Free The Selkie Spell (Seal Island Trilogy) by Sophie Moss

flowed freely into her lungs.  And she found that she could breathe.
    Why had she never tried this before?
    She kicked her legs, swam deeper, and jerked when big hands grabbed her, hauled her from the sea.  She choked, gasping as cold fingers closed around her throat.
    Did you think you could run from me, Sydney?  Did you think you could hide?
    She fought him, clawing at his skin, peeling it off his face.  He screamed, enraged that she would try to fight him.  And when he pushed her head under and held her there, she flailed, floundering for something to hold onto, to pull herself up, as the dark waters that flowed so easily inside her moments ago clogged her lungs.  One last moment of sweet delirious madness took her, and then her whole body went limp.
     
    ***
     
    Tara sat up, gasping, soaked in sweat.  She switched on the light, kicked at the tangle of sheets twisted around her feet.  It had found her here.  It was the same dream, every time.  It chased her no matter how far she ran.  She would never escape it.  She would never escape him.
    She sucked in a breath, pushed to her feet.  No!  She would not let him defeat her like this.  She would not let him creep into her thoughts.  Crossing the room, she pushed open the door to the hallway, and jumped when a shadow fell across the floor.
    It was only the curtain, the wind teasing the fabric into a beam of silvery moonlight.  But she shrank back into the room, watching the dark shadows dance, her heart still pounding.
    She needed to do something to distract herself.  Hesitating for only an instant, she grabbed the sweater from the foot of her bed and let herself out into the night.  Walking the moonlit path to the pub, she balked at every shadow, jumped at every sound, but she forced herself to keep moving, to put one foot in front of the other until she was standing in the alley, pushing her key in the lock and letting herself into the kitchen of the pub.
    She grabbed the first cookbook she could find, started gathering ingredients and pouring them into the pan.  The image of her husband’s face seared the backs of her eyes, but she pushed it away, focusing on the recipe.  She was stronger than this.  She was stronger than him.   The scent of cinnamon and melting butter drifted up through the floorboards, and Dominic woke to the sound of footsteps moving around downstairs.
    Sitting up, Dominic untangled his legs from the sheets.  Shaking off the memory of a strange dream of a rose bush whose flowers had all died and in place of thorns its branches grew long sharp knives, he pushed to his feet and pulled on a pair of jeans.  When he reached the first floor, the overpowering fragrance of roses collided with the sugary scents from the kitchen and he fought the sudden spell of dizziness, pushing open the door and staring when he spotted Tara at the stove.
    Tara turned when she heard the door open.  She watched Dominic rub his eyes, trying to focus.  His hair was mussed and his eyes were still bleary from sleep.  The shadow of stubble along his jaw had grown darker and thicker, making the rugged planes of his face look even more dangerous.  His chest was bare, revealing the strong, well-defined muscles of his chest and arms.  And when her gaze drifted down that hard, muscular stomach to where his jeans slung low across his narrow hips, she dropped her spoon into a saucepan of boiling butter.  The hot liquid splashed her fingers as she backed away, untying the apron from around her waist.  “I shouldn’t be here.  I shouldn’t have come.”
    When he took a step toward her, Tara reached blindly for the rolling pin.  Her knuckles went white on the handle where she hid it behind her back.
    A strange, painful twist in his gut had Dominic crossing the room to her, struggling for air over the smell of the roses.  And when she looked at him with those big green eyes, he felt like he was falling, like the whole world was closing in around him.