“I’m fine.” But her voice came out soft and water splashed in her mouth. Spluttering, she righted herself, muscles sluggish and weak, the bag across her body dragging. “It’s this”—she coughed—“bloody box.”

Brow etched with concern, he caught her arm, grip strong and sure. “Here.” He unhooked the bag and looped it over his shoulder. “Will you be all right to swim in?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yes,” he huffed, “you keep saying that.”

“Well, I am.” Her attempt to push him away was, admittedly, feeble. Still, he released her anyway, and she began swimming back to shore, pace painfully slow.

When they reached the shallows, she tried to stand, but her legs gave out, and she splashed into the surf, knees hitting the sandy floor.

“Vee.” He hurried over and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet.

He was so close, his body heat spilled into her, and she had to bite back a moan at how welcome that was against the chills shaking through her. His arm looped around her waist.

She shook her head, teeth chattering. “Knighton, if you try and pick me up, I’ll cut out your—”

“—tongue with my own dagger. Got it.” He snorted but didn’t try to lift her, only pulled her to her feet.

Still, she leant heavily against him as they stumbled through the lapping wavelets and onto the warm, dry sand.

“Wild Hunt,” he muttered, “you’re freezing.”

She huffed. “You’re telling me.”

Once they were above the level of the waves, he lowered her into the sand. “There, that’ll warm you up.”

She flopped in the sunlight, eyes shut, chest pounding.

A minute later, he stood over her, blocking out the sun—except the sun was lower and she wasn’t dripping wet anymore. “What?” Despite her wobbly arms, she managed to sit up, frowning.

“Bloody hells, Vee.” Shaking his head, he sank to his knees and held out a banana. “You’ve been unconscious for almost an hour.”

“Huh.” She grabbed the fruit, tearing off the skin. When the sweetness touched her tongue, she moaned. She made short work of it, the powerful flavour and sugar cutting through her exhaustion.

She blinked, looking around. Her breeches and boots sat beside her, and he was fully dressed again, both net bags across his body.

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you back in the land of the living?”

Nodding, she grabbed her breeches and wriggled into them. “Just about, I think.”

“Come on, let’s get you back to The Morrigan.” He held out a hand and helped her up.

Her legs complained at the soft sand and the effort it took to walk through, but she managed a smile as they set off. “You’ve got to admit it.”

“What?”

“That was all pretty exciting.”

Head cocked, he narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you …” Shaking his head, he snorted. “You’re unbelievable.”