3. Sasha
Chapter 3
Sasha
“ H ow the hell did I even end up here?” I grumble to myself in my magic-fueled sedan, staring up at my new workplace in Bergen, Norway.
Last week, my biggest issue was deciding what to wear to work. Now, I’m in a foreign country, feeling more alone than ever. I grip the steering wheel, glaring at the two-story white building where I’ll be working for the next twelve months. The place looks pristine and too perfect, but in truth, I’m still pissed at Scout and Mr. Daniels. To hell with them both. They think they’ve put me out, but I’ll show them. When I return to South Africa, Scout better watch out because I can hold a grudge like nobody’s business.
I take another glance at the manila folder on the passenger seat with details on my target—yep, I’m out on a mission already. They don’t mess around in Norway.
Streets are bustling with traffic and people, but it’s strangely calm compared to the chaos I’m used to back home. The whole drive through the city toward my target in the woods, I replay the last few days in my head. How I could have done things differently, yet I keep coming to the same conclusion. If I had gone after Zane, the animals would have perished, and that’s not how I dance.
Exhaling loudly, I decide to make the most of what I have because, hey, I still have a job, right?
As I turn the corner from the main road in the city, the buildings fall behind me. I’m greeted by an explosion of open land, winding roads, monstrous mountains in the distance, and glimpses of the famous fjord looming farther ahead. I roll down the windows, taking in the fresh air, and for a moment, it’s beautiful in a wild, untamed way. As if, somehow, it calls to me as though it’s familiar.
“Welcome to Norway,” I whisper to myself, sounding pitiful even to myself.
Around me, the landscape unfolds like I’ve stepped into a fairy tale. The water in the fjord—a deep inlet carved by the glaciers long ago—is like a dark mirror, reflecting the overcast, stormy sky. It shimmers and farther in the distance slices between steep cliffs that seem to pierce the low-hanging clouds.
The location is breathtaking.
There’s something comforting about leaving the city behind, in only having an occasional vehicle pass me while the wilderness spreads outward. A few homes peek through the dense woodlands that stretch away from the water’s edge around me, painted in browns and reds, some stark white or yellow.
I read up on Norway on my flight over. Part of the town of Bergen has been preserved, deliberately rebuilt to reflect the lives of humans who once lived here so long ago.
Back when humans were in charge of Earth, a bunch of portals popped up all over the place, letting magic flood in. It caused a real ruckus—wrecked a lot, killed off a bunch of humans—until things sort of settled down. That’s when they came up with the Houses, assigning all us supernaturals a spot to belong. Now, you have to be in a House, basically.
And while other Houses around the globe might’ve kissed goodbye to things like planes and all those travel methods, in the House of Gold and Garnet, we’ve still got those amazing items. Thanks to some expensive magic and living under King Kaspian, we get to enjoy all those high-end luxuries.
Following a narrow path along the thick pine woods, I pass a broken and rusted metal gate, yet it’s exactly where the coordinates are bringing me. Shadows darken the area, the place ominously silent.
Eventually, I pull up near a rocky edge by the water, barren of any homes nearby or across the fjord on the other side. It’s isolated and gorgeous. I park by the trees so the car isn’t easily spotted, then climb out of the driver’s seat. I stare out at the open tranquility, at the mountain looming behind me, where farther up and tucked in its embrace is a house—a once majestic red mansion now worn and weathered. Unlike the rest of the location, this place hasn’t been restored.
I grab the notes from the passenger seat, flipping through the pages to the section about my target. According to the brief, Belu has been seen along the fjord on a boat in this vicinity, stopping at the shore, behaving erratically but then always vanishing when authorities arrive.
Now, this location offers an easy view, and evidently, my task is to watch out to gather information if he returns. Of course, I’m pissed that it’s not a hunt-and-capture mission, but I’m not going to ruffle feathers on my first field day.
Studying the notes, I flip through them, stopping on his profile page. The guy’s a large, lofty man with dark hair and blue eyes, and he is a merman. That last bit piques my interest since I tend to keep my distance from my kind. Mostly since they’re not common in the town I’m from in South Africa. And I’m not especially fond of other merpeople’s initial questions, asking who my parents are and what our bloodline is.
It’s none of their damn business.
Yet my stomach twists into knots at the mention of my past, at the nightmare I’ve lived with for years.
“Deep breath,” I murmur under my breath.
Daddy’s face flashes in my mind. He’s choking and spluttering, his panicked expression tearing at my insides. I still see the terror in his eyes as he looked at me. That crushing helplessness still destroys me. I’m stretching my hands out toward him, desperate to save him, but it’s not enough.
Tears well up in my eyes, and my hands tremble. Each breath feels heavy, as if I’m right back there, pleading with my mom to stop.
The vividness tears into me, and I know I’m spiraling. I’ve learned to stop myself from going into a full-blown panic attack. Forcing my breathing to slow, I anchor myself to the present, the car I came in, the woods surrounding me.
I’m here now, not back in that horrible moment. I’m strong enough to push past the pain.
Calming slowly, I stare at the document shaking in my hands, needing my attention on something other than my thoughts.
I’ve been practicing meditation and Tai Chi to learn to calm myself, and it’s been working. But sometimes, the darkness sneaks up on me.
Taking a deep breath, I shake the thoughts back and refocus on the papers in my grasp. There’s an image of Belu in the top left-hand corner of the file, which could have been hand drawn. It’s barely more than a shadow, but it’s enough to give me an idea of his strong face and jawline.
The dossier doesn’t say much more, just that he’s been elusive, and he was out on bail despite being under investigation for murder. Ah, another asshole who knows someone in power.
Tossing the papers back into the car, I exhale deeply and scan the area, then make my way down to the water. I tread carefully on the rocky shore, my gaze sweeping my surroundings for any sign of movement. The pier is just ahead, the wood worn and extending into the dark water. A few birds fly overhead; otherwise, it’s eerily silent. The cold in the air wraps around me, yet on the inside, I’m scorching hot. I loosen my leather jacket, at least to try looking more like a tourist who might have wandered here for a great sight instead of a mission.
As I near the pier, a splash of brown catches my attention. There’s no boat tied up, but there’s something there. Moving closer, I stumble over a pair of male boots carelessly abandoned near the shore.
Tilting my head to the side, I smirk. Who else but a merman might ditch his shoes to take a dip in freezing waters? Except, what about his clothes? Regardless, what if he’s hiding something underwater?
I grin to myself and make my way to the right-hand side of the rocky shore. Without a second thought, I start shedding my clothes. If I’m going after a merman, I’m diving in on equal footing. I’m a lot more powerful and dangerous in my mermaid form.
Boots, jacket, pants, bra, underwear—everything drops in a pile on a rock by the pier. One last scan to confirm I’m alone, and there I am, butt naked in the open. With a deep breath, bracing myself, I rush to the water’s edge and dive in. The cold fjord water embraces me and is startlingly frigid. My skin tingles from the freezing water rushing over me.
With a single willing thought, my change pushes forward, my legs fusing and stretching into a powerful aquamarine tail. A familiar tingling sensation cascades down my hips and lower as scales shimmer into existence. The water feels different suddenly—as if it recognizes me, welcoming me back. It clings to me, not as a chill but as a warm coat, embracing me, making me whole. It’s not just a return to the water but a homecoming. A sensation I will never tire of when I enter the water and transform into my mermaid form.
Instantly, everything around me changes. My vision shifts and sharpens, and the murky depths become less blurry. Subtle movements in the shadows grab my attention to the quicksilver dart of fish nearby. Each swish of water, each distant call of marine life, echoes in my ears.
There’s something calming about uniting with the water realm, and it never gets old.
Calmness washes over me.
This is where I belong, where I feel more powerful, more alive—underwater. With the small lines of gills at the edges of my neck fluttering subtly, I breathe in the water effortlessly.
For many years after losing my parents, I avoided the water, refusing to transform, reminded of my mother, but once I started my work as a bounty hunter, my best friend, Billie, pushed me to face my fears. I miss her so much. I make a mental note to get in contact with her soon.
I dive deeper, slicing through the water and barely making ripples around me. The fjord deepens, and the water darkens. If Belu is out here, I’ll find him. Fjords are known to plunge thousands of feet, where not even sunlight can reach, but my mermaid eyes are sharp, built to pierce the dark as long as there’s a sliver of light to work with. If I can’t see clearly this far down here, then neither will the merman… or so I hope.
As I push deeper, the water grows colder, icy on my skin. With a flick of my tail, I pivot sharply, but as I do, a dim light flickers through the deep water. I dart toward the beam, my tail beating fluidly just as a school of mackerel darts past, their silver bodies a flashing glint against the darkness around me. I can’t help but grin, missing the whole swimming in the wild with the marine life, but I push those thoughts aside.
Sharpening my focus on the glow, it quickly becomes clear there’s something else deep down here, something man-made—or mer-made, I guess. Nestled against the underwater cliff is a huge cave, its mouth agape. A light blazes from deep inside, cutting through the water the nearer I get.
Creeping closer, I realize something even weirder—some kind of invisible barrier that arches in front of the cave is keeping the fjord’s icy waters at bay. It’s like a magical force field, a clear, shimmering wall that seals the cave off from the rest of the underwater world. Just outside the cave is a ledge that stretches left and right, along with a path directly in front of the opening. It leads right into the wall of water.
Remaining farther at the side of the barrier, I peer in and can just make out two figures inside the cave, talking, the murmur of their voices barely reaching me. They’re still too far away to really hear exact words or discern their features, but they’re definitely not swimming. They’re just… standing there as if on dry land.
As I float closer, my tail working overtime to keep me still against the currents, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve just stumbled upon the merman’s lair. Is this where he’s bringing his victims? Despite the seriousness of the situation, I’m slightly impressed. This spot is genius—hidden in plain sight, accessible only to those who know exactly where to dive, and invisible without light.
I hover, shrouded in the murky darkness, concealed by the shadows, as a man emerges from the cave, giving me a perfect vantage point. He’s strolling onto the ledge, hands deep in the pockets of his pants, before he pauses to stare into the rippling wall of water before him. I’m hidden, but my eyes are locked on him, taking in every captivating detail.
My gaze follows him from head to toe, and a delicious jolt shoots through my entire body.
Tall—very tall—with broad shoulders and lines of muscles tensing under his black button-up shirt. Oddly, his clothes look bone dry, his pants clinging to his solid thighs and outlining a large package right where I can’t stop staring, where my mouth might have dropped open.
Who the hell is this guy?
Dark chestnut hair, shoulder-length and loose, frames a face that leaves me breathless. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. My heart’s thudding a wild beat as I take in his brilliant blue eyes that resemble crashing waves and savage storms, the strong jaw shadowed by light stubble. Curls of tattoos spill out from under his shirt collar, trailing along his tanned collarbone and neck.
Is that my merman, Belu? The killer?
As much as my head screams danger, my libido and eyes can’t stop drinking him in. He looks less like a man and more like a god—every inch of him dominating the surroundings, even seeming to command the waters at the edges of the magical barrier, as if they’re trying to reach out to him. To be fair, I can’t see him clearly from my angle, but it’s enough to know he is devastatingly handsome. I could easily surrender to a man like that.
Then a snap of semi-sanity shoves me back to reality, reminding me my last ex was the king of jerks, and this sex god is most likely the killer I’m here to track, the one I need to bring in to prove to my bosses that I’m not easily distracted, that I won’t fail my mission.
As he turns slightly, catching a reflection in the water, the light grazes his features, highlighting the angular perfection of his profile. My breath hitches all the way down to the pit of my stomach.
My ex left me sour on dating bad guys. He had been one of my targets, but I started dating him. Though I’m not even sure if I can call him my ex, considering we went on two dates before I discovered he lied about who he was, and our breakup ended up in a chaotic mess I prefer not to remember.
Yet, here I am, drooling over the next criminal, my entire body reacting to him, sizing him up as a prospective lover. Something’s very wrong with me.
Sure, he’s insanely gorgeous, but I’m not interested.
I repeat the mantra a few times in my head, especially as I watch his chest puff out with each breath, signaling his irritation. What’s got him all worked up?
Just as I’m trying to convince myself of my total disinterest, she appears.
A woman steps onto the ledge from within the cave, joining the mer-manliness, and suddenly, I feel as if I’m watching a show live from the best seat in the house.
Of course, she’s stunning. Turquoise hair cascades over her shoulders like a waterfall, shimmering, while her silvery skin seems to emit a soft glow. Iridescent scales glitter along her arms and down the outside of her impossibly long legs, visible thanks to the audacious slits in her body-hugging dress, which reveals a lot of skin with every step she takes. I think about the scales I have, hidden away where no one can see them. They feel like pebbles compared to hers.
She’s staring at him, and from my angle, I can only catch the side of her face, but enough to see her beauty is absolutely stunning.
“You will return with me,” she states with authority and a power that seems to command the very air around her. It’s not a question but a decree, her tone implying that no isn’t an acceptable option. “That’s fair payment for your unauthorized intrusion. With me, you will have access to every ocean to your heart’s desire.”
My pulse kicks up a notch, and while I’m clueless about what’s going on, I’m all ears. And what’s this about intrusion? Is this her cave?
The man says nothing at first, just stands there, holding her gaze. He doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest, which is either a sign of confidence or complete foolishness, as I feel like this woman could eat any man alive.
He rubs his jawline, saying, “That’s not going to work for me.”
My body weakens at the sound of that deep, guttural, rough sound that screams his manly dominance. Fuck me, but I have a weakness for guys with deep, dark voices. And this merman’s voice has me shivering with need.
Her shoulders tense, just slightly, but it’s enough to tell me she’s not used to resistance. I can tell she’s a woman who controls, not one who is controlled. Yet there’s calmness in her pose, confirming she’s more than capable of handling whatever this guy throws at her.
“Oh,” she murmurs almost softly, the gentleness in her tone surprising me—and I’ve only just met her. “You will have the space you need, not confined here. It’s the least you can do as part of your payment for your intrusion.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he turns and walks toward the other end of the wide ledge outside the cave, his movements deliberate. The woman follows, her stride confident and poised as they move to the opposite side from where I’m hidden in the shadows. Her voice carries again, forceful, yet I can’t grasp the words, and he’s shaking his head in response. Not angrily, but firmly.
“Until you pay your debt,” she says, her voice louder, more commanding now. “You will remain in my service. I’m being hospitable by personally visiting you. I don’t want bad waters between us, but there must be respect shown.”
He moves back toward the open mouth of the cave. “And if I agree to join your House, then you will let me out of your service?” His tone is cautious, probing the terms of his negotiation. “I will need to remain here in Norway for as long as I need to deal with family affairs.”
Intrusion? Family affairs? Who exactly are these two?
When she doesn’t respond, a half smirk plays on his lips.
“If not, then I will seek residence with King Kaspian. I hear he’s a reasonable king and will no doubt understand the power of welcoming someone like me into the House of Gold and Garnet.”
Wait! What? So, the merman isn’t from this House?
She emerges from the darkness, stepping into the flickering light of the cave, and her face becomes visible to me. My stomach drops, and my insides turn to mush.
My heart’s in my throat—not just because she’s the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen, but because I’ve seen her before… well, paintings of her.
For a split second, my heart locks up, and a cold realization spreads through me at having someone like her standing so close to me.
Asbesta.
The Queen of Sirens, of Mermaids, of the Oceans. She’s a goddess, a powerful and intimidating one with a dangerous reputation. Stories speak of her voice being so deadly it could lull someone into doing anything she asked. Just staring at her could have that impact, and here I find myself frozen in place, caught in her presence. Unease spreads through me. Fuck, I definitely don’t want her to see me. I’ve heard stories of her ruthlessness.
As the Siren Goddess, she rules the waters in our world from her House of Sea and Serpentine. Those of us from different Houses—like me—are forbidden from entering her domain without permission, a.k.a. the oceans and rivers and fjords.
I did it many times back in South Africa, staying close to the shore, figuring no one would see me.
Yet, here I am, tucked away in the shadows of her fjords, uninvited and unnoticed. And from what I can tell, this merman has done the same, been caught, and now she wants him to pay a debt by joining her House. I have no idea why Asbesta would want the likes of a merman who’s being investigated for murder.
Disdain flickers across Asbesta’s face, yet I admire the merman’s guts. He’s got some serious brass balls to stand up to her like that.
A sudden flutter of the school of mackerel rushes past me in such a flurry that it has me flinching and missing out on part of the conversion. Exhaling and trying not to draw attention to myself, I refocus on the pair.
She takes a deep breath, and even furious, she’s drop-dead gorgeous.
“Accepted. When you complete your affairs, you are to relocate to the House of Sea and Serpentine immediately,” she states firmly. “With your committed loyalty, you have uninhibited access to the fjords. You will uphold your agreement.”
He nods once, a sharp, quick gesture, and without another word, he strides back into the cave, leaving the Siren Goddess alone on the ledge. Time seems to freeze for a moment, my heart still thundering in my chest, and I honestly have no idea what she’s going to do next.
She turns abruptly to face the wall of water surrounding her domain. For a heart-stopping second, her gaze sweeps my way, and I lock up, my veins turning to ice.
Has she spotted me?
Fuck! Fuck!
I don’t need to be punished for being in her territory when I’m already trying to fix my work reputation.
Just as quickly, she shifts her focus back to the water and steps gracefully off the ledge, disappearing through the magical barrier and into the water.
I withdraw farther into the shadows, watching and waiting until the last glint of her iridescent scales vanishes in the dark fjord. Once I’m sure she’s really gone, I slowly move closer to the cave to look for any sign of the merman.
Of course, he’s no longer there.
And just like that, the light flicks off in the cave, and a great rush of water surges around me, wrenching me forward as if I’ve just plummeted down a waterfall. I grunt as I crash into the hard wall of the fjord, panic rising through me as the force of the water pins me against it.
I fight against the flow, convinced I’ve been caught by the Siren Goddess, my mind spinning on an excuse. When nothing more happens, it hits me that with the light going out, the cave has not only closed, but the pocket of air has been replaced by water.
Frantically, I swim to the surface, more confused than ever. My head breaks the surface, already transforming back, and I’ve never scrambled out of the water so fast.
As I wring out the last drops of fjord water from my hair and frantically dress, which is hell when I’m completely drenched, my thoughts circle back to Belu. The more I replay the encounter by the cave, the more something doesn’t sit right with me.
The handsome man’s demeanor, his brazen defiance in the face of divine authority, the fact that she permitted him to use her waters, which is rare for an outsider—well, this isn’t exactly the behavior of someone skulking away from having missed bail and hiding from a bounty.
No darting glances, no jittery nerves that usually mark the guilty. He was too composed, too… regal.
Could I have been wrong about him being my target?
If so, then who in the hell is that guy in the cave?