by Jane Cousins
She threw her plan out the window and went with her gut. “I love you.”
Liam’s eyes lit up and he met and matched her grin. “Damn Princess, I love you too.”
“You don’t have to sign the marriage contract.”
Liam chuffed a soft laugh. “I am totally signing that contract. I can just see the look of horror on my father’s face now.”
“Not to mention my grandmother’s.” Devon’s broad smile disappeared as she abruptly lifted her gaze to stare at the man standing directly behind a seated Liam, the one with a water tentacle instead of an arm wrapped tightly around Liam’s throat. “We have company?”
“This…” Liam flinched and struggled to swallow. “Is my half-brother, Fergal.”
Devon scowled at the man. He did look familiar. “Have we met?”
“Har-fucking-har.” Fergal’s cold blue grey eyes bore into Devon, sparkling with a mixture of what look like anger, smugness and contempt.
Devon tried to place him. “You’re suitor number five, no, that’s not right.” She took in his too carefully mussed dark blonde hair, the incredibly close shave, the French blue silk shirt he wore which clung just a little too tightly to his lithe muscular frame and the Burberry belt holding up his Italian wool trousers. “The gay one! Number two!”
“I am not gay.” Fergal’s eyes turned the colour of stormy Atlantic seas.
“You wore puce coloured loafers on our date.” Devon took a few steps forward, resting her hands down on the back of the empty sofa directly in front of her.
“And the defence rests.” Liam flinched as Fergal suddenly squeezed extra hard. Damn, he felt like a bow, his back arching as Fergal practically hauled him back over the sofa.
“Calm down Fergal.” Devon snapped. If only there wasn’t a coffee table and two sofas separating her from this asshole. Plus there was Liam to consider, with that choke hold he was in, Fergal, at least for the moment, really did hold all the cards. “What do you want?”
“I want you to sit down.” Fergal jutted out his chin, gesturing at the sofa directly before her. “Slowly.” He warned. “Or I’ll pop his head off like I’m uncorking a bottle of the 1928 Krug champagne.”
“So gay.” Devon muttered, shaking her head, rounding the sofa to take a seat across from Liam, only the coffee table separating the two of them now. “Not that there is anything wrong with that, being gay I mean. But being a murderous underhanded sneaky asshole, now that’s unforgiveable.” She really didn’t like how red in the face Liam was looking, she needed to distract Fergal. “So, you’re the mastermind.”
“The mastermind?” Fergal relaxed, a smirk tilting up the edges of his lips. “I like that.”
Liam took a shallow breath and then a slightly deeper one. He sent Devon an apologetic look. “He came up through a crack in the floorboards, caught me totally by surprise. His mother is from a Cepha clan, so he can pretty much get into anywhere that isn’t water tight.”
“Are you okay?” The points of Devon’s killing nails pricked her palms as her hands curled into fists.
“This?” He flicked his gaze down at the water tentacle. “It’s another specialty of Fergal’s, reminds me of all the Chinese burns he used to give me when I was a kid.”
Fergal chuckled. “Good times.”
“Well, that explains how you got past the enforcers and broke in, but I’m still no clearer on why? Why send Sienna Groves to kill us? It was you, right, that seduced her with pretty words and chaste kisses, making her believe you were the re-incarnation of Romeo and Juliet?”
“I was picturing it more as Westside Story in my head.” Fergal’s smug smirk widened.
“And yet you don’t think you’re gay? Shiiiit.” Liam hissed as Fergal gave him an extra hard squeeze for that comment.
“You must have searched long and hard amongst the betrothal brides to find someone as naïve and impressionable as Sienna.” Devon noted quickly, wanting Fergal distracted from throttling Liam.
Fergal rolled his eyes and shuddered. “Poseidon, those women… scary. But then I found, Sascha… well, Sienna to you.” He heaved out a put upon sigh. “The only thing classy about that woman was her name. It was like taking a worm off a hook, accidentally meeting her, convincing her we were young loves dream, separated by circumstances beyond our control yet destined to be together if only we could thwart the machinations of an evil Makura Princess and a heartless scheming brother.”
Devon issued a derisive snort. “So you came up with a plan to have her off me and Liam. I assume you intended for Sienna… Sascha, to be killed as well, war is announced on Sascha’s clan, and all the betrothal contracts dissolved.”
Fergal nodded. “Close enough. Though it wouldn’t have mattered once you were both dead if she was caught, after all, with her claiming that she and Liam Chambers were in love and going to be married… yet the evidence would clearly show the crazy woman would have just personally killed Liam. You can imagine the results, incarceration in a mental facility for Sascha and the Makura and Merrow would rain vengeance down on the Scaves and all their allies.”
Devon rolled her eyes, so melodramatic, typical Merrow. “Okay, I get it. You had a grand plan, you found the perfect patsy but I still don’t know why? Why go to all this trouble? To kill me off? To kill Liam?”
“Please.” Fergal sent her a pointed look. “We both know you were going to choose me. I’m well dressed, well spoken, immaculately groomed and highly intelligent.” He sniffed, looking down at Liam with disdain. “You’ve seen my competition, who else are you going to choose?”
Devon’s left eyebrow arched up briefly, disbelief and anger roiling through her. “So what if I did choose you? Why was the idea of spending ten years living in Sydney in a great house with a healthy monthly allowance, provided by yours truly, so damn terrifying?”
Fergal looked a little nonplussed for a moment. “There is an allowance?”
“Don’t any of you even read the betrothal contracts?”
“I don’t want the allowance.” Liam stated.
Devon’s lips quirked up at the edges for a moment as she glanced over at him. “Not even a star and reward system? Think of all the brownie points you could earn in the bedroom alone.”
Liam chuffed a soft strained laugh. “I’d own you within a month.”
“Stop it!” Fergal glared down at Liam, then over at Devon. “Stop it with these stupid games. I know you’re just trying to distract me. It’s not going to work.”
Devon crossed her legs and bought a hand up to study her nails, acting as if she were relaxed and had all the time in the world. “You’re wrong you know. Not only about me and Liam.” She shot him a fleeting sexy smile. “But that I would have chosen you.”
Fergal tossed his head back, all that hair product ensured not a hair on his carefully mussed head moved. “Please.”
Devon’s right eyebrow arched upwards for a moment and she let a cool disdainful smile play at the corners of her mouth. “Has a little birdie been whispering in your ear, Fergal? Perhaps there’s a mastermind behind the puppet master, pulling your strings.”
“You were going to choose me.” Fergal’s petulant tone held just the tiniest thread of doubt.
“Because you’re tidy, groomed and have tighter pores than I do? No, sweetie. It’s for those exact reasons I would never have chosen you. Sure you would have fit into my lifestyle and we probably could have been friends, shopping, being bitchy about everyone we know… but to be married to you? All my friends sending me pitying looks. Wondering if I realise my husband is gay?”
“I’m not gay! I’m metrosexual.” Fergal hissed the words out between gritted teeth.
“And it’s both sweet and sad that you seem to think that.”
“Merrow are notoriously homophobes, our father is the worst of the lot.” Liam added. “But you need to stop trying to please him Fergal, aren’t you tired of living a lie?”
“There is no lie. I’m not gay.” Fergal sounded a l
ittle shrill now. And the colour of his face was making her recall the colour of those Yami awful puce loafers.
“Okay, calm down.” Devon was worried Fergal would accidentally throttle Liam if he didn’t get his temper under control. “So you came up with this grand plan, to seduce Si… Sascha, get her to kill Liam, then me. War is declared and the marriage contracts are dissolved. As someone pointed out to me recently, that’s quite an extreme, high risk, high collateral, plan. Why didn’t you just fake your own death until all the marriage contracts were finalised and then miraculously arise from the grave?”
Fergal went pale and then colour swooped in to stain his cheeks.
“Didn’t think of that one, did you?” Devon uncrossed her legs and leaned forward on the sofa. “You must have spent a lot of time and effort finding Sascha, convincing her of your love, getting her on board with your plan to kill two people.” Devon shot him a disdainful glare.
Liam swallowed with some difficulty but managed to keep his tone even. “Fergal did always like the elaborate, showy cons. But I kind of have to ask, when did taking a life… two lives, become acceptable? We’re white collar criminals for Poseidon’s sake, father isn’t going to be at all happy with you.”
“That’s what will piss your father off? Not the trying to kick off a bloody war but that he’ll be charged with accessory to commit murder and perhaps be found culpable for Sascha’s death?” Devon inched closer to the edge of the sofa, shifting the majority of her weight to the balls of her feet in readiness.
Liam gave a small shrug, his neck was starting to ache from the pressure Fergal continued to apply. He knew he just needed to be patient a little longer, it was all about the timing. His half-brother, the sneaky son of a Merrow was fast and tricky. He was pretty sure from Devon’s body language she was about to stage a distraction, he just needed to be ready, and still breathing, when she made her move. “The King’s motto is don’t get caught. But if you do get caught, then cushy minimum security facilities where you can make friends and contacts with like-minded individuals is the only acceptable outcome.”
“I’m not going to jail.” Fergal snapped.
“Just what is the game plan here?” Devon soothed her hair as it moved restlessly, writhing down her back, promising it revenge soon, encouraging it to be patient.
“Murder, suicide… obviously.”
Liam huffed a sigh. “You’re a sports agent Fergal, not a killer. You haven’t thought this through. No one will believe I killed Devon, she’s the woman I love, the future mother of my children-”
“Children?” Devon interrupted. Surprise widening her eyes for a moment.
“Yes, children.” Liam winked at her. “At least two.”
“Maybe.” Devon conceded, though she couldn’t deny the warm glow that fired in her belly, her and Liam… having kids. He’d thought about them having kids, together… that was kind of sweet… and slightly presumptuous. “But they categorically stay away from my Grandmother and if your father tries to come near them I will rip his testicles off.”
“Promise?” Liam chuffed a strained laugh.
“Promise.” Devon nodded with imperious finality.
Fergal’s attention shifted back and forth between them like he was at a tennis match, a scowl of anger and confusion on his face. The reality of this moment was obviously not living up to his expectations. Liam and Devon weren’t sticking to the script where he was the star of this scene and they cowered before him reluctantly admiring his cunning and superior intellect.
“You seriously expect me to believe you and the runt here are an item?” Fergal sneered.
“Runt?” Devon looked to Liam for an answer.
“One of the more affectionate nicknames my half-brothers came up with for me when we were kids. You know Fergal, I suppose I have to thank you in a weird way. If it wasn’t for all your Machiavellian plotting I probably would have just slouched into town, had a horrendously bad date with Devon and been consigned to the potential husband scrap heap. Never realising what I was missing out on.”
“True.” Devon concurred. “Being unconscious and all that drooling really were the two factors that signalled that I was on to a clear winner. Sad as it might be to admit it, I suppose a thank you is in order.”
“Stop it.” Fergal hissed. “Stop it! I don’t believe anything you’re saying. You would have chosen me…” Fergal’s storm coloured eyes glared Devon’s way, filled with anger and petulance.
“No, not in a million years.” Devon couldn’t keep the feral grin off her face as she launched herself forward, stepping up onto the coffee table and diving up and over Liam, her killing nails aimed straight at Fergal’s perfectly moisturised face.
Fergal shrieked in terror, and it was far from a manly sound. He ducked, transforming into his water form at the same moment Liam did. The two of them wrapping around one another, locked in a watery embrace.
Devon crashed down on the floor, behind the sofa, her knees taking the brunt. A few of her curls lashed out, wrapping around furniture trying to bring her momentum to a halt. Furniture toppling around her as her forehead smacked up against one of the dining room chairs. Ouch, but it could have been worse.
Devon scrambled to her feet, turning to watch the two Merrow water forms churn and froth as they undulated and fought for supremacy. They’d rolled over the sofa, destroyed the coffee table and were now flowing unchecked around the living room.
Rivers and Lakes, in their current forms she couldn’t tell them apart, which meant she couldn’t help Liam. Was he winning? Was he losing? Was he in trouble… dying?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Traditionally, Devon didn’t do side lines. She didn’t do helpless, and she certainly didn’t let fear freeze her with inactivity.
Things would have been different if she knew which one of the thrashing water forms was Liam. But like this, as they churned and flowed, knocking over furniture, sending ornaments and paintings crashing to the floor, she had no idea. She was tempted to let her hair reach in and tear them apart. But what if that impeded Liam, or somehow gave Fergal the upper hand? If she interfered, she might do more harm than good.
She could call for help though. Except her mobile phone wasn’t in her pocket. Must have fallen out when she dived over the sofa. Frantically, keeping half an eye on the fighting water spouts she searched the nearby debris. Damn.
“Dev..”
She glanced up. Watching as the water forms parted for a brief second, and Liam’s face appeared, translucent, liquid, but definitely him.
“Find… som… water-tight!”
Of course. Devon jumped over a chair, crunching over broken pottery. In the kitchen she yanked open cupboards, searching for something water-tight, something big enough to fit a grown Merrow in. No. No. Too small. Too flimsy and still not big enough. Damn, everything was the wrong size. She glanced around the room. The dishwasher, the oven…. Ooh, the fridge. If Liam could manoeuvre Fergal into the fridge, she could keep it closed using her hair until the police arrived.
Devon flung open the door and then cursed. Shit, Liam had said Fergal’s mother was from a cephalopod clan, which meant octopus or squid and those things could squeeze through the smallest of cracks. Devon glared at the air filter at the back of the fridge. Fergal would escape in three seconds flat if they tried to imprison him in the fridge.
A loud crash came from the living room, followed by the sound of a window shattering. Mac McKenzie, out front in the police car, had to have heard that. But what could he do even if he did come to the rescue? Like her, he’d be hampered by Fergal’s liquid form. Liquid!
If she couldn’t trap Fergal, maybe she could hurt him. Devon slammed open the cupboard under the kitchen sink, knocking over the contents as she searched for what might do the trick. Nothing. Hurriedly she dashed over to the small laundry room, her hair catching and providing support as her boots skidded across the slippery floor. There, above the washing machine. One of her curls lashed out, sc
ooping up the bottle of bleach. This had to work. Turning, she raced back to the living room.
Her gaze clashed with Mac McKenzie’s serious blue eyes, as he stood in the foyer corridor, across the wreckage of the living room.
“How do we separate them?” Mac demanded, surveying the sloshing churning mass of towering water as it bulged and spiralled. Clearly unfazed to see two creatures made of water fighting for supremacy in the middle of the living room, creating a mess, though nothing was wet but the two combatants.
Devon grabbed the bleach from her hair, struggling to pull off the child proof cap for half a second. “Stand back.” She held up the bottle so Mac would know what her intentions were.
Mac nodded, taking two quick steps back into the front foyer, his gun in one hand, ready, his radio in the other.
Devon watched the roiling liquid mass as it surged up against a wall, dislodging a mirror and sending it crashing to the ground. Damn, she’d really liked that mirror. Honestly, she was never going to get her safety deposit back now, she might as well just buy the place and fix all the damage herself.
The liquid mass bounced off the wall, churning into almost a perfectly shaped giant ball of water. Great, so much for separating the two Merrow. It looked like she had no choice but to quite literally calm the waters… it was a talent she’d inherited from her mellow father that she rarely employed. Why would she? As a Makura she was usually winding people up, not wanting to send them to sleep.
Softly she began to sing, a Hawaiian lullaby her father had taught her. She wasn’t the greatest of singers but that was of little consequence. It was the power beneath the words that mattered. Power to soothe a fussy child or to calm the seas long enough for the local fisherman to make it home of an evening.
Devon deliberately kept her volume low, soothing, barely audible… the kind of tune that catches your attention and you have to slow down… stop, to hear the words. She watched as the massive ball of water began to move sluggishly, roiling slower and slower until it was all but undulating in the centre of the room.