Cursed Tides
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Cursed Tides
Daughter of Air #1
Jade Kerrion
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Author’s Note
About the Author
Other Books By Jade Kerrion
Copyright © 2018 by Jade Kerrion
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
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Cursed Tides / Jade Kerrion—1st ed.
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Cover Design by Rebecca Frank
Cursed Tides
She no longer wants to be a part of his world. But he must convince her to save it…
Ashe is one mission away from earning her soul. Nearly three centuries after her disastrous on-land escapade, the former mermaid has a final assignment: protect a marine biologist on his quest to save the oceans. Perhaps it's pure coincidence that Varun Zale is the descendant of the prince she once chose not to kill.
Varun can't explain how storms obey Ashe or why her eye color changes to match the tossing waves, but he suspects she is more than the mute ship captain she pretends to be. His growing fascination leads him from the shallows of a fairy tale to the depths of a mystery older than recorded time. In the midnight reaches of the ocean, monstrous titans stir. An unstoppable disease becomes a weapon in the hands of the mer-king.
Nothing Varun has ever imagined or believed about mermaids is true. And being wrong could cost him everything…
Chapter 1
A wave, the steel gray of the sky and as tall as a house, smashed against the ship. White caps washed across the deck, churning into sea foam. Like an injured orca, the research vessel lurched over the crest of the next wave before plunging into the trough of another.
Within the laboratory, deep in the belly of the ship, anything that was not bolted down went flying.
Including Varun Zale.
Inertia sent him tumbling when the ship dropped out from beneath his feet. His shoulder smashed into the low ceiling, his electronic tablet against the far wall. His coffee cup spilled a brown puddle over his notebooks. His pens scattered, rolling into impossible-to-reach crevices.
He swallowed the curse. It was at least partly his fault. Fifteen minutes earlier, Henry Jackson’s deep bass had boomed over the PA system, ordering all nonessential crew to return to their quarters and buckle up. Varun had been halfway through a seawater study; he had planned on returning to his cabin when the analysis was complete, but his now coffee-stained report had distracted him.
Varun grabbed his left shoulder and rolled it gently. Nothing broken. Yet. Holding on to the wall for support, he stumbled out of the laboratory and into the holding area. The steel floor was wet from the seawater that had sloshed out of the three holding tanks. The ship suddenly listed sideways. Varun lost his balance and rolled across the floor. Its textured surface did little to keep him from sliding toward the largest of the three tanks. He grabbed at the low rail that surrounded the tank. He had little fear of drowning—theoretically, at least—but getting wet was inconvenient.
The ship listed in the opposite direction. Seawater spilling from the tank soaked him.
What was the point, really? Staying dry was obviously a fool’s venture.
For a moment, his tilting world leveled out. He scrambled to his feet and dashed to the door, staggering up the steps toward the external door that opened out to the deck.
Varun emerged into torrential rain so heavy, so violent that for an instant, he thought the force of the water slashing against his body might flay off his skin. The gray sky was so bleak it appeared almost black. Lightning cut glowing, jagged streaks against the dark canvas, spreading an ethereal light over the waves.
His breath caught. The waves had to be at least thirty feet high.
One of those monsters rose like a sea titan, large enough to swallow the ship.
Veritas was a sturdy enough research vessel, but surely it was not made to take such a beating. And he had no time to run.
He slid his arm through the rail and locked tight with his other arm, before turning his back on the wave.
Water pummeled him. The force flung him forward, wrenching his shoulder, but he kept his muscles locked. He was almost certain he was drowning, but after an eternity, it passed, and Varun sucked in a desperate gulp of air. He was not just soaked now. He was drenched. Water squelching out of his boots with every step, he stumbled toward the steel-reinforced door that led toward the crew quarters. He fumbled with the lock for a moment before darting into the corridor and sealing the door behind him—a scant second before the next wave hit.
He sagged against the door as it trembled from nature’s fury.
The door held. For a single panicked moment, he was not sure it would.
Breathing heavily, he staggered down the corridor and pounded on the door of the cabin next to his.
“Who is it?”
Even through the door, Ondine Laurent’s voice sounded thin and terrified. He flung open her cabin door. His girlfriend’s white-knuckled hands gripped the rails on her narrow bed. Her eyes widened with alarm. “Mon dieu. You’re soaked through. Are you all right?”
He raked his fingers through his dripping hair. “I’m fine. You?”
“We’re sailing into the teeth of a storm! What is that captain doing? We’re all going to die!”
“I’ll check on the bridge.”
She shook her head. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I’ll be fine,” he promised. “I have to know what’s going on.” Maybe the captain is crazy, and we’re all going to die. “Just stay here. I’ll return soon.”
Back in the corridor, Varun peered through the porthole before reopening the airlock. The torrential downpour slashed his visibility to almost nothing, but the impact of each wave against the door provided enough clues on timing his exit. However, he had not accounted for the wind. It blasted him back. Rain and seawater sloshed into the corridor. Varun cursed under his breath as he struggled forward into the storm and pulled on the door with all his strength. The roaring ocean and screaming winds vanquished all other sounds, including the rapid pounding of his heart. He swung the bar to seal the airlock an instant before a wave slammed down on the deck. It washed him off his feet and swept him toward the inky black sea.
His fingers groped for purchase on the slick deck but found none. As his feet slid off the ship, a massive wave lifted the ship, tilting it the other way. He slid across the deck instead of into the ocean’s maw. Varun grabbed onto the rail and clung on, his eyes squeezed shut against the assault of salt water. He grimaced. It would really suck to die,
especially since the only reason the entire crew of the Veritas was in the middle of an Atlantic storm was because of him. Gritting his teeth, he forced his eyes open. Only twenty feet separated him from the bridge. He could do it. And he was almost better off pulling himself along the rail—however close it was to the endless spread of the Atlantic Ocean—than risking his neck on the wet deck.
As long as his hands did not slip.
A few inches at a time, he pulled himself forward. Something flashed in the corner of his eye. He glanced up, expecting lightning, but saw instead a silvery flash arc over the waves. Too slender to be a dolphin, yet too graceful to be otherwise. That glittering flicker—had that been lightning reflecting off fish scales?
His brow furrowed. No, it was ridiculous to even think it.
There were no such things as mermaids, his absurd family legends notwithstanding. Just because his entire family insisted on being mad, didn’t mean he had to jump over the cliff of madness too.
He got as close as he could to the bridge, gauged the wind and the waves, then let go of the rail, scrambling over the final few feet that separated him from the bridge.
The sound of the door slamming behind him seemed shockingly loud in the silence of the large room.
“Intruder! Intruder!” Jinn, the African grey parrot, screeched.
Several pairs of eyes—in fact, all but one pair of eyes—swiveled to him. The only person who did not turn around was the mute captain, Ashe, who stood at the helm, looking out at the tossing waves.
Henry Jackson, first mate of the Veritas, stared at Varun. “Why aren’t you hunkered down in your cabin? No one should be moving around in this kind of storm.”
“I came to see what’s going on. What’s happening?”
Jinn, perched on the captain’s shoulder, squawked, “Take us thirty-eight degrees northeast for one-twenty seconds, then a hard ninety degrees turn east for seventy-five seconds at an angle of one-oh-five degrees.”
Meifeng, the navigator, punched the directions into the computer. The ship’s engines screamed, turning despite the wind and the waves.
Varun stalked up to the captain. “Are you crazy? You’re taking the boat straight into that massive wave.”
The captain turned to stare at him.
She was a full head shorter, with a narrow-eyed glare that would have made a pirate cower. Her fingers flicked her response. Varun did not know American Sign Language, but mute or not, the captain had no trouble communicating her point-of-view. The parrot immediately translated her sign language, its tone grating. “Someone get this idiot off my bridge.”
Varun stared at the wave looming above them. It had to be forty feet high. Its massive underside rose up, a seemingly impenetrable wall of water. He gripped the oak rail, bracing for a watery death, but the research vessel swung sharply to the side an instant before it would have hit the wave.
Varun’s gaze flicked between the wall of water on either side of the ship. “Are we—” His voice lowered to an awed whisper. “—surfing through the wave?”
Jackson chuckled. “If you’ve got a better idea, I’m sure the captain would be glad to hear it.”
The captain’s fingers danced a reply. Jinn snorted on her behalf. “No, I wouldn’t. Why are you still here? Meifeng, prepare to turn thirty degrees south, on my mark.”
“I’m sorry,” Varun said, not certain of whether to look at the captain or the parrot who was her voice. He settled for somewhere in between.
The captain’s gaze remained fixed on the ocean, although Varun could not imagine what she saw out there that the monitors and machines, blinking frantically, didn’t tell her. Her fingers twitched. Jinn shrieked, “Now.”
The ship turned, its hull cutting through a fractional break in the wall of water. For a moment, all Varun could see was a torrent of water. The ship shook from the impact. The several seconds stretched into a seeming eternity. Water cascaded all around them in an infinite rainfall, but in an instant, it was over. The Veritas had broken through the swirling madness of the storm, safe for the moment, in marginally calmer seas.
The captain drew a deep breath. Jinn squawked her commands. “Set a course for two-seven-nine degrees southeast. The worst of the storm is behind us.” Only then did she turn to face her bridge crew. “Excellent work.”
Meifeng shrugged. “Just following orders.”
“Something that simple is still beyond some people’s capability.” Jinn’s sarcastic tone perfectly matched the irritated flick of the captain’s fingers.
Varun barely managed not to flinch. “I lost track of time in the lab. I’m sorry.”
“You should have stayed there. Have you no sense?” She glanced at Carlo, the engineer. “Run the damage reports. I want to know if we can go on to the Sargasso Sea as planned, or if we need to turn back for repairs. Mr. Jackson…”
The first mate straightened. “Captain?”
“The bridge is yours.”
“Yes, captain.”
“Call me if it goes to hell.”
“Certainly, captain.”
Jinn ruffled his feathers. The parrot’s snappy tone melted into coy sweetness. “Goodnight, Pumpkin.”
The captain gave her parrot an amused glance.
Jackson chuckled. “Night, Jinn.”
“Is that how you tell them apart?” Varun asked after the captain and the parrot left the bridge.
The first mate nodded. “It’s all about the tone. Brisk, businesslike when Jinn’s translating for the captain. Playful, otherwise.”
Varun had not noticed Jinn’s playful mood, at least not around him. He was not certain if the parrot’s frequently mocking tone was personal or if it originated from the captain. He stared at the still tossing waves, minnows compared to the monsters of several minutes past. Whatever he thought of the captain, she had brought them through the storm, with only a parrot for a mouthpiece.
The worst was behind them, wasn’t it?
None of the crew looked worried, and Varun matched their nonchalance with a smile on his lips. Yet nothing could shake that gnawing dread in the pit of his stomach. A distant streak of lightning cut a jagged trail from the sky to the sea. Thunder boomed; the sound waves rocking their ship as it tossed on the waves. The stink of ozone filled the air.
If the storm was a prelude of things to come, hell was surely on the way.
Chapter 2
Ashe had always loved the ocean after a thunderstorm—the intoxicating blend of fresh and salt water, the sensation of charged air particles sizzling against her wet skin. The heart of the storm still roared and glowed from lightning slashes, but the outer bands had gentled into rain.
She stepped onto the deck. With an irritated huff, Jinn abandoned her to preen his feathers under the awning. Within a few minutes, Ashe was soaked. Her clothes felt heavy—the material chafed her shoulders and itched around her collarbone—but she knew better than to shed it. She did, however, after a moment’s consideration, sit on the rail and ease off her boots.
She wriggled her toes. A slow smile touched her lips as raindrops cooled her blistered feet. She had forgotten how inconvenient a physical form was, especially when it was mute and had feet that were originally a mermaid’s tail. Walking still hurt, even though modern shoes were far more comfortable and provided support for her weak ankles.
Toying with her black scale pendant, the only piece of jewelry she wore, Ashe glanced back at the raging storm. It had appeared with little meteorological warning, although she had expected it. Their planned path had skimmed close to one of the largest mer-colonies. Someone down there must be having a bad day. The research vessel was not that much of a threat, although apparently the merfolk had thought so. She glanced over her shoulder, searching the waves for a slivery flash of a large tail, but saw nothing.
Just as well. If a confrontation could be avoided, it would be worthwhile, at almost any price. Reasons and excuses did not age well. The merfolk did not forget. Neither did they forgive.
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br /> Her thoughts flashed back to a conversation she had had a week earlier with Valeria, the first among the Daughters of Air.
The physical constraints of Earth did not apply to creatures—figuratively and literally—in limbo. The shimmering outline of Ashe’s body undulated in the unmoving air, her sinuous motion betraying neither her spiking anger nor the tangle of nerves. Within her astral form, a miniature galaxy of lights swirled, dancing to a tune spun by a whirlwind—an extremely irritated whirlwind. Embracing her crankiness, Ashe reveled in the meager satisfaction of glowering at the once-human who sat across from her.
Valeria’s fingernails tapped an erratic rhythm on the polished ivory desk hewn from the bones of a demigod. There was no conceivable need for a table in limbo, but Valeria clung, sometimes charmingly, at other times not, to human foibles. The woman raised her gaze. “Well?”
“No. Non. Nyet. Never.” Ashe hurled her thoughts like a spike into Valeria’s mind.
In theory, it should have rattled Valeria’s brain, but the woman did not even wince. Rumor had it Valeria was one good deed away from moving on, but chose not to fulfill it, staying instead in limbo, the lawless space between the living and dead. No one knew why Valeria, a human, was even in limbo. Humans were, after all, born with souls. Mermaids, like Ashe, were not.
Some mermaids—the naive idiots, usually—thought souls worth pursuing.