by RaeLynn Blue
Memories of Mermaids
RaeLynn Blue
Copyright Notice
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright© 2012 RaeLynn Blue
Editor: Chere Gruver
Proofreader: Novellette Whyte
Cover Artist: Nancy Grayson Donahue
Published by Mocha Memoirs Press, LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Due to copyright laws you cannot trade, sell or give any e-books away.
Other Mocha Memoirs Press titles
by
RaeLynn Blue
Theft of Souls
Beauty & the Geek: Rocket to Love
Thelma’s Eatery
Somethin’ Cookin’
Cook’s Choice
An Open Lure: An Otherworld Attendant Story
An Open Melody: An Otherworld Attendant Story
The Concierge
A Healer’s Bond
Cabin Fever with Shara Azod
Publisher Note:
This is a work of fiction and may contain descriptions of adult situations, explicit language, and scenarios. This story is for adults only. Please keep this out of the hands of people under the age of 18 years old.
31 Days of Steamy Mocha:
Memories of Mermaids
Chapter One: The Fish
“One more lap, come on, Triton!” Ram shouted. “Move your ass!”
Triton grinned as he casually rotated through the heated water of the Olympic-sized pool and floated on his back, his backstroke slow and relaxed. He didn’t bother answering his friend’s insistent barks, because he didn’t swim competitively anymore. Not since the accident at the last Olympic trials. The car accident broke his leg and kept him from competing. Yeah, Michael Phelps wouldn’t be the golden boy, he would’ve been except for a drunk driver. He, Triton Tidwell would be all the rave and the envy of every swimmer on the planet.
That wasn’t his fate as his coach had said.
“Are you daft?” Ram bellowed, the vein snaking down the center of his forehead threatening to explode at any moment. “I said to move it!”
“Keep your trunks on!” Triton rotated around in the water and forced himself to push through the currents, driving himself faster and faster, and for just a few moments, racing against the naysayers and the stopwatch in Ram’s oversized fist.
He’d dreamed again last night of a golden palace under the sea, and him, a merman darting through the waters, surrounded by mermaids and other merfolk. He’d awakened when he realized he hadn’t been breathing and his very real body bucked to snatch in air to his starved lungs.
As a swimmer, he’d been called the Fish. Once his feet hit the water, people used to say he became something else, something that belonged in the water…a fish.
It was always the same dream. It started about six years ago, but had become more frequent as of late.
Smack!
His hand touched the concrete and, out of habit, he shot upward to see Ram’s smiling face.
“Wow!” Ram barked out, running his hair through his sandy brown hair. He held the stopwatch up. “You almost beat your fastest time! And you got started late. Think, Tri, if you would’ve started out strong!”
Triton placed both hands flat against the top layer of the pool’s edge and lifted himself out.
A burst of giggles met his ears as he took the towel from Ram’s outstretched hand. He spied the source of the noise. A flock of women had come into the community pool and as women tended to do, were all clustered in a huddle. They watched him, but he tried to ignore the attention. Wrapping the towel around his scarlet-hued Speedos, he slipped on his flip-flops and headed to the men’s locker-room.
“Wait!” Ram bellowed from behind him.
Really, the man had only one voice level—loud.
“What?”
“Those chicks were checking you out! I mean, come on, you got like six hot chicks preening and posing for you. Damn, the one in the middle was smokin’.”
Triton spun around, and met his friend’s wild blue eyes.
How did he explain this and not sound like an ass?
He waited until the locker-room door closed behind them.
“What’s out there, Ram, is a bunch of women who see me as a meal ticket.” Triton hated the way it sounded, but sometimes the truth wasn’t pretty. It was ugly. Downright hideous.
“A meal ticket?”
“Well, yeah. I’m a famous swimmer, and those women see cha-ching. They aren’t interested in me, but in photo ops and whatnot.”
Ram smirked at him.
“You haven’t swum professionally in nearly four years. Those women aren’t checking you out because of who you were, genius.”
Triton frowned at him.
“Yeah. Whatever.” Triton sat down on the bench outside of his locker. He toweled off his legs and his feet. He’d shower when he got home.
Ram stood in front of him, blocking a bit of the harsh overhead fluorescent lighting from Triton’s face. At nearly six feet four inches and over two hundred pounds, Ram had played college football and trained him like a football coach does his minions. They’d been best buds forever, but Ram had no respect for competitive swimming’s popularity. He only trained Triton to see him be successful and because they were friends.
But make no mistake, to Ram, football was king and country.
“I’m your buddy, your homie, your friend, but, Triton, you can’t keep thinking that every woman who gets hot for you is after your wallet.”
“You don’t say.”
“See? After four years you’re still letting that ex-girlfriend lock down your heart.” Ram shrugged. “She couldn’t have been that good of a fuck. Really, man, she ain’t some supermodel.”
“Let it go.” A sharp ring of warning in Ram’s tone.
“That’s funny since you can’t seem to.” Ram checked his reflection in the mirror. “I’m outta here. Meet you here again tomorrow. Same time.”
Triton growled out, “Yeah.”
Ram laughed as he exited the locker-room.
Stripped out of his swimming trunks and toweled dry, Triton dressed quickly. More than ready for a shower, he left the locker-room with as much speed as the law would allow. He hated to admit it but Ram had been right. Not every woman he met was as beautifully gifted, kind, or athletic as Antonia.
Not every woman was a dream either.
Antonia existed only in his dreams. Logically he knew and understood that, but he couldn’t trust his heart to make wise decisions about falling in love with her.
Putting his dream girl out of his mind, he exited the training facility. He climbed onto his bicycle and headed for home and a hot, cleansing shower. Already after three in the afternoon, he had enough time to shower, eat, and take a short nap before his gig tonight.
The crammed city streets kept him in the painted white bicycle lane, but he didn’t trust people not to ignore it. He hugged the curb and nearly ran up onto the sidewalk as his mind drifted. A nice spring day shined in the cornflower-blue sky, bleached white puffy clouds and lemonade sun. Low humidity and a gentle breeze wafted through the trees and Triton pushed forward. The sooner he got the chlorine off his skin, the happier he’d be. Muscles singing and body humming from his workout, Triton’s only thought was getting home.
He reached his condo and noted how no one appeared outside on the
steps. The two buildings beside his had children jumping rope on one side, and on the other, college students had their textbooks out and heatedly discussed some point. Hoisting the bike and his backpack, he headed up the stairs to his condo. The elevator sat open and vacant, but he found the mild workout to be therapeutic. With practiced skill, he unlocked his door and slipped into his two-bedroom space. He reeked of chlorine and pool water. Not even pausing to eat, he made a beeline for his shower and stripped, leaving the stinky clothes in a pile just outside his walk-in shower. In moments, Triton found himself covered in suds.
The steaming water and warm currents smashing into his back felt like heaven. Closing his eyes, Triton sighed and then he heard it.
* * * *
Triton…
A beautiful voice sang his name and he opened his eyes.
He wasn’t in his shower any more.
A palace room spread out around him. He’d been here before—in his dreams.
Blurred images of his two slick black stingrays, the shimmer of his trident bolted into molten rock which made up the rear wall all came into view. Golden walls draped around the stony rock, a reminder of an accident from the neighboring underwater volcano. The sparsely decorated room contained only his bed, a mirror, and a few scattered belongings.
Groaning, he swam through the gentle currents to his mirror. It cast a rippling reflection of his kelp-toned striped hair amongst his mass of brunette strands. They floated around as he stretched and yawned. Wiping his brown eyes, he used his lean muscular arms and powerful tail to propel himself through the chilly waters.
Brushing the algae from his hard, green scales, Triton swam through the arc in his bedroom door, and out into the halls which were decorated in rich pearls and seashells, all painted in crisp, cool blues and ivories.
At the top of the pearl slide which connected the top tier and the bottom floor, Triton paused. Floating green strands slipped into view. He heard the short shouts and eager murmurs as a lean woman gently coursed into view, her large tail fin decorated in hues of bright verdant green. Around her neck, a belly-length shell necklace. Each thumb-length shell, in various shapes, bumped against her torso as she glided. She glanced up to the stairway.
He peered at her. So much familiarity rushed him, he hiccupped. He knew this woman. The dream always went this way. He’d meet her here, at the top of this balcony.
Antonia.
“I was just on my way to wake you,” she said, a sharp frown ruining her otherwise perfect face. “The guards held me up, again. Several seahorses escaped and needed to be corralled.”
Triton nodded as if he was listening, but in fact, he wasn’t. All of his attention had snagged at Antonia’s full mouth. He reached for her instinctively and it felt right.
She giggled and playfully swatted his hands. “Not now, we’re late for breakfast. You hungry?”
“Yes,” Triton confessed as the stunning mermaid swished out of his grasp again.
Antonia’s long, glistening black hair had been braided into a series of small plaits. They waved in the sea’s currents. Her tapered waist blended into her ornately decorated scales and fin. The smooth brown tint to her skin screamed for the soft, slow glide of his tongue. Her breasts, free and unencumbered by clothes, bounced as she swam, perfect points of cinnamon surrounded by warm honey.
No doubt she’d lured more than one sailor to his death by her captivating beauty.
“Triton! Are you listening?” Antonia bopped him with her tail as she swam to meet him. With her eyebrows raised, she added, “You’ve seen my breasts before.”
True. Despite the fact he couldn’t quite remember it.
“Yes, but they never cease to impress.”
She blushed and wagged a finger at him. “You think they’re all beautiful.”
“Only yours.”
No one wore clothes. Wet garments made swimming difficult and cumbersome. He was still a man—a breast man to boot. Thank the gods for small favors. And yeah, he was bare-chested himself. Still the fact didn’t make Antonia’s gorgeous orbs any less stimulating. Gods, he loved wrapping his lips around Antonia’s taut, tight nipples—loved how the hardened flesh felt as he flicked them with his tongue. Relished her squealing in pleasure.
How do I know what she sounds like when pleasured?
“You all right?” Antonia squeezed his hand.
“I am confused. I feel like I know this place, but I’ve never been here. But I feel like you and I...”
She seemed so happy, but around her eyes soft sadness leaked out.
“You do know this place. It’s your home, and you’re my husband.”
“Husband?”
“Yes.” She swam down the slide, her warm mocha complexion perfect in the currents. Glancing over her shoulder, she waved at him to follow and slowed for Triton to catch up. He sighed and sailed down to her with dread piling into his stomach.
* * * *
“Yow!” Triton screamed.
His eyes flapped open and the rush of air burned in his lungs as they struggled to breathe.
The icy shower spray wrenched him back to the here and now and he hurriedly rinsed off and shot out of the shower. Gasping, his breathing ragged, he toweled off, scooped up his old smelly clothes and dumped them into the nearest clothes hamper.
Waking visions, the same recurring daydream… Triton shook his head. Whatever hold he held on reality was slipping.
Grabbing the sink’s porcelain edge, he tried to settle his breathing into something normal. The thing was he felt like he’d been underwater, swimming, and his body had physically reacted to it.
This didn’t surprise him, but it did worry him.
He glanced into the mirror.
“What the hell…”
A kelp-green streak interrupted the mass of his ebony hair. Before he went into the shower, he didn’t have any streaks, but now, out of the shower… He’d dreamed his hair had been highlighted with emerald strands.
“No…”
He touched the highlighted streaks, and sure enough they remained there. No hallucination, no tricks.
“Must’ve been some reaction with the chlorine in the pool.”
He had to admit, the streaks looked good on him, making him appear edgier, and interrupting the seemingly endless flow of dark hair.
“Yeah.”
It nagged him that the reaction only affected those few strands toward his face and in such an organized manner. He pushed the gnawing worry to the side.
Chapter Two: The Mermaid
Antonia floated into the private throne room, where her father, Atlantian, ruler of the sea sat in his enormous chair. With his foam-white hair swirling about his head, he growled in menacing annoyance.
“Where have you been?” Atlantian thundered, causing waves.
His green eyes appeared as mere slits in his wrinkled face. His face exhibited weathering the power his rule wrought. Like every other merperson, Atlantian’s chest was nude except for a sprinkle of equally white hair. On his head, a crown and in his fist, his trusty trident.
“Triton visited again, Father. I must go to him.”
His father looked at her and then away.
“Is he worth it? Is he worth you leaving home, perhaps forever?”
Antonia swallowed the burning emotions in her throat. “I love him.”
“So be it, but know this, Antonia. If you do not return to the sea within four days, you may be stuck on the surface for eternity. Just as he is.”
Her father reached inside his throne and removed an aqua scroll with peach-colored shells dangling from each end. Emblazed on the outside, a silver trident, Atlantian’s symbol. He extended it to Antonia.
She understood her father’s reluctance, but her goals lay on the surface, in the arms of Triton. Hardly the girl she once was, Antonia would do whatever she had to do to make those plans reality. Even if that meant leaving her father’s house and establishing a home of her own—on land.
Leaving
the sea.
It pained her to go, and her stomach knotted with the bitterness of it.
Atlantian’s face crinkled into creases. “Do you hate the sea that much?”
“No, Father. I just love him that much more.”
Her father smiled, but she saw the sadness her decision caused him. It lit up his stomach like bioluminescent fish.
“So be it,” Atlantian boomed, spooking a pool of passing fish. Scattering, they fled the court in a burst of bubbling water. “You long to leave the sea. You ache for land. For Triton. Now go. Live among them. See for yourself. This I command.”
Singing her goodbyes, Antonia swam off, his father’s quiet grief in her wake. She needed to put some distance between herself and her old man for now. Going to the surface didn’t have to equate to death. The scroll still clutched in her hand, she swam harder to the surface. On she swam, out of the castle’s gates and through the gaggle of seaweed up toward the surface. Urgency pushed her on, propelling her like a torpedo. She kept going until she reached the heated sunny rays on the water’s surface. Already the three slits on her neck beneath her ears, her breathing gills, began to seal. Her large fanlike fin split as she broke the sea’s surface, gasping for oxygen.
Crawling up the wet sandy shore, Antonia’s very human legs and feet formed into hardened muscles and lean calves. The slits became indigo tattoos on her skin, and she clutched the scroll tight in her hand.
“Triton.”
All she could focus on was getting to him. She pressed her body to move up the rocky shore to her temple turned beach house. Smelling of seawater, sardines, and salt, Antonia strolled into a square-shaped building. Local women often served as priestesses to her under the guise of being housekeepers. She had some sway with the town and a temp agency from her previous little visits to the surface. Her father knew none of this.
She entered the temple, and found a man there instead of her usual priestess.