An Elemental Tail Page 2

  Isla kept her back straight, but every muscle supporting her spine sagged with relief.

  “Just remember, Ms. Williams, you’re required to attend eighty percent of my classes.” With his pen he placed an X next to her name.

  She paused mid-stride, victory snatched from her hands by the casual mark of a lying pen. If her attendance fell, she would lose the scholarship. Her job as a waitress covered living expenses and little else. She’d already banked Sarah’s cash for a rainy day. It wouldn’t cover a term of college expenses. Without the scholarship, there would be no college.

  Mr. Gardner smiled like a snake watching a fat, caged mouse. “See you on Friday, Isla.”

  ****

  Friday came around too fast, and Isla hadn’t made a decision. It wasn’t too late to switch electives, but then she’d lose life drawing for the rest of her course. Was losing her favorite subject better than having no course at all? She’d made too many sacrifices to get here. This was her dream; she didn’t want it to be second-rate. She pressed her lips tight together. She wouldn’t let a man take from her. She was stronger than her mother.

  Isla rolled her pencil between her fingers and watched the same woman settle on a chair this time. The light from the window illuminated the curve of the model’s back, the sweep of her spine. The pencil took over and her worries faded, forgotten for the moment. The page filled with detail, but not the full person. Never the complete figure. Always just the fraction that caught her interest.

  She stopped for a drink, and her hand swept reassuringly against the leather-bound book in her satchel. She hadn’t drawn in it yet, but she carried it to every class. Sarah’s legacy was becoming a talisman, a touchstone when she needed strength. Isla knew when she did put pencil to paper that the result would be magical...like the crimson-haired man who slipped into her thoughts just when she thought he was gone. She shook her head and put her drink back.

  This time her fingers lingered on the leather for a moment. Her back warmed as if she was sitting in the sun. She was being watched. Isla lifted her gaze and glanced carefully around. Mr. Gardner was talking to someone else. She twisted around and faked a stretch, glancing toward the door. A dark flicker passed the window in the door, as if someone had been looking through. More likely her imagination was getting the better of her.

  But for the rest of the class it was a battle not to keep turning around every time she felt the mystery gaze on her back. The female model didn’t hold her attention. She couldn’t find refuge in the light and shadow of her form. Instead, her fingers itched to take out the leather-bound book, to see what a sketch would look like on the creamy translucent pages. The tiny thrill that always accompanied a new idea bubbled in her stomach. She made a promise to herself: next class she would draw in the book. And there would be a next class because she wasn’t going to quit.

  She was going to fight Mr. Gardner—she just didn’t know how.

  When the class ended she walked out, ignoring Mr. Gardner’s signal to talk. If she was going to stay in his class and not have him mark her absent, she was going to have to tell someone what he was threatening. But who was going to listen to her, much less believe her? She was only here because someone else was paying.

  Nik leaned against the wall, pretending to be casual. Dressed in black, with his crimson hair tucked under a black newsboy-style cap, he looked like any other student. He was virtually invisible. The other students ignored him, obsessed with their own mini-dramas as they filed past in clusters of two or three, a mix of the affected artisan and those who could blend in to an ordinary crowd.

  He was waiting for a woman, of that he was sure. The fleeting touches on the leather had given him a glimpse into a mind filled with turmoil and longing. Years of humanity had taught him that men’s minds were simpler. Most of the class was female, and any one of them could be carrying the book that had once been his tail. Anticipation and excitement surged in his blood like a spring breaking free of the earth and into sunlight. Freedom was only a breath away. It had been decades since he’d been this close. He hadn’t spent a nauseating flight in a tin can across the Atlantic, filled with turbulence put on by the air Elementals for his benefit, to not succeed.

  He righted himself as a dark-haired woman with too much worry aging her young face brushed past. Then he stood a little straighter; she was the woman from the restaurant. The waitress with the curious gray eyes and the tentative smile now looked more stressed than any woman should. She glanced back, throwing a mis-aimed apology, like he had more right to the space than she did. Nik opened his mouth to call after her and then thought better of it. While he might be able to give her something to smile about, he wasn’t here for fun.

  Peeping through the window had told him what class he needed to get into if he was going to reclaim the book and get home.

  Life drawing.

  Chapter Three

  Students poured into the room. Nik kept an eye on the door, waiting for his waitress to appear. She hadn’t been at work last night. If she had been, he might have stopped for dinner. When she entered the room she didn’t notice him, since she was talking to another student. Nik turned his back to the door and rolled his shoulders. Hands shoved deep into the bathrobe’s pockets, he tried to act as if he took his clothes off for money all the time. He would have done it for free if it meant getting his skin back and being whole again.

  As much as he liked his chosen human form, a legged version of his mer-body, he wasn’t human, he was Elemental. He missed the water, being water. Formless. Fleshless. Weightless.

  An older student did a double-take when she looked at him. Nik flashed her a wide grin. His hair had that effect on people. At first he’d either shaved it off or dyed it black. Four hundred years ago people hadn’t liked odd-looking strangers poking around their towns. Now he’d let it grow so it hung down his back. The color matched his tail, an unnatural shade of crimson and black.

  A shiver swept down his back. He turned, scanning the class to see who was holding his tail. His gaze paused on his waitress and he willed her to look up, but she was contemplating the contents of her satchel as if it were a matter of life or death.

  The book that had once been his tail was inside one of the students’ bags. Like a siren’s song he heard it calling to him, singing to be reunited with him, but he could only track it when someone was touching it because he felt those sensations. Two hundred years ago his tail had slipped past him in Paris, sold to a dealer of rare books. He’d traced it to London through the grubby touch of greed on his skin, then lost it when it was packed away. He fisted his hand. Waiting for it surface again had driven him to distraction. He’d gone to antique fairs, joined clubs, and followed every faint lead in the hope of stumbling across his tail.

  Now it was here. They were in the same room. This was the closest he’d ever been, and this close he could sense it, even if he couldn’t locate exactly where in the room it was. He could almost hear the slap of waves against the shore. Once he was whole he’d raise a storm to celebrate, one that would drown islands and flood cities.

  The flounder-faced prat of a teacher flicked his hand in an impatient gesture to get started. He’d been less than impressed when his hand-picked model hadn’t showed up. That guy had been easy to get rid of. Nik had doubled his money and taken his place. And here he was in a room full of students eager to see what was under his black bathrobe. A smile graced his lips. They wouldn’t be disappointed. The robe shimmied to the floor like ink spilled from a bottle.

  A couple of people sucked all the air out of the room as they gasped for breath. He glanced their way, and their faces reddened like cooked lobster. It was really too easy to play with human emotions. He reclined on the cushions, the essence of relaxation, as the students stared—as his waitress stared.

  But his pose was false. His stomach was twisted tighter than a whirlpool, and spinning just as wildly. He could taste the saltwater on the air. The book was here, but not in anyone’s hands, n
ot yet. Would he be able to resist the urge to leap up and snatch it out of the student’s hands and run for the nearest body of water when he saw it? Nik closed his eyes and breathed slowly. He’d wait out the class. Discretion was how he’d survived this long. He could wait.

  What would it feel like to have someone drawing on his skin, marking the pages of the book? Would he feel the pencil marks? As far as he knew, the book had never been used. In his chest his human heart pulsed faster than it ever had. Soon it would be beat no more. When he regained his tail, he wouldn’t take human form again…well, not for a very long time.

  Isla swallowed and kept her lips pressed together to keep her mouth from hanging open. The model was the man from the restaurant. The temptation she couldn’t have was now stripped bare, nothing left to her imagination—and her imagination had failed in comparison to the reality.

  He lounged, as at ease in his pale skin as she was in clothes. No trace of fat, just endless planes of muscle covered by lily-white flesh, like he’d never seen a day of sun in his life. Not even a freckle dared mark his skin. Smooth as polished marble, he could have been carved by Michelangelo. The only hair on his body was on his head. It fell in a thick crimson curtain between his shoulder blades, and when he moved his hair shimmered black and turquoise like the first time she’d seen him. The effect was hypnotic.

  She blinked, suddenly aware of the soft scratches of pencil around her. She’d been staring, her hand halfway into her satchel. Her fingers touched the spiral spine of her regular sketchbook, but the leather-bound book pleaded for attention. She’d promised herself she’d use it today, and it was an easy promise to keep with the object of her imaginings now before her. The pages were the same color as his skin; the drawings would be perfect. In her mind she saw the completed sketches, the man’s body filling the pages one piece at a time. If nothing else, she would have a record of the most beautiful man to ever walk the planet Earth, naked.

  Her fingers curled around the soft leather as she took out the book. The model flinched. Or did she imagine it? His body hadn’t moved, but his eyes had. They had opened and locked onto her, endless pools of black, fanned by dark lashes. Her breathing shallowed to a pant. She looked away, breaking the pull and the urge to touch him. Her eyes skimmed down his body to his groin.

  She dropped the book. It splatted on the floor, earning her several sniggers and glances from other students. Inside she curled up tight with embarrassment as she retrieved her book, her cheeks the same flaming color of the leather. This wasn’t the first nude male she’d ever drawn, yet she was behaving like it was. Worse, like she was attracted to him. Well, a woman would have to be dead to not notice the gorgeous naked man in the room. But she didn’t have time for fleeting fancies.

  Isla set the book down and selected a pencil with more care than necessary, then took a breath to steady her hand and ready herself to look at him again. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling as if nothing had happened. What a fool. Men like that didn’t give nondescript women like her a second look. Until now that knowledge had never bothered her; it had suited her. Another reminder she was nothing like her mother. Her thumb rubbed against the page. The skinny blond with the blue streak in her hair and the nose ring was more his type. Still, she knew who would be featuring in her dreams, again, and in detail she would never forget.

  His eyelids flickered as if staying still was costing him a great deal. His jaw was locked, tension tight in his neck, his throat flexing with each swallow. Inaction battling the need to move. Could she capture the strength and vulnerability, his need for movement warring with the request to be motionless?

  Skin to skin, her emotions poured into Nik. Intense and unstoppable, like a spring waterfall fuelled by winter snow melts. Wonder, apprehension, and tension were lost beneath the tide of desire that swamped him and tossed him into a battle with his body. Blood drained from vital organs to the one he wanted to ignore. He counted marks on the ceiling then listed species of fish, alphabetically and by color. Anything to keep the flesh between his legs soft and inconspicuous.

  He wasn’t immune to the charms of a pretty woman. His weakness for humans was what had crippled him four hundred years ago. Since then he’d kept company purely for entertainment. His entertainment. That was the purpose of taking human form. With so many nerve endings involved, the sensation was different from melding with another water Elemental. Raw and—Nik suppressed a smile—earthy.

  What had seemed like an easy job was becoming more strenuous than laying rail tracks—something he’d done to get by all those years ago. The clock on the wall counted off seconds like minutes. The woman’s touch on the book made his skin tremble. He was aware of her hand skimming across the page, barely a caress, but enough to tighten his muscles until they ached. He felt the warm brush of her finger on his skin, but not the cool smudge of lead as she drew him. His forehead creased before he remembered to keep still. Of course he would only feel her touch. It took a moment to recognize the slight sinking sensation listing in his gut as disappointment. He wanted to know what she was filling the book with; it was his after all. Would she do his body justice?

  The pressure from the flood of emotions eased as she became lost in her work. Nik relaxed and began to study her the way she was studying him. Her lips were parted, revealing a wide mouth that would flash lots of pearly white teeth when smiling. Most of her dark hair was twisted back, with a few straight strands falling around her face. Carefully constructed scruffy, or naturally unbothered by her appearance? She wasn’t plastered in makeup or other decorations. Without the worry marking her face, she was a natural beauty.

  Her eyes raised and met his, cool and gray. A storm waiting to happen. He glanced away, pretending not to notice the contact that had sent his blood surging, again. Desire raced over his body, threatening to expose more to the class than a model should. He forced all the breath from his body and thought of plankton.

  Lots of plankton.

  ****

  Mr. Gardner called an end to the class too soon. Isla sketched and smudged to finish, rushing. She wanted to stay and put more of the man on paper. The model held his pose for a few more heartbeats. Her eyes darted between the man and her work. She’d caught the wild grace in his arm and the aloof tilt of his chin. The page was alive as if she’d captured a part of his essence in lead pencil and paper. She couldn’t hide the grin that tempted her lips. It was her best drawing yet.

  She placed a piece of tissue paper between the pages and closed the book with a snap. As she tucked it into her satchel, her skin prickled with warmth. The model watched, his dark eyes like mirrors, a smile worn only on the corners of his mouth. She frowned, not sure he was looking at her, then cautiously returned the smile, not used to attention for attention’s sake. His gaze trapped her. Breath slid from her body, unnoticed. She wanted to drown in him, to fall through the endless night and never wake to find the dream over.

  A student passed between them, and the spell was broken. The noise of the emptying class room returned. She had to leave before Mr. Gardner collared her again, but she was too slow.

  Mr. Gardner was already waiting. “Did you want to make up those missed classes, Isla?”

  Her back stiffened as he used her name with too much familiarity. She crossed her arms and glared at him, determined to make him back off and find another target. She was sure someone would appreciate the pass he was offering and not be troubled by the cost. “I’ve missed none, and you know it.”

  “The official record says otherwise. I’m free tonight.” His lips pulled back in what she supposed was a charming smile, the kind worn by a cat before it decapitates a mouse. There would be no escape, no joy, if she took the deal Mr. Gardner was offering.

  Isla ground her teeth. What she wanted to say would probably get her suspended, or kicked out. So she gave him the simple truth. “I’m working.” That was her life, work or study.

  “Another missed lesson won’t look good on your record.”

&nbs
p; “Stop. Just stop. Until you, my record was unblemished.” Isla ran her hand over her hair, pushing back the strands that always escaped.

  She had no idea how to deal with his unwanted advances that had deteriorated into blackmail. She’d never played her mother’s mind games. For the first time she wished she had, or that she at least understood how they worked. If her mother were here, she would know exactly what to do… Who was she kidding? Her mother would have never said no.

  “Do you think you’re better than the rest, than me, because you’re on a scholarship?” Bitterness spilled out with his words, staining the air and making it toxic to breathe.

  “The lady said stop.”

  Isla and Mr. Gardner turned and looked at the speaker. The model was dressed only in his black jeans, the lean muscle of his chest on display, glimmering in the light.

  “You’re not paid to speak,” Mr. Gardner snapped, spots of color like spilled wine blooming high on his cheeks. The man opened his mouth, but Mr. Gardner continued before the model could make a sound. “What you thought you overheard is none of your business.” Mr. Gardner picked up his briefcase and turned to Isla. “This isn’t over.” The door banged shut after him.

  Isla stared at the door and sighed. Her well-meaning rescuer had only made the situation worse. By stepping in, the model had humiliated Mr. Gardner.

  She shook her head. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  The man shrugged and buttoned his shirt. “He shouldn’t be abusing his position.”

  Isla watched all his luminous white skin get covered with dull black clothing. Her hand strayed to the book in her satchel. She traced the spine of the book. It was right he should grace the pages.

  He raised one dark eyebrow as if he could read her thoughts, the ones she didn’t want anyone to know. Particularly him.