells like wide open ass," he mutters as Silas draws closer. Offering me his hand, he pulls me out of the vehicle and guides me around the rubble.
"Well, you're not wrong," I reply, dragging my shirt collar up over my nose to stifle some of the stench. The fine hairs at the back of my neck lift as my senses switch to high alert. I was right. I can't doubt myself any longer.
Once we're out of the worst of the debris, I release him, then make my way onto the foundation of the former lighthouse. Several feet out into the water, there are rotting support posts for the small boat docks and short piers, but the ones that catch my eye are the ones that are shorn off—broken clearly—by something powerful and heavy.
"Sandy?"
"The house is this way," Silas adds.
"Just a second, please."
Lithe and agile, Sean half-jogs half-bounds up onto the bygone foundation beside me. "What is it you're looking for?"
It's not a thing I find with my physical senses though—it's a feeling, an instinct, and it's ringing loud and clear. Lifting an arm, I point out to sea. Despite the high tide, a low line of something dark and jagged rises above the water. "There." Instinctively, I know it must be the Demons Tangle and that it's a reef. I shudder in revulsion.
"Demons Tangle. It actually spans as far as you can see both directions from here." Silas confirms, then makes a sweeping gesture with one arm from one side of the visible vista to the other. "Beyond the Tangle, the seafloor drops off steeply. I have soundings from that area, and detailed maps, but the parts along and in the shoals," he shakes his head, "not so much."
"That's the part that would have been most dangerous for ships," and therefore safest for what I'm seeking, I think without saying. "It's why they built a lighthouse here. That's where I'll need to go next."
"Excuse me?" Stepping in front of me, Sean stares down at my face in astonishment. "You're most certainly not going out there. Especially not if you think that what you think is down there is down there."
My eyes narrow and I peer up at him, slightly confused and moderately annoyed. "There's no one else who can, Sean."
"I could."
We all whirl at the male voice that rings loud over the lap of the waves and the ocean noises. Kicking a broken lobster trap out of the way, Dorian McEttigan slogs through the heavy water and slippery sand onto the shore, bare-chested and dripping and rising out of the sea like a youthful Neptune. A dive tank is strapped to his back and his swim fins, second stage regulator and diving mask are clutched in one hand.
And he's goddamned breathtaking.
A vicious scowl darkens Silas' handsome features and he starts towards the newcomer with a snarl. "You were told—."
"I was told I couldn't be part of your little meeting," Dorian states flatly, refusing to back down. Dropping his gear to the sand, he works efficiently at the various straps and buckles on his SCUBA apparatus, removing it.
When he runs his fingers through the sopping waves of his hair, pushing it out of his line of sight to stare down his half-brother, I think I might actually swoon. "You forget that I lived here, Silas. The house I grew up in—my house—is barely twenty or so yards that way."
Storming towards his brother's side, Sean states, "This area's been declared—."
"Not the first time for that either," Dorian interjects with a bored tone but his golden eyes flash a rage equal to the one in Silas' and Sean's. "I've been diving off these shores since I was old enough to carry a compressed air tank. Your disaster zone declaration doesn't extend to the water and the sole reason I surfaced is because I saw her stupidạss standing visible out there."
Sean visibly bristles when Dorian points to me without so much as glancing my direction. The most obvious place he might have seen me from underwater is when I was standing on the destroyed lighthouse's foundation, and I wasn't there very long. Yet he emerged behind us, another ten meters away within seconds after. A sudden wave of aversion washes over me. One that I can't account for at all and it both piques my curiosity and fills me with fear.
"Whether you like it or not, I can help you," Dorian barks angrily. "Brother or no, Alpha or no, if you're not going to let me help, then I'll investigate on my own the same way I always have and my mother did before me. And in case you forgot, there's nothing you can do to stop me."