Chapter 12 #2
My eyes return to Vaelis. Then I look down in deep shame at the disgusting slugs in my hand.
I know who he is. I know he is a high Prince of the Reef. I know he is used to eating fine kelp-cakes wrapped in edible gold-leaf. I know he is used to eating spiced, seared tuna served on polished mother-of-pearl plates.
I am holding a filthy bag of writhing bottom-feeder slime.
This disgusting offering is everything I have to give him. I dragged the most striking, fine creature in the ocean down into the barren mud of the Wastes, and now I have to feed him garbage to keep him alive. I'm nothing but a trench monster.
I lower the heavy bag. I look down at the white sand floor, my broad shoulders hunching forward in profound, suffocating shame.
"Kael," Vaelis says in a soft voice.
I refuse to look up. I can't bear the disgust in his bright eyes.
"Kael, please look at me."
I lift my heavy head. My face is a vulnerable mix of shame and frustration. My dark eyes beg him for forgiveness.
"I'm hungry," Vaelis says with sincerity. "And I love eating sea-slugs."
It's a lie. I know he hates slugs. Any sane creature with functioning taste buds knows they taste like rubber dipped in rotting mud.
But he's lying to protect my pride.
The selfless kindness of his lie shatters my defenses. My dark face brightens. A tiny, relieved spark lights up my eyes. I nod at him. I hurry over to the glowing copper cage. It doubles as a cooking stove. I begin to prepare our terrible meal.
We all eat the meal together in silence.
The gray slugs are as terrible and chewy as I remembered. But Vaelis heroically eats every bite on his plate. I watch his throat work as he swallows the tough meat. I gain spiritual nourishment from watching him consume calories.
When the makeshift plates are empty, I rise.
I move to a high salvage shelf. I retrieve a corked container containing clean ocean water, placing it near the engine's hot exhaust pipe until the water is warm and soothing.
I grab a clean, soft cotton cloth from my limited supplies.
I grab the small glass jar of green poultice smelling of numbing-weed.
I swim back over to the bed of nets. I point a heavy finger to his injured shoulder.
Clean, I gesture with my scarred hands.
Vaelis nods, his golden eyes tracking my every motion. "Okay."
He reaches his good right arm across his body, the movement stiff with disuse. He grips the ragged hem of his transparent mesh vest. It's the exact same shredded, ruined uniform he was drafted in.
He attempts to pull the ruined garment over his head. The awkward upward movement pulls at his torn shoulder muscle. A sharp gasp escapes his lips, his body freezing mid-motion.
My hands are there in a heartbeat.
I stop him from moving. I shake my heavy head. Let me do it.
The small, razor-sharp hunting knife appears in my hand as if by magic.
I move with surgical precision. I slide the cold metal under the straps of the ruined vest. I cut the fabric away.
I peel the bloody mesh from his pale skin.
The ruined vest falls to the floor. He's bare from the waist up, lean and fiercely sculpted by the harsh currents of the Reef.
I trace the hard line of his collarbone with my thumb.
I abandon the hunting knife in the dirt. I use the clean cotton cloth with the heated water. I drop to my knees in the white sand, aligning my scarred bulk right beside the bright flare of his crimson fins.
I reach across the small space between us.
My calloused fingers graze the smooth, bare skin of his uninjured right shoulder.
Vaelis flinches at the contact.
It's not from pain. It's from the harsh texture of my own body.
My skin is nothing like his. It is not smooth, slick, or beautiful. It's composed of tiny dermal denticles. It feels like fine-grain sandpaper. My rough hand scrapes against his softness.
I freeze in terror.
I snatch my hand away, burying my rough fist against my own chest. Panic floods my vision. I'm a clumsy, ruinous beast. I am a monster built for violence. The sheer proximity of my body causes him pain.
"No," Vaelis whispers, catching my frantic expression. "It's alright. Please don't stop."
I search his pale face for any sign of deception. There is none. The pain has vanished from his golden eyes, replaced by something else. Something warm and deep.
I reach out again. My movements are agonizingly gentle.
I run the warm, cloth over the elegant curve of his neck. I wash away the dried sweat and the bitter ocean salt. I clean the center of his chest, my movements slow and rhythmic. I avoid the torn shoulder wound, circling around the injury with a reverence that makes his breath hitch in his throat.
My rough, calloused fingers trace the fine ridges of his ribs. The physical contrast between us steals the breath from my gills. The grit of my shark skin gliding over the silken slide of his scales is a potent drug. It creates a friction sparking electric in the charged water.
His breathing quickens. His chest rises and falls with a jagged, frantic rhythm beneath my palms.
I force my focus back to the simple task.
My pupils blow wide in the dim light, eclipsing the dark iris.
I watch my scarred hands move over his flawless body.
The stark difference between beast and prince should shame me, but I crave it.
I love the way his sun-kissed, luminescent skin glows against mine.
I love the trusting sigh of his rigid muscles softening under my rough touch.
I drag the warm cloth lower.
I bathe the tight plane of his stomach. My hand lingers against his bare skin, hot and heavy with primal possession.
I pull my eyes up from his chest.
Our eyes lock.
The silence trapped inside the shell shifts, swollen with a thousand desperate confessions we can't speak out loud.
His warm breath ghosts against my scarred cheek. The heat radiates from his flushed skin.
I lean in. Just a single inch.
My attention drops to his soft mouth, then flickers back up to his golden eyes.
I lift my right hand to frame his face, cupping the elegant line of his jaw.
My heavy thumb is rough and calloused. I brush the scarred pad back and forth across his sensitive lower lip.
Vaelis shudders under the touch. A small tremor vibrates against my thumb. A needy, broken hitch of breath.
My black pupils blow wide. A low, heavy sub-harmonic vibration ignites deep inside my chest. A rumbling purr. The resonance travels down my arm, pushing through my hand to vibrate against his jaw, sinking into his very bones. It is the primal, undeniable sound of absolute possession.
I am lost. I lean closer, my mouth hovering a fraction of an inch above his.
I want to consume him.
"If you two are determined to molt on each other, go do it outside," the eel complains from his copper cage. "I run a clean ship."
I snap backward as if struck.
I rip my hand from his striking face, the sudden absence of his skin against mine a physical burn. Shame crashes over me in a heavy, suffocating wave. A monster. A filthy beast overstepping rigid boundaries.
I snatch the glass jar of poultice from the sand.
My movements become jerky and efficient, devoid of the gentle reverence from moments before.
I slather the green paste onto his torn wound, the cool medicine a stark contrast to the heat still radiating from his skin.
I bandage his shoulder in record speed, my fingers fumbling with the clean fabric, dodging his eyes.
I rise up with a lurch, my broad back turned to him.
I refuse to look at him.
I grab my cleaning supplies and swim to the far side of the room.
Vaelis sits in silence on the bed. A bright flush sits across his pale skin right where I touched his jaw. The heavy, suffocating silence returns to the shell, broken only by the low hum of Bolt's engine and the frantic beating of my own heart.
My hunting knife slips from my trembling grip, clattering into the white sand.
I try to curse. I try to scream my frustration into the empty room. My jaw opens and closes in a silent, pathetic pantomime of blind rage.
I slam my scarred fist against the wall, the impact sending a dull vibration through the entire shell.
Bolt flinches at the noise. "Hey, stop that!"
I snatch the knife from the sand. I return to chopping the leftover slugs for dinner. My broad movements are a chaotic mess of raw anger. The knife connects with the makeshift cutting board with brutal, jagged force. Frustration boils in my blood, hot and acidic.
I am a prisoner inside my own silent head.
The unresolved tension from the sponge bath magnifies the isolation. I want to tell him my reasons for running. I want to tell him the truth about my betrayal. I want to tell him my soul belongs to him, even if my voice is lost forever.
The vibration of shifting nets travels through the sand floor. Vaelis rises from the bed.
I ignore the tremor. I chop the gray meat with brutal, jagged force, the rhythmic thud of the knife a pathetic substitute for the words I can't say.
He glides across the room to hold himself at my side, his presence a warm current in the cold fury of my mind.
He reaches out with his good hand. He presses his soft palm over my fist, stilling the knife mid-swing.
The movement halts. My muscles go rigid, vibrating with pent-up tension under the fine weight of his touch.
I read the shape of the word on his lips.
"Please stop hurting yourself."
I turn my heavy head to look down at him. Unshed tears of pure frustration burn my eyes, blurring his perfect face.
I open my mouth. I point a trembling finger to my paralyzed throat. I shake my head.
"I know," Vaelis says, his voice barely stirring the warm water. The profound sorrow in his golden eyes threatens to pull me under. "I know what Mira took from you."
I wrench my hand out from under his touch, the sudden loss of his warmth a physical ache against my scarred skin.