The Veiled Heir (The Heir of Atlantis #1)
Chapter 1
T rying to calm my mind in the brutal Florida heat was like trying to read a book with someone banging on a drum next to my head. I tipped my head back, my lids closing against the sun’s rays that scorched my tanned skin as I bobbed on the water—my abdomen tightening with the effort to keep steady. The warm summer breeze crested across the waters of the Atlantic, whipping my long, black hair behind my shoulders. Gentle waves pressed against my board as the palm trees hissed with the winds of change that had inevitably arrived, change that was now neatly packed into twenty-three boxes, one suitcase, and a toiletry bag that would be ready by morning.
The high-pitched squeal of children’s laughter interrupted my moment of zen, and my eyes snapped open—my gaze landing on the group of people snorkeling a few paces away.
Not just any people.
Tourists.
Lots of them.
While they’d mostly followed the instructions I’d bellowed over the deafening roar of the boat’s engine, it was clear most of them hadn’t paid attention. Water periodically shot from their snorkel tubes like whales breaching the ocean’s surface. It was difficult for them to keep their heads down long enough to catch the various fish species that populated the John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park in Key Largo. No matter. I won’t have to bellow any more instructions after today.
I reached down to cup the warm water and splashed it over my arms to cool my skin. Just thirteen more minutes, according to my Garmin; probably eleven since I’d checked about two minutes ago. The back of my neck prickled with awareness, prompting me to swivel around—my gaze catching on John Adams, the captain of our snorkel excursion tour boat. Deeply tinted aviator glasses rested upon the arrogant blade of his nose. His dark brown close-cropped hair remained flawless, and dark stubble shadowed his shapely jaw. The chiseled lines of his alluring mouth—one that had me desperate to move out of the friend zone this summer—formed a grin.
“Asshole,” I murmured.
I could see John’s shoulders shake with laughter even from this distance—quite the mouth reader, that one.
Watch the tourists , he said. It will be fun , he said. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. The only reason John insisted I be the one who monitored our well-meaning customers was because I was a freak of nature. At least that’s what I’d always called myself. My co-workers called me their good luck charm. The social media followers across Snorkida Shore Excursions’ pages called me a viral sensation.
I’d rather do my job and be none of those things.
With my feet dangling in the water, I watched the man from Wisconsin barrel around again, attempting to right himself. Wisconsin’s son popped his head out of the water and waved his hands in the air. “Chriiiiiiiiiiiiis! I found one! I found one! Come quick!” he yelled.
In all her long-legged swimmer glory, Chrissy leapt from the boat's stern and gracefully swam the distance with minimal effort. Her Snorkida one-piece clung to her torso like a second skin as her body disappeared momentarily below. Despite the snorkel gear in hand, her muscular arms peeled through the water with natural strokes. The four years on the University of Miami swim team were precisely why I’d recommended her in the first place. While Chrissy Baker didn’t have a marine biologist bone in her body, her bubbly personality played right into the hands of Snorkida’s customers.
“What did you find, Sam?”
“The brightly colored one,” he replied with an adolescent croak in his voice, his arms working feverishly to hold his body afloat.
Chrissy laughed. “They’re all brightly colored, silly.”
I could see the color bloom on the young man’s pale cheeks from where I floated. “Right. Well. Um. The blue and yellow one.”
“Ah, you’re talking about a Blue Tang. The one with the yellow stripe?”
Sam pointed at her. “Yup, that’s the one.”
She put on one of her signature Chrissy smiles that had the hearts of men, both young and old, desperate to know her. “Then let’s see if we can find it again, shall we?”
Damn, she really knows how to work ‘em . That’s another five-star review on TripAdvisor .
Chrissy fastened the snorkel gear skillfully over her ash-blond hair and dipped below water, searching for the fish she’d challenged the customers to find. She was notorious for claiming these fish were rare, but they were everywhere in these waters. “It’s an attempt to make their experience special,” she’d say, and judging by the number of people joining our excursion on any given day, I had no doubt that it was indeed working.
“Ash!”
I twisted around to John. A crease dipped below the top of his aviators as he pointed behind me. I wheeled back around, blocking out the sun with a raised hand. A hint of a fin slowly cut through the water a couple of dozen yards away.
It was heading in the direction of the tourists.
Without a second thought, I paddled feverishly for the boundary of the snorkel area—my board gliding on top of the surface. The muscles at my shoulders and biceps burned with each stroke. I instantly regretted packing those last few boxes before my shift. I’d have packed tomorrow before breakfast with my parents, but my driving desire for preparedness won over.
As I reached the perimeter, I bolted upright, willing air into my lungs. The fin slowed, slinking lazily back and forth in front of me.
Come on. Prove them wrong. Come at me.
But the shark did no such thing.
It transversed back and forth within ten yards from where I perched, my toned legs dangling below the water’s surface in a tempting invitation.
So, we’re going to do this dance again, are we?
Just when I thought this stand-off would last well after my shift was over, water splashed across my face, causing me to flinch. The shark retreated like it was being chased. I let out a long sigh. “They always do that,” I muttered to myself. I allowed one final scan of my surroundings before paddling back to the boat.
The final guest climbed the ladder that dipped into the water at the stern. As I grabbed a rung, Chrissy stood above me with her hands on her hips, smirking. “Way to save the day, Aquawoman.”
I huffed a laugh as I climbed. “How fitting.”
“You’ve certainly earned your happy hour slash celebratory farewell beer.” Chrissy pulled me over the final rung of the ladder, and we began gathering the fins, goggles, and vests that littered the floor. My mind raced—as always—desperately trying to make sense of what happened as the engine roared to life.
Perhaps the little sharky was just used to humans?
It was a lie I greatly wanted my pulsing heart to believe.
With the equipment safely tucked away and Chrissy off to entertain the guests, I stomped up the stairwell to the top deck and slid into my usual seat beside John—his rough hands held firmly on the wheel. He spared a glance at me, and the corner of his mouth twisted into a smirk.
“Don’t say it.”
“I haven’t said anything,” John said with mock innocence dripping in his tone. When he bit his lower lip, I swatted his upper arm. He broke out in hysterical laughter that drifted over the sound of the engine. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just so weird.”
I shook my head. “Don’t remind me.”
“But really cool at the same time, Ash.” He gazed blankly into the distance, as if replaying the incident in his mind. “Every. Single. Time.”
I shifted in my seat. I should have felt flattered by the awe in his voice, but confusion harbored that space. All my life, the most dangerous ocean predators seemed to avoid me. An unspeakable kinship had become the motivation to major in marine biology. Perhaps it was a kinship I’d been imagining, but as a semi-pro surfer, I’d witnessed firsthand the behavior of sea creatures when I was in their presence. I’d never revealed my obsession to anyone, but the ‘why’ of it all held my fascination in a death grip. Testing my limits always gave me an adrenaline rush. And I’d become addicted to it.
An old college memory came to mind.
My classmates and I had been invited to participate in a dive. There had been no shortage of sharks in the water that day, which was perfect for what I’d been eager to test. I recalled my classmate’s ashen face and could still hear her screaming in the water around her mouthpiece.
I tested the limits with a raw piece of meat that I had stealthily brought into the water. I can still see the crimson blood drifting into the water from the bait that was gripped tightly in my hand. I remembered the great white shark that had emerged from the shadows. It had circled me a few times, making no move to eat the meat…or my arm. And I could still feel my heart nearly coming out of my chest. After a several-minute standoff between us, I abandoned the meat and swam for the surface, but not before I witnessed the shark return to devour the bait I’d left behind. After that, most of my classmates thought I was some sort of shark whisperer.
To myself, I would always be Asherah Rey Delmar, a freak of nature. To my classmates, surf pros, and co-workers, I’d been nicknamed the queen of the sea creatures. And I’d made it my life’s mission to find out why.