Chapter 3 #2
I fiddle with the bootstraps of my remaining boot and kick it off.
Covered feet don’t allow me to feel the ground, and I hate that.
But I also hate stepping on pointy sticks and rocks.
Boots keep me from shifting quickly. Unlike dragon shifters, whose clothing and foot coverings split, tear, and fall off when they shift, merfolk get stuck in a half-state if their legs and feet aren’t free, which is painful.
Like swords slicing through me, splitting me open until I can finish the shift.
Trousers are also oppressive, especially the tight pale breeches I wear now. I go without when I can, preferring an unfussy chemise with pockets lining the hem for trinkets if I don’t have my bag with me. The pirates don’t care what I wear.
Without the constant movement of running through the streets, I realize how tired I am.
I fold my arms and use them as a pillow against the table, wishing for cooler air, but the wood is just as warm as everywhere else.
I’ve fallen asleep—not the wisest decision when there’s a pack of wolves after me—when a barmaid shakes me awake.
“What it’ll be, darlin’? Can’t ‘ave you wasting a spot if you ain’t buying.” Wisps of her auburn hair escape the cream-colored kerchief tied around her head. Amber eyes watch me. Her furry brown wolf ears twitch with the sounds behind her.
I don’t have much coin, so I order the cheapest meal. A bit of weak wine and some crusts of bread. I should have packed something from the ship, but I thought I’d be back by now.
While I wait for the woman to return, the gossip of one dragon pair reaches my ears. I pick at the edge of the table while I listen.
“His Majesty finally granted Prince Gavin a Task to become a Grand Mage.”
His companion laughs. “A fool’s Task, just like the prince himself. The phoenix stone. Impossible. He’d need a mer just to retrieve it, and ain’t no one seen merfolk in over a century, maybe two. Them more secretive than pixies.”
“Maybe they died out.”
“Nah, mer are still out there seducing men like they always have. We just don’t hear about it anymore because the men never come back. Merfolk eat their hearts and use their souls in dark, twisty magic.”
I snort. Merfolk don’t eat hearts or do soul magic.
At least, not when I lived in the colony.
But that was so long ago I hardly remember anything at all.
If anything’s changed, I wouldn’t know. I can’t deny the seducing people part.
That’s always been true. But it’s a protective measure.
The seducers always lure ships away from the colony.
The pair continues to talk, but I stop listening when their conversation moves to which barmaid they want to bed that afternoon.
My heart pounds. Not only is His Majesty looking for merfolk, but the prince needs a mer for his Grand Mage Task. This could be a blessing or a problem. I’ll have to assess the situation.
While there are no outward signs I’m mer, not like the amber eyes and tufted ears of wolf shifters, or the horns and scales of dragons, or the pointed ears of elves, there are certain attributes I have no control over that could highlight my mer-ness besides the growing scales on my hip.
If the person noticing is aware of said attributes, that is.
The most useful to me is how merfolk seduce people in the first place. I emit an irresistible scent to my target whenever I’m aroused. I’ve never learned how to make it stop, but I use it to my advantage when I can.
The most annoying attribute is that my body forcibly shifts if my human form is drowning. I shiver at the thought.
Forced shifting is Captain Vex’s favorite form of punishment.
He holds my head underwater until I shift.
Or worse, when he’s in a particularly bad mood, he straps me to a table and waterboards me.
Of course, this is all done privately. The crew doesn’t know what I go through in Vex’s quarters, and I can’t tell them, not if I want to keep my voice.
And a mer without their voice on the surface? Unimaginable.
The barmaid brings me my order, shaking me from my memories of torture.
She’s generous with the pile of bread crusts on the plate, and instead of half a glass of wine, she gives me a full one.
I can’t tell if it’s pity on her face, or if she’s just a kind woman.
I watch as she walks away and climbs right into the lap of a dragon shifter, who starts nuzzling her neck.
I sip from my cup. The wine hits my lips, and I take a deeper drink, allowing the sweet flavor to wash over my tongue. My eyes flutter shut. The barmaid hasn’t watered down the wine.
“Such pretty little sounds you make over wine, boy. How ‘bout you join me in bed?”
I roll my eyes at the man standing in front of me. The black feathers in his hair announce to the world he’s a raven shifter.
“Leave me alone before you get hurt.” I pick up a piece of crust and nibble.
The raven’s eyes narrow, and his already ruddy face reddens. His feathers literally ruffle. An angry caw rips from his throat. “Is that a threat?”
“Does it need to be?” I take another sip of my wine, eyeing the shifter.
The raven’s jaw drops open. “Are you mouthing off to me?” He lurches and pulls me up by the throat, talons digging into my skin. “I think I need to teach you a lesson.”
I knee the raven shifter in the groin before slamming an elbow into his diaphragm. He falls to the ground, gasping, retching his meal all over the floor. The scent hits my nose, causing me to gag.
While I regain my composure, the raven shifter pushes himself up. Two more ravens join the fray, leering at me.
“I like that the three of you think you can take me.” I sit back in my chair, wiping my mouth. “The lot of you owe me an order of wine.” I frown at my upturned cup.
One of the ravens yanks me from my chair by my arm. With a snarl, I slam my cup into the raven’s face, shattering the ceramic. A fist grazes my ear as I barely have time to deflect.
“Enough of this.” I sink my hand into my pocket and pull out a handful of powdered impshade, relieved that my sweat hasn’t congealed it into a sloppy, useless mess. I blow the powder off my palm. As soon as they inhale, all three shifters drop to the floor.
Stepping around them, I raise a broken shard of my cup. “More wine. And put it on their tab.”
“Yes, absolutely.” A barmaid promptly brings me another.
I dust my palms on my pants, then grab my plate of bread crusts, looking for a new table to sit at.
When I finally settle into my new spot, I rub at my neck where the raven snagged me with a talon. A thin line of blood marks my finger. I’ve had worse injuries.
No one pays any attention to the ravens now snoring on the floor. They’ll wake up with headaches and nightmares for a few nights, but otherwise, they’ll be completely fine.
Alone again, I munch on my bread crusts, which are surprisingly delicious. I eat with gusto, dipping a few select pieces in the wine, but frown at the crumbs floating around when I take a drink.
The door to the tavern opens, catching my attention. In walks a dragon shifter. His uniform is perfectly wrinkle-free, form-fitting black leather.
I sweat at the thought of how hot I’d be in those leathers. But also, how yummy it’d be to see the muscled chest underneath.
The uniformed man wears his wavy mop of dark hair short enough not to get tangled in his horns.
Stubble runs across his sexy, strong jaw.
I wonder what it’d feel like under my tongue.
Or what that beautiful mouth would feel like against my skin.
The dragon’s eyes glitter like bright starlight framed with long, thick lashes.
With utter horror, I watch my haze of desire lift from my skin.
Like heatwaves, barely visible, probably not seen by anyone but me.
Usually, I have more control over myself.
I grasp for the haze as if I could catch it, but I realize how silly that must look.
The scent swirls in the air, heading straight toward…
I finally register the color of the dragon’s thick horns. Silver… silver? A prince. The prince. The one who needs a mer.