Azure (Drowning In You) Read online

  AZURE (Drowning in You)

  A New Adult contemporary romance with a smidge of paranormal

  by Chrystalla Thoma

  A terrible mistake haunts college student Olivia Spencer. To escape the past, she travels to the Mediterranean island of Crete, hoping for the courage to start anew.

  By the sea, she meets sexy and enigmatic Kai. But there’s more to Kai than meets the eye — and nobody wants to talk about it. The locals shun him, accusing him of magic. Kai, apparently, belongs to the sea, no matter how crazy that sounds.

  Kai isn’t free to be with her or live his own life, and this is how he will stay, unless Olivia can break his curse and save him — in doing so atoning for those she failed in the past.

  AZURE: The color of the clear, cloudless sky.

  Etymology: Middle English asur, from Anglo-French azeure, probably from Old Spanish, modification of Arabic lazaward, from Persian lazhuward (lapis lazuli).

  Azure (Drowning In You) © Copyright 2013 by Chrystalla Thoma

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover design by Chrystalla Thoma

  Dedication

  To Barbara and Dieter — for being the most amazing friends

  Acknowledgments

  Heartfelt thanks to Arlene Webb for her help with this story and to Barbara Peterke for checking the German in the text.

  Also, a huge thank you to all the people in my two critique groups for their constant support and great suggestions. Any errors in the story are of course solely mine.

  Author note: Scroll to the end for the hyperlinked table of contents, a note on the background of the story, a translation of Greek and German words in the text, and other links.

  Greece (and Crete) in the world

  CHAPTER ONE

  What is past is prologue.

  Shakespeare

  If life is a story, the words drip blood between the lines.

  Myra Crow

  End of summer. The air shimmered with golden sunset light, and the beach stretched on either side, the sand made of colorful gems; shell shards and pebbles.

  Olivia drew a deep breath of humid air, inhaling the salty scent of the Cretan sea, and wished she could feel happy. She was supposed to. That was what this trip was all about.

  She fingered the ring hanging from the chain around her neck, then realized she was doing it and dropped her hand to the sand. Old habits — okay, half-year old habits were hard to break. She was used to the ring, used to its slight weight around her neck, although she hadn’t thought of it as anything important. It was simply familiar.

  The sand was warm, but when she buried her fingers in it, she felt its deeper coolness. Her fingers encountered something smooth and cold, and she yelped, drawing her hand to her chest. She looked down.

  A pebble. Olivia snorted to herself and picked it up. Oval and translucent, like a large fish scale with a convenient little hole on top.

  It begged to become a pendant. It was as if the sea had thrown it out just for her.

  New beginnings.

  She hesitated for a second, then unclasped her chain and removed the ring Justin had bought her. Holding it in the palm of her hand, she weighed it and found its importance even slighter than its material worth. She never wore rings anyway.

  Goodbye, she thought, and pulling her hand back, threw it into the waves and watched them swallow it.

  An involuntary shudder went through her bones, as if she’d committed an act the enormity of which she couldn’t yet fathom, and she reached out after the ring, drawing her legs under her to rise and run into the sea, get it back.

  “Do you often chuck gold into the waves?” asked a deep voice from behind her and she gasped.

  Jesus.

  A dark-haired guy was gazing at her from his perch on a low wall. He really perched on it, crouched down, knuckles pressed in front of him as if he was about to sprint or fly away.

  “Not often, no.”

  “So what’s the occasion?”

  A new beginning, but she couldn’t say that to him, a stranger. His dark eyes watched her intently, his lashes casting long shadows on his cheekbones in the low light. His lips looked soft and full. His hair fell on his forehead, shimmering blue, the sea somehow reflected on the glossy strands.

  He cocked his head to the side, expectant. Oh, he was waiting for her reply. She tried to remember what he’d asked.

  Right, the ring. “No special occasion,” she said, her cheeks warming. “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

  “Well, someone may find your ring, and a legend will spring up about this sad girl throwing gold into the ocean. Legends breed fast on this soil.”

  “I don’t care about legends.”

  He shrugged. “Are you sure I shouldn’t get it back for you?” He nodded at her short white dress, then down at his black swim trunks. “I don’t mind getting wet. It will only take a moment.”

  “No,” she snapped. Shit. “No,” she repeated, softly. “I don’t want it back.”

  “Okay, then.” He unfolded, standing up, lean muscles rippling in his legs and chest. His arms were nicely padded and he had a swimmer’s broad shoulders. “Are you here with friends?”

  “Yes. They’re at the bar.” She waved a hand at the noise and snatches of music spilling from the bar further up on the beach. “I wanted some fresh air. And you, are you with friends?”

  “No, I... I’m alone.”

  Something in the way he said it made her look at him closer. A shadow had fallen over his eyes. Maybe it was the sun setting into the sea and the rising darkness.

  “Do you live here?” she asked.

  “Sometimes,” he said cryptically. His face had closed off, all playfulness gone. “And sometimes not.”

  Whatever that meant. Slightly annoyed, undecided whether to ask or pretend to ignore him, she clenched the smooth pebble in her hand.

  Then the decision was taken from her hands as laughter and steps on the sand alerted her to the approach by her two German friends.

  “Liv, there you are.” Kirsten and Markus came stumbling down the beach, smiling and waving their beer bottles. “We looked for you everywhere.”

  “Hey guys, I was just taking a breather.” She smiled at their flushed faces and got to her feet, brushing sand from her legs. She gestured at the low wall. “I was...” She stopped.

  The cute guy was gone. Gone, as in nowhere visible on the long stretch of the beach, now bathed red by the dying sunrays.

  “Come back to the bar. We should dance, the music is good.” Markus grabbed her hand, giving her one of his generous, huge grins. His blond hair, long to his shoulders, fluttered in the faint breeze. “You’re here to have fun.”

  “Sure.” Olivia rubbed the pebble between thumb and forefinger, her eyes following the wall toward the road. A broad-shouldered figure was hurrying up the path to the hotel. Had to be him. Why had he run? “Yeah, let’s go have fun.”

  Truth was, her heart wasn’t in it, but she hoped that, given time, she’d come around.

  ***

  The music inside the beach bar was deafening. Set on the floor, on a raised concrete platform, huge speakers blared a mixture of techno and rock music. Kirsten dragged her right into the core of the dancing crowd. The sweaty faces pressed around her were exotic, sun-kissed skin and dark locks, men with large, dark ey
es and women with wild curls.

  She wasn’t in America, or Germany. It was hard to believe she stood on the frontier between Europe, Africa and Asia, in a melting pot of civilizations, new and old. As she swayed to the rhythm, hesitantly at first, she fought to let it all in.

  Crete. Greek island in the eastern Mediterranean, north of Libya. Cradle of the Minoan civilization. Where Zorbas the Greek had been set and filmed. Where the sun shone bright every day.

  The rhythm got faster and she rocked her body along with the others, laughing when Kirsten bumped into her and then jumped in circles until Markus caught her. He was bringing another round of beer.

  Olivia rolled her eyes. Germans. She hadn’t drunk even half of her beer yet. She was a lightweight compared to them.

  Sweat poured down her face and back. Wiping a hand over her eyes, she slowed down to take a sip from her lukewarm beer, when she felt eyes on her.

  Skin prickling as if kissed by a cold breeze, she turned around and scanned the small crowd. The bar was open. White pillars supported the thatch roof and small tables stood outside, on the sand. The light had faded, and night was closing around them. Nobody seemed to be looking her way — including her friends who were so engrossed in each other they brought a bittersweet pain to her chest.

  She wasn’t supposed to be here alone. Justin should have been there, the handsome American she’d met as soon as she’d arrived in Germany on her exchange program, and her boyfriend since then. But after the fight they’d had...

  Alone. She was here alone, like the guy had said on the beach earlier.

  Ah screw it. She took a big swig of beer, nearly choking on it, and walked outside, to look at the brilliant stars. She wasn’t alone, and she couldn’t begrudge her friends their obsession with each other.

  She was here to have fun, dammit.

  The moon was up, silvering the sea and a tiny island in the Kissamos bay with the name of some obscure saint or other, a bare rock in the water. Let the past be the past, she prayed, let it release me and leave me in peace.

  Maybe an offering was in order. She tipped her bottle, poured some beer onto the sand. It was quickly swallowed up, leaving a darker stain.

  A libation. To whatever deity might be listening.

  Give me a sign Andria has forgiven me. That I won’t go to hell. That this personal brand of hell on earth will end and I can live again.

  Oh man, she was drunk, most definitely.

  Shaking her head, she sat on the concrete step of the bar and set her bottle down, then put her face in her hands.

  ***

  The pebble she’d found made a good pendant. Her chain passed neatly through its opening and now the smooth rock rested in the hollow of Olivia’s throat, cool and slightly heavier than the ring had been. Symbolic somehow, though of what she couldn’t yet tell. Change, she supposed. Transformation. She’d left home for Germany and now Crete for this precise reason, and then had managed to fall back into the black hole.

  Well, her name wasn’t Alice, and she had no need of white bunnies to show her the way out. She’d find her way.

  Sunlight poured through the hotel room, slanting through the French windows giving onto a tiny balcony. Nice, but her head still throbbed from the beer and loud music at the bar the previous night, and she’d lost one of her contact lenses on the way back to the hotel. Had she remembered to pack her glasses? Nope. Of course not. She’d packed sunscreen, books, nail polish and shampoo, but she always forgot the important stuff.

  Well, they were not far from Chania town. She’d get a taxi to the nearest optician and buy a lens. Easy.

  In fact, she couldn’t wear her one lens; the double vision made her dizzy. Still, even when blind as a bat, she knew how to navigate space. She always remembered where she left her clothes, her shoes, where the door was, the elevator, everything. Which was a good thing as she took a shower, dressed, ran a brush through her hair and hurried downstairs for breakfast.

  Entering the long dining room, she glanced around wearily at the vague outlines and blurry shapes. Someone waved at her from a table and assuming it was Kirsten or Markus she headed that way.

  She lucked out. It was them, dressed in comfortable sports shorts and tees. Wait, not beach gear?

  “Were we supposed to be going somewhere today?” She sat across from Kirsten and poured herself a cup of lukewarm coffee.

  “We were going to check out the countryside. You forgot, didn’t you?”

  “Oh crap.” She set her cup down and rubbed her thumb between her brows. “I lost a contact lens. I have to go into town to buy another pair.”

  Kirsten’s mouth turned down — at least, Olivia thought it did. From the distance across the table she couldn’t be sure. “We can go with you.”

  “No, it’s okay.” Olivia smiled at her friend. “You go. I’ll find you in the afternoon. I’ll be fine, really.” She’d have loved to have Kirsten hold her hand, in fact, because she hated blundering around blindly, but there was no way she’d ruin their day for this. It was her own fault, for coming to Crete without her glasses.

  “We’re going with you,” Kirsten said, poking Markus in the ribs. “Right? You’re feeling down, your heart is broken, and you need your friends with you.”

  Oh dear. Olivia glanced around, sure everyone was listening in to their conversation, but of course she couldn’t make out any faces. Just as well.

  “I had a friend on the long path down the shore,” Markus said.

  Olivia sent Kirsten a questioning look.

  “Don’t mind him. He’s into quoting some obscure poet they studied in contemporary literature class.”

  “Not true. I read up on Myra Crow because she died right here, in Crete,” Markus said. “And she was a dark soul representing her generation. Better than the Shakespearean stuff you keep quoting.”

  Olivia snorted. “Listen, guys...” Kirsten had held her and consoled her after the break-up, had bought her candies and made her tea. But she also made her feel like an invalid sometimes. “I’m okay, really. Look, my heart’s not broken. A little bruised maybe. I’ll survive a morning without you.”

  “Are you sure?” Markus asked, leaning forward, muscular arms resting on the table, blond hair framing his broad face.

  “Yeah.” She widened her smile. “No problem.”

  Besides, she needed to get on her own two feet, at long last.

  “Eat,” Kirsten said, giving Olivia’s empty plate a pointed look. “You’re not leaving the table until you’ve had some breakfast.”

  Yes, Mom. But Olivia couldn’t be angry. Kirsten had put her in a regime of eating and exercise that had saved her more than once from drowning in herself. It doesn’t matter if you’re not hungry, Kirsten always said. Three meals a day. You must.

  So she finished her coffee, grabbed a croissant from the breakfast buffet because she recognized the shape and bit into it, making faces at Kirsten.

  Her friends left right after breakfast, their tall, toned bodies making her feel small as always, although she was a good five foot six. Damn Vikings.

  Afterward she took the elevator back to her room, finding it by memory, glad when her key fit. You never knew. Memory was a tricky thing.

  She brushed her teeth, tamed her mane of blond hair and tied it up in a ponytail, grabbed her purse and paused.

  Being so near-sighted made her insecure. The contacts had helped a lot with her confidence, but after spending years in high school being teased for her large, thick glasses, and after a couple of blunders when she’d been without them — at the pool or when it rained and they got wet — she sometimes felt she was back to square one.

  She took a deep breath, wishing she hadn’t refused her friends’ help. Then again, she couldn’t always rely on them.

  You can do this.

  She glanced at the balcony door, at the bright sunshine outside. The beach was right below. She should be able to see the beach bar from there, but since she was currently blind, it would have t
o wait until she bought new lenses.

  Lifting her chin, she made her way out, locked the door with the old-fashioned key and went down to the reception. She placed her key on the desk, squinting around. Where was the receptionist? Voices sounded behind her and she glanced over her shoulder. Blurry figures entered through the revolving doors, coming toward her. Others lounged in the small sitting area.

  She tapped her fingers on the desk, her insecurity returning. Maybe she was supposed to simply leave the key and go?

  “Hello, morning.” A man entered through a door, scratching at his chin. “Sorry, I am...” He stopped, snorted. “Well, hello.”

  She still couldn’t see his expression, but she recognized that tone of voice. Flirting. Her cheeks heated as he came closer, leaning over the desk, and she saw him better. Dark shoulder-length hair and hazel eyes, three-day-old stubble darkening his jaw. He looked like the mysterious guy on the beach, only older and bulkier. Maybe all Cretans looked like that.

  An island of hunks.

  “I’m here, I fix something.” He dragged the vowels, his voice musical. “No more milk for breakfast. Customers complain, I need to do something, fast. I call Kai, milk is on the way.”

  Kai. Rhymed with sky.

  “I’m not here to complain about the milk,” she stammered. “I just wanted to leave my key. Or should I take it with me?”

  “No, leave it, leave it.” He smirked. “Safe with me.” He waved at what had to be the new arrivals. “Can I help you?”

  She turned to go and promptly crashed into someone. Her purse fell and she back-pedaled into the desk as the sound of something heavy hitting the floor reverberated through the lobby.

  “Oh fuck,” the blurry figure facing her muttered in a crisp American accent and bent down to pick up whatever it was he’d dropped. Even without lenses she could see how wide his shoulders were and the dark hue of his hair.