Borne from the Sea (Blood Waters 1)
Mila's parents run a Bed and-Breakfast on one of the most isolated stretches of beach in Mexico. Mila has just migrated from the States, and she is bored and lonely. Then one day, she comes across a young man who's been washed up on the shore. He can't remember anything about who he was or even what his name is. Her parents take him in, but the mystery deepens. Who is he…really? More
From the Publisher that brought you popular short story series Witching Call, Hostile Hearts, Earthbound Angels, The January Morrison Files Psychic Series, Ralph's Gift, Song of Teeth, Children of Time, Chains of Darkness, Season of Love, Friend Zone, The Magaram Legends, The Night Sculptor Series, Requiem for a Dream, and now, Blood Waters...
HE COMES FROM THE SEA, BUT IT ROBS HIM OF HIS MEMORY
A YOUNG MAN WITHOUT A PAST, AND A YOUNG WOMAN WITH AN UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Mila's parents run a Bed and Breakfast on one of the most isolated stretches of beach in Mexico. As someone who has migrated from the States into that sleepy corner of the world, Mila is bored and lonely, and feels like Cinderella, getting up early every morning for the thankless task of doing chores around the dilapidated house all day.
Then, one day, she comes across a young man who's been washed up on the shore. He can't remember anything about who he was or even what his name is. Her parents take him in, and he begins to fill in what's been missing in her life.
But just when she thinks he might actually like her, he turns away—what is he hiding?
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Mila averted her eyes, which was hard to do because his eyes were a startling shade of green—the color of a deep pool. And like a deep pool, their color seemed to change slightly depending on the light. There was a certain sadness about his eyes that made him seem very old, even though his body—from what she could see of it through the patches of sand that coated him—was clearly a young man’s. His skin was tanned to a dark brown, while his black hair had matted into dreadlocks.
In her literature course at Quintana Roo, there had been a Discussion board full of what one could discern from appearances: how accurate they were, how informed the impressions were by pre-existing stereotypes. What would they say about him, she wondered, besides the fact that he’s indigenous?
“Are you okay?” Mila asked.
He cocked his head, but didn’t answer. She tried again in Spanish, and finally in (bad) Yucatec. At least he recognized the words, unlike the other locals who pretended not to understand her, and he smiled and nodded gratefully.
“My name is Mila,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“I am….” And then he turned so pale she was afraid he was going to die, after all. “I don’t remember.”
Mila let out a breath she didn’t realize that she’d been holding. “Well, then, what do you remember?” she asked.
He frowned with the effort, but his eyes began to well up with tears of fright. He reached for her hand and she took it, worried at how violently it was shaking.
“Nothing,” he said, finally. “I remember nothing.”
“Nothing?” Mila said. “How did you get hurt—”
“I remember nothing,” he said quietly. But underneath the calm she could hear the edge of desperation, sharp and cold, as it threatened to cut through his demeanor and turn him into a quivering wreck.
Next in the Series:
2. The Tribute to the Sacred Waters
3. The God of the Sky Serpents
4. Master of the Wild
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