by Starla Night
The shock in her face, followed so swiftly by rejection, showed him why he was going to continue. Soren stitched over the ridges of new scar tissue forming on his heart, yanked her close, and turned her. He locked her soft derriere against his hard cock.
She moaned. “Soren?”
He blew her hair out of his way and kissed her neck, savage in his need to possess her. She gasped and moaned. He kissed down her shoulder, curved his arms around, and cupped her breasts. Squeezing the soft mounds, he teased and pinched the pearly nipples.
She moaned again. “What are you doing?”
This time, he did not shy away. “Pleasuring you.”
Her soul light glowed red hot.
He licked her neck and kissed her again. Burning to have her. Truly have her. Forcing himself to be satisfied with only this.
She wiggled. “I want you. Pressed against me. Your cock. Please Soren.”
It was dangerous. Impossible.
He had to do it.
Letting go of one breast, he gripped his cock and threaded it between her legs. Her thighs slicked with her own juices. Being squeezed between them felt like a prayer. He pushed. His cock slid through and emerged on the other side, sliding against her hot nub.
She gasped and shivered.
This was torture.
Laying her soft body bare to him, she staked her love. Her truth shone with her beauty.
He held her in place so he didn’t accidentally slip and thrust inside her. He would not bind her with a young fry until she became his queen. This was as much as he could give. He held himself against her hot nub and thrust again and again, following the rhythm of her cries. His cock slipped hot and fast between her legs. He gripped her hard.
Aya cried and arched. Her body tensed. Her soul light shone brighter than the Life Tree. Again, just as before, her beauty washed over him. She was all he ever wanted. As a warrior, she was the fire he longed to rest near.
His balls clenched.
Curse it.
He shot backward, free of her luscious release, and clamped down on his own. He would not explode. He would not explode. He would not explode.
The unstoppable urge faded. His will prevailed. He contained himself and did not explode.
Aya rested in front of him on her elbows and knees, her buttocks still thrust beautifully up, revealing herself to him. She rose and stretched, curving her back sinuously. Her gills flared with a sigh.
She was so beautiful.
He nearly lost his control again.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. A lazy, powerful expression transformed her face into confidence. An orgasm did not make his Aya feel small or vulnerable. It made her invincible, shining brilliant as the sun, which was how she should always be.
“Again. I got all the good stuff and you got nothing.” She pushed off the bare floor and tackled him, pressing his shoulders into the bare castle floor. “I could at least finish you off.”
He did not need finishing. But he accepted her nearness and tugged her against his shoulder where she had fit against him. “Rest.”
She traced the tattoo swirls on his pectorals. “These are so intricate.”
“Honor markings.” He stroked her head and shifted to a more comfortable angle against the subtle curve of the floor. “All honorable warriors have them.”
“Oh?” Her tone teased him. “Why do you?”
He snorted. “I was honorable once.”
“Very honorable, if all of these tattoos stand for different accomplishments.” She trailed down to his ticklish belly.
He clasped her hand to stop her. “They are arranged in groups. Some are accomplishments. Some are battles. Some are deaths.” He regretted those.
She seemed to sense his sadness. Her voice lowered. “There is no choice on the battlefield.”
“Yes, it is rare to kill on the battlefield. Warriors who invade my city and attack my young fry or injure my elders, ask for death. So, I answer.”
She tapped the ink over his heart. “Soren. Why do you call yourself dishonorable now?”
He kept his eyes closed. He did not want to see her expression when she knew.
She waited.
He could not tell her this.
“I betrayed my city,” he said roughly, settling on a true but easier answer. “They put their faith in me and I abandoned them to join Atlantis. And I failed Kadir.”
Soren had been battling in another sea when Kadir was imprisoned. Kadir was one of the few who had never seen him as a monster, but always as a loyal friend. And Soren had done nothing to help him. Not until he had been recalled from the battlefront. While home, he had committed his dishonor, and only then had he sought to assist Kadir. Only then, when it was nearly too late.
“Failed?” Aya frowned. “Didn’t you raise an army and break him out of the impenetrable prison of the All-Council?”
“He almost died of starvation. And under my protection, the Atlantis Life Tree was severed. I betray everyone I serve. Atlantis is no different.”
She stroked him softly. His chest, clenched tighter than a fist, released under her quiet soothing. With her, he could relax.
Her soft voice nearly startled him awake; apparently he had soothed to the point of falling asleep. “Is that why you don’t want to sleep with me?”
Huh? He frowned. “I want to sleep with you very much.”
“No, I mean.” She swallowed and lifted on an elbow so he could see up into her blue eyes. She couldn’t hold his gaze, and kept skating away to study his forehead or cheeks. Anywhere but his eyes. “Sleep together like have sex.”
Ah. His heart thudded in his chest. Why was she asking? Did she wish for it too? “I want sex together very much.”
Her swift question framed her face. “But?”
“Until you choose me for your husband, I will not risk binding you with a young fry.”
“Risk binding…” She tilted her head, tracing his tattoos. “Is that what happened? You bound a bride who did not wish for you?”
“What? No!” How could she imagine such a thing? “Humans are fickle and take more than one lover. Mermen do not.”
Her face blanked in surprise. “Oh. That’s right. No, I was thinking in Dragao Azul maybe you had a bride.”
“Never.” There was only Aya. They were bound, for him, forever. “My mother did not wish for me. She did not love my father.”
“That’s not your fault.” She stared over his shoulder as though picturing the events of this past, and then she focused on him again. “You’re honorable.”
Ah, she was still trying to heal him.
“I don’t have any memories of my mom at home,” Aya continued. “She was always working. My dad left when I was three.”
“I had my father,” he said. “He raised me in the ways of honor.”
“At least you had one parent.” She stared out at the castle with a frown. “It’s one of the reasons I’m stuck. All my life I’ve been missing the special ‘thing’ that makes me able to connect with people. If you skip out on the critical attachment-forming step in childhood, it’s impossible to make it up later. And I worry about kids. Elyssa wants me as godmother to hers? Who knows how I’ll screw them up?”
He cupped her cheek. “You will be a great godmother.”
She softened, then stiffened. Her skepticism, natural self-preservation, refused to let her accept a compliment. “What makes you say that?”
He did not mind giving his reasons. “You have a fierce soul. You protect what you love. You are careful. When you meet Queen Elyssa’s young fry, you will protect him also.”
She swallowed hard. Her eyes reddened with emotion. “I don’t know.”
“Believe, Aya. And when you believe, your power will grow and you will become the queen Atlantis needs.”
Chapter Seventeen
Soren wanted a queen. Not Aya. A powerful warrior capable of clearing the battlefield with a sonic boom. The burning faith in his dark eyes singed he
r with sharp promise.
How ironic. The one time she found a man who loved her high achievements — instead of being emasculated by them — was the one time she couldn’t achieve anything.
If she could only figure out which muscle to flex, she would spend all her time becoming Soren’s powerful queen. And then, when she mastered her power, she’d marry him.
But if he rejected her…
Aya closed her eyes and turned away. Soren’s strong arm locked around her belly. His steady warmth guarded her back. Holding her loosely, comforting her but giving her room to breathe.
His love brought tears to her eyes.
Probably because she’d started thinking about parents, her mind drifted back to the last time she’d seen her dad.
He left when she was three and started a new family in the suburbs. No Christmas present, birthday card, or anything was sent her way. After he was gone, it was like he died. Or she did.
Until high school.
In her last year of the underage division of swimming, her name was published in the news as a competitor in the state meet. And for some reason, her dad had come. She saw him in the stands watching, and she knew it was him because she’d looked him up a few times.
It was hard to hide in the modern world. Everyone was findable online. Employee photos, directories, alumni reports. She’d wanted to know more about this man who’d dropped out of her life.
Apparently he’d wanted to know about her too. She resolved to show him her best. And so she swam her heart out and won first place.
After the meet, high with the congratulations of her coaches and teammates, she passed him outside the building and stopped. He was standing by himself, a loner like her, smoking a cigarette pinched between his middle finger and his thumb. She didn’t realize he smoked. He looked up and caught her eye, and she took that as a sign to approach.
He jerked his chin at her medal. “You won.”
She clenched the gold disk tightly.
His gaze shifted beyond her. “Your mom here?”
Aya shook her head.
His gaze narrowed. “Guess you’re just like her. Don’t need anyone. You’re fine without me.”
Her heart stopped.
He tossed the cigarette on the ground, crushed it out with the heel of his scuffed brown loafers, and headed to the parking lot. Dead smoke curled from the smashed wreck of paper. It looked the approximate size and shape of her heart.
That was the last time they talked.
She threw her first place medal in the bottom of a winter ski clothes box and shoved it under the bed. She quit swimming a month later to concentrate on her studies.
What was happening on the surface? To her company? To her old life?
Did her dad know she was gone, or care? Did her mom? Did anyone?
Here, beneath the waves, she mattered.
Unless she failed. And then Soren would throw her away just like everyone else.
The memory faded with a shudder.
Aya opened her eyes.
An empty green sky spread above her.
She was not in bed.
But she was lying on her back, meaning she had also not slumped over her desk. Had she fallen off her chair and was staring up at the plastic underside? She closed her eyes again and rubbed her forehead.
On crunch weeks, she tried to schedule sleep on an ergonomic pallet she had installed in a private room off her main office. Fewer embarrassing markings on her forehead when she awoke in whatever position she found herself.
It was strangely silent. The air conditioner ran most hours to cool the Miami offices, and even her apartment had a constant electrical hum. This was silent like the power had gone out. No computers humming, no phones vibrating, no distant lawn mowing company manicuring the lawns. No nothing.
She opened her eyes again. Cavernous empty green canvas. She rolled over.
A huge, black tattooed warrior lay face-down beside her.
Her location and everything about her situation slammed back into her. She rose and hugged her knees.
She was on the bottom of the ocean, on the bare floor of her own empty castle in Atlantis, attracted to a powerful warrior who took pleasure in sending mixed messages. What else would she call a man who wanted her but refused to sleep with her, promised marriage but refused to tell her the most important details of the past?
Soren slept in a funny way. Chest down, neck cricked at an odd angle, face mashed into the bare floor. How did he breathe? Slits on his back showed the location of his gills. She touched the skin next to them and they closed up, seamless on his back as if they didn’t exist. It was how he could walk around on land breathing air like a human. A few moments later, they opened again, flaring with a deep sigh.
Like her, he was leery of letting down his guard. Declaring his desire was one step. But he was still about as emotionally available to her as a mannequin.
A hard-bodied, tattooed, bulging mannequin.
How could she trust in him if he couldn’t trust in himself?
Her stomach rumbled.
She bounced to her feet and pushed off the floor, paddling toward the exit. It took a long time to go a little distance. How funny. When she was in Soren’s arms, she zoomed. She’d taken that mobility for granted.
As she neared the tunnel leading to the outside, she saw Faier resting in the middle holding a bag. With two powerful kicks, he crossed the distance to her side. “Queen Aya. How was your rest?”
“Disorienting. It felt like I slept a week.” Then, a thought struck her. “Did I?”
He lifted his eyes up to the left, calculating.
That was proof enough. She slowed. No wonder she was hungry. “Is there anything to eat around here?”
“Queen Elyssa worried about you.” He opened the bag. “She left this.”
It was filled with the foods she remembered from the previous…well, not last night, exactly. The last night she was awake and eating at the main castle.
“Oh, wonderful.”
He led her to a small, hollowed-out room someone had smoothed and set out the foods. Ciran joined them. She went straight for coffee-flavored beans. Mm, tangy decaf.
“Have there been any changes?”
The two warriors looked at each other. Faier shook his head. “Nothing significant.”
“Call Elyssa.” If she’d wasted a week sleeping, they had to work right away. “Let’s start planning.”
Ciran pushed off, unfurling his fins and kicking for the tunnel.
Faier smiled softly.
“What?” She stuffed food into her mouth. It was weird to be able to speak clearly with her mouth full.
He looked up, startled, then considered his response. “You are very different from Queen Elyssa.”
Hmm. With a solid week’s rest and a filling belly, she could analyze his statement without becoming emotional about it. “I bet her light is warm.”
“It is…”
“But?”
“You are different,” he emphasized again, and folded his hands.
How diplomatic.
But there was nothing wrong with diplomacy. It beat loud-mouthed emotions any day of the week. She liked that both Faier and Ciran were calm and thoughtful.
She tested his willingness to answer honestly.
“Why am I and Elyssa both called a queen? Elyssa is married to King Kadir.”
“Because you will stay,” he replied.
“My title is based on residence status? Not on hierarchy?’
He frowned and scratched an old scar at the base of his neck. “In ancient times, many queens ruled each city.”
“And kings?”
“The king is a direct descendant of the first king who planted a city’s Life Tree.”
So, only one. Interesting. “Were there ever any queens who couldn’t use their powers?”
“Before Queen Elyssa used her power, I thought the legends were mythical stories. Now I am pleased to be wrong.” He smiled.
The smile transformed his face. Worry lines at the corners of his soulful, dark eyes smoothed. His forehead relaxed, and his lips quirked endearingly at the edges of his full, expressive mouth. He looked young, charming, and confident.
Then, it faded. He abruptly aged under the weight of several tragic lifetimes. “If a queen had been present at the volcano that consumed Nerissa, perhaps she could have saved the city.”
Nerissa was Faier’s original city. After its destruction, he’d taken refuge in the mer city Rusalka and even earned the right to take his own bride, a rarity for immigrants. But then he was injured while defending the city, and they had rewarded his loyalty by throwing him away. He’d come here, to Atlantis, out of hope to someday have the chance to find love, become a father, and belong to a city that truly wanted him regardless of his scars.
Aya had cataloged those details from Elyssa’s early reports on all the mermen. She’d refreshed her memory briefly at the feast.
She put out one more hard truth. “I hope you’re not relying on Elyssa and me to save the city using our super powers. Because we’re just two people. And I’m not able to control mine. It’s better to leave now and save yourself. Don’t you think?”
His dark eyes flashed. “No.”
“You’ve survived a lot, Faier. You should know how to manage a disaster.” “I will not flee another city, driven before the tridents of my former friends. I will not watch my king screaming in agony as our Life Tree is extinguished along with his life. I will not go even if I am ordered.” He slammed his palm to his chest. “This time, I will not be the last to die. If it comes to the end, I will fight for King Kadir’s Life Tree inside the megalodon’s belly.”
Faier had lost everything twice. He was not going to be a last survivor a third time.
Inside his scarred body, she saw the proud young warrior determined to conquer any odds.
All the warriors of Atlantis had a story like him. Something had happened to make them dare to join this rebel city. Some tragedy or opportunity. Some promise.
What was Aya’s story?
“Well, good,” she said, turning her thoughts away from herself — a dangerous no man’s land right now — and mowing through her breakfast like she hadn’t eaten in a week. “I’ll rely on you as the final line of defense because I’m not sure anyone else would have the courage to keep fighting under those conditions.”