Sasha lifted her shoulders, let them fall. “I would. It’s been . . . a day.”

“Finding the second star should put a smile in your eyes instead of sorrow.”

“A year ago I was still denying what I was. I knew nothing of any of you, of gods—dark or bright. I’d never harmed anyone, much less . . .”

“What you fought and killed wasn’t anyone. They were things created by Nerezza to destroy.”

“There were people, too, Doyle. Humans.”

“Mercenaries, paid by Malmon to kill us, or worse. Have you forgotten what they did to Sawyer and Annika in the cave?”

“No.” Sasha hugged her arms tight against the quick chill. “I’ll never forget. And I’ll never understand how human beings would torture and try to kill for money. Why they’d kill or die for profit. But she does. Nerezza does. She knows that kind of greed, that blind lust for power. And I understand that’s what we’re fighting. Malmon, he traded everything for it. She took his soul, his humanity, and now he’s a thing. Her creature. She’d do the same to all of us.”

“But she won’t. She won’t because we won’t give her anything. We hurt her today. She’s the one wounded and bleeding tonight. I’ve searched for the stars, hunted her for more years than you can know. I got close, or thought I did. But close means nothing.”

He took another long pull from his beer. “I don’t like using fate or destiny as reasons or excuses, but the hard fact is we six are together, are meant to be. Are meant to find the Stars of Fortune and end Nerezza. You feel more than others. That’s your gift, and your curse, to see and to feel. And without that gift we wouldn’t be standing here. It doesn’t hurt that you can shoot a crossbow as if born with the bow in one hand and a bolt in the other.”

“Who’d have thought?” She sighed, a pretty woman with long, sunwashed hair and deep blue eyes. One who’d gained muscle and strength, inside and out, over the last weeks. “I feel your heartache. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll deal with it.”

“I know you were meant to be here, to walk this land again, to look out at this sea. And not just for the quest for the stars, not just for the fight against Nerezza. Maybe—I’m not sure—but maybe it’s for solace.”

Doyle shut down—that was survival. “What was here for me was long ago.”

“And still,” she murmured, “the coming here tonight is harder on you, and the getting here tonight was hardest on Riley.”

“Considering we’d just fought off a god and her murderous minions, it wasn’t a ride on a carousel for any of us. All right,” he said at Sasha’s quiet look, “rough on her.”

He put the empty beer bottle in the pocket of his scarred leather coat, hauled up suitcases. “She’ll run it off, and be back by morning. Grab what you can, and I’ll get the rest. We both know you’d be more help to Bran with the injuries.”

She didn’t argue, and he noted that she limped a bit. To settle it, he set the bags down inside, plucked her up.

“Hey.”

“Easier than arguing. Is the house big enough for you?”

They passed wide archways and the rooms beyond them. Deep, rich colors, simmering fires in hearths, glinting lights, gleaming wood.

“It’s magnificent. It’s huge.”

“I’d say the two of you will have to make a lot of babies to fill it.”

“I—”

“That got you thinking.”

She’d yet to regain speech when he carried her into the kitchen. There, Sawyer, looking a little less pale, sat on a stool at a long slate-gray counter while Bran treated the burns on his hands.

Annika, who managed to look gorgeous despite the cuts, the bruises, earnestly sautéed chicken in an enormous frying pan at what Sasha recognized as a professional-grade six-burner range.

“Okay, now you want to—” Sawyer broke off, hissed as Bran hit a fresh point of pain.

“I take the chicken out, and put the vegetables in. I can do it,” Annika insisted. “Let Bran work.”

“I’ll help.” Sasha poked Doyle in the shoulder. “Put me down.”

The order had Bran turning, and moving quickly toward her. “What is it? Where is she hurt?”

“I’m not—”

“She’s limping some. Right leg.”

“It’s just—”

“Put her down there, beside Sawyer.”

“It’s just sore. Finish with Sawyer. I’ll help Annika, and—”

“I can do it!” Clearly frustrated, Annika dumped chicken on a platter. “I like to learn. I learned. I cook the chicken in the garlic and the oil, with the herbs. I cook the vegetables. I make the rice.”

“You’re pissing off the mermaid,” Doyle said, and dumped Sasha on a stool. “Smells good, Gorgeous.”

“Thank you. Sasha, you could tend to Bran’s wounds while he tends to yours and Sawyer’s. Then he can tend to mine. And we can eat because Sawyer needs to eat. He’s hurt, and he’s weak from . . .”

Her eyes filled, glistening green pools, before she turned quickly back to the range.

“Anni, don’t. I’m okay.”