by Starla Night
Which she wasn’t.
So…yeah, she wasn’t cowardly, she was quitting to pursue her dreams. This merman thing was supposed to be a temp job. She was a future independent businesswoman, not an office worker at a dating agency.
Yeah.
But she could imagine what the customs agent would think if she said, I’m quitting a perfectly fine job before a big promotion so I can be poor and desperate when I start a business. Any business. With no prospects, no safety net, and no ideas. I’m going to be an entrepreneur. Somehow.
“The Sons of Hercules are a huge reason,” she said instead. “When you think the mermen are monsters, remember that the Sons of Hercules sabotaged my boss’s airplane. She nearly died. Who wants to work a job where you have to fight terrorists all day?”
The customs agent stared.
Oh.
“It’s not for everyone.” She laced her fingers again. “So… Is there anything else you need to know?”
“You left his ‘leaving’ date blank.”
“Because it’ll be the instant he meets his bride.”
“The instant?”
“Oh yeah. Mermen see their brides and then?” Hazel snapped. “They act. If his soul mate can go, he’ll leave the next day.”
“And if she can’t?”
She shrugged. “The All-Cities Gyre takes two years. The platform’s supposed to be finished in two years. You do the math.”
The agent scribbled and muttered. “And if he doesn’t leave, it won’t be your problem.”
Well, that was true.
Huh.
The door to the merman’s room opened. The desk agent emptied the shoulder tote on the table. Her mouth moved, but no sound penetrated the thick glass. She carried away the empty tote and closed the door again.
The warrior pulled out red Bermuda shorts, a blue button-down shirt, and yellow flip-flops. It was the standard uniform for a merman, but he handled the clothes Hazel had folded like an NBA pro palming a basketball. His ordinary-looking hands were actually the size of dinner plates.
Wow.
And every motion was precise. He had a predator’s grace. Like how he stood and stepped into the shorts. His lower back rippled and his buttocks flexed with concealed power as he slightly turned and revealed his—
Ooh.
She jerked her eyes away.
Her heart raced.
The mer were totally comfortable nude.
But she had a little respect for privacy.
The agent led her out of the small room, through the maze, and left her at the front counter. “Good luck with your resignation.”
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”
The agent departed.
Hazel collected her backpack, document bag, and the empty shoulder tote. Now that the interview was over, her stomach growled. She was starving. Her phone! She ordered another latte from the nearest coffee cart while she waited outside the frosted door for her warrior.
Was it almost three? Already?
Maybe she could skip the office and boot Lotar out at a hotel—
No.
She had to submit her notice today, and she had to do it in person. It would go through their secure office courier and be recorded by the Mer-Human Foundation before Dannika could talk her out of quitting.
Again.
And Hazel shouldn’t feel bad about it. She wasn’t leaving them in a lurch. They’d have two weeks to find a new program assistant.
She’d work until the very last minute. She’d even work from home. She’d already spent free time she should have used to start her new business reviewing bride applicants and picking out the perfect candidates for Lotar.
Dannika had said he didn’t talk much, so his bride would have to be smart, gorgeous, and articulate to convince a bunch of enemy kings to let go of their old grudges and RSVP.
Hazel had poured over the profiles with three highlighters starring communications majors, corporate sales leaders, and marine biologists. There were so many highly qualified women trying to depart from Hazel’s dream jobs to seek an adventure—and of course true love—that she had her pick.
Their accomplishments alternately inspired and demotivated her. So many women had made their dreams come true. Why not Hazel?
So, with this two weeks’ notice, she was reaching for her dreams.
This was it.
This time, she was serious.
No one would stand in her way of quitting MerMatch.
Yep.
She was leaving the fascinating world of the deadly, gorgeous, tattooed warriors behind her.
Forever.
Hazel took a deep breath and pep-talked herself as the door to the customs office opened.
A rugged wall of tattooed masculinity filled the doorway, angular and powerful. He fixed on her like a shark scenting blood in the water.
She froze.
A shocking wave of heat rolled through her body.
Gray irises evaluated her. Iridescent threads the same color as his tattoos glimmered like secrets only she could see.
He ambled out like a lone wolf, his gray eyes flitting right and left, seeking and dismissing threats. Capability oozed from his pores. The dark and light streaks of gray hair made him look older and younger at the same time, and his guarded lips concealed mysteries.
He stopped in front of her.
Looked down.
And emitted total, silent dominance.
Throbbing awareness pulsed into her veins. Could he sense it? His eyes caressed her body, and the heat of his nearness prickled her with a strange desire. Hunger licked across her skin with icy fire.
She swallowed. “Hi. I’m Hazel. You’re expecting me.”
He nodded.
She started to reach out her hand to shake his.
But the mer didn’t touch. They had a thing about only touching their brides.
She brushed her hair, her nape, the splotch on her lapel. “Um, nice to meet you.”
His gaze softened on her, then fixed on a passing customs agent with sharp awareness.
To her, he was a friend.
To enemies?
He would tear their throats out.
Her phone buzzed.
She jumped and upset her document bag. It tilted, still open, and papers cascaded out.
He moved faster than her eyes could follow. Bag in one hand, spilled documents captured in the other. One paper fluttered past him. He switched hands and snatched the escaped document out of the air.
The whole save was smooth, silent, and took less than a second.
“Whoa.” She fumbled the bag and documents from his deft fingers, never brushing even by accident, and cinched it down. “Thanks. You saved me twenty minutes. Oh.” She took the last paper from his hand.
Her two weeks’ notice. Still crisp. His midair catch hadn’t even creased the paper.
She slid it in with the rest, crinkling it slightly, and snapped the bag closed.
Her phone buzzed again.
He focused on it.
“My coffee order is ready. I skipped lunch.” She coughed awkwardly. “Did you want something? I owe you, seriously. I’m running so short on time right now. I could buy you a croissant or a bagel.” Or a slab of caribou…
He shook his head.
“Right. Okay.” She backed away, tripped on a chair—wow, could she be less cool right now?—flipped around, and stumbled over a garbage can. She hustled toward the exit. “The subway is this way.”
He followed.
“Wait, no.” She looped away from the stairs. “Never mind. The coffee cart is this way. Haha. Ha…”
He paced her, silent and watchful.
Her heart pounded in her throat.
She was supposed to quit her job today.
She was supposed to leave the mer behind.
She was supposed to find a bride for Lotar who was smart and suave and articulate.
This storm of feeling swirling inside her set off warning sirens.
And one thing was clear.
Hazel wanted the party to succeed.
She absolutely, positively, definitely could not be Lotar’s soul mate.
Two
Lotar was a hunter.
And he had come to New York to hunt.
He was silent and effective. Relentless and unstoppable.
Focused and immune from—
“So.” The small female, Hazel, swiftly crossed the hard stone floor, her bags swinging as a kind of defense system. “How was the swim? Pretty exciting? Pretty normal? Just pretty?”
Hazel was pretty.
Bright, fierce. Pure, innocent. Attentive, and yet somehow able to avoid the other humans without looking at them.
No, no. Do not focus on her. He had to hunt.
The enemies of the mer grew bolder by the day.
He must remind them that the mer were not peaceful or defenseless.
They would—
“You’re so tall. I’m like five-four. What are you? Six-two? Six-three?”
She was small but strong. If she swung those bags, she would give a trained warrior pause.
“Six-four?”
Lotar stretched longer than a juvenile great white shark, stood comfortably in the mouth of the oldest basking shark, or fairly fought the longest conger eel. He had never stolen a trident balanced for a larger mer, although he had taken many who had a shorter reach.
But in human measurements?
Hazel glanced back at him.
Her eyes were a tawny brown shade, similar to the fluffy silk of her hair, and long locks teased her cheek. Her black pupils grew luminous. The longer she gazed at him, the brighter her soul burned.
Almost as if…
He jerked his gaze away and shrugged one shoulder.
“Huh. Wait here.” She wove through lounging humans, collected an amber iced drink from the end of the cart, and stopped at a counter to dust it with powders and pierce the foam with a straw.
Her absence was a relief.
How strange that he should tense, coiled, in her presence.
She was not his enemy, although she was an unfortunate distraction.
He focused again on his surroundings.
The Brooklyn Marina was a soaring open space like a clear cavern. Sunlight beamed through the tall windows and reflected off the hard, smooth floors.
Schools of humans pulsed across the space. Their souls shone brightly in their chests. They chattered about boats, sailing, and vacations.
Dim-souled humans scattered here and there. A woman pushed a wet, mossy stick across the floor. A man stared at a folded print paper and checked a strap on his wrist. The woman at the coffee cart rushed to put food into sacks for the customers.
The Sons of Hercules humans would certainly have dim souls.
They had no affinity for the sea. No love for the mer.
And so it would be easy for Lotar to observe them, hidden, until he identified who, exactly, had attacked his friends and deserved his wrath.
“Ready?” Hazel popped in front of him. “I’m ready.”
His heart thudded once. Hard.
Strange.
Hazel did not frighten him.
But she caused a startle reaction. A tingling warning from an electric eel about to paralyze its prey.
“Let’s go.” She turned on her heels, sipped the cylindrical iced coffee, and simultaneously stabbed her phone with both thumbs. “I’m checking the status of the metro. We’ll stop at the office first. I’m on kind of a tight timeline.”
Lotar trailed her through the crowds like a hunter weaving through long strands of eelgrass.
“Wow, the Manhattan skyline looks amazing today.” Hazel pattered down the steps and through the glass orifice to the outside. “Welcome to New York.”
Human machines roared.
The sky was blue. Rock-and-glass dwellings soared for puffy white clouds. Metallic containers called cars growled and rumbled, making his feet vibrate.
And there were humans.
So many humans.
Dim-souled, bright-souled, fast and slow. Angry, aggressive. Slow, avoidant.
The assault on his senses was like trying to wade through a collapsing cliff. He dodged contact, balanced on the low stone ledge close to the growling cars, and stopped with Hazel at the back of a crowd.
“So, what do you think?” she asked.
This city housed his enemies.
And more humans than polyps on a coral reef.
The farther they moved from the marina, the more dim-souled humans mixed into the crowds. Far too many. His plan to observe and stalk them until they led him to the Sons of Hercules needed a change. He had a limited time to deliver his warning before he must leave on the All-Cities Gyre.
Alone.
“Of New York,” Hazel pressed. “How is it?”
A car emitted a grating squeal. It pierced his sternum.
He rubbed his chest. “Loud.”
“Oh, it was so overwhelming when I first arrived. And I didn’t know how to walk fast.”
The surrounding crowd pressed forward.
They crossed in front of growling cars and stepped onto another low stone ledge. Her short legs pumped to keep at his pace. “You’ve got long legs, so you’re fine.”
He did not feel fine.
How foolish of him to expect this to be easy.
His strength was not in strategy. It was in reconnaissance. He should have grilled the warriors who had visited New York.
But they might have guessed his plans.
His superiors wanted him to find a bride. Together, they would be ambassadors on the All-Cities Gyre.
If his superiors had known finding a bride was the last thing Lotar would do, they might have denied him the chance to come to New York.
His plan might have been forbidden.
“You’ve been to the mainland before, right?” Hazel strode brightly at his shoulder. “My boss said you were in Florida for the very first bride matchmaking event, long before they founded MerMatch. A bride pageant. What was that like?”
He did not want to talk with this compelling female.
He had to think.
But she waited for an answer, and he could not fully drag his attention away. “Strange.”
“I bet.” She smiled like he’d told an amusing story. “Are you excited to meet your future bride?”
“No.”
“No? Isn’t that the whole reason you’re here? To meet a bride to travel with you on the All-Cities Gyre?”
Ah.
This was why he rarely spoke. He was not clever like some warriors. Any words risked revealing his intentions, as dishonorable as they were.
And he tried very hard not to reveal to the Atlantis warriors who had welcomed him and trusted him just how dishonorable he really was.
He tried to fix the problem with more words. “The ocean is dangerous.”
“So’s the subway, and I ride that three times a day.”
Human dangers had nothing on the ocean.
His skepticism must have shown on his face, because she sighed. “Okay, so there are fewer sharks, enemy warriors, krakens, and all that, but I got mugged three times last year! Check this out.” She lifted a pink canister clipped to a loop on her back bag. “It’s a mace-taser-air horn. I wouldn’t use the air horn around you because mer are sensitive to noise, but the next mugger who even looks at me wrong is going to regret it.”
Hmm.
The other brides had not ensured their own safety. They had clung, helpless and crying, reliant on their warrior husbands to defend them from the deep.
But Hazel did not seem helpless.
She was small, but she used her bags for a shield and carried a hidden weapon. While texting, she expertly led him down steps and into a tunnel, avoiding hazards without glancing away from her phone.
Perhaps, if she were a warrior’s bride, she would handle the dangers…
She suddenly frowned. “Wait. If you’re not
here to meet your bride, why are you here?”
If he told her, would she help him?
But he could not reach his goal on his own.
She had devised the plan for the All-Cities Gyre. So she had strategic skills and experience.
And what other choice did he have?
He stopped in a quiet corner of a large area with clanking machines.
She swung back, out of the flow of humans, to listen.
“The Sons of Hercules nearly killed second Lieutenant Ciran and his soul mate.”
Her eyes flew wide. “I know! Oh, God. Give me five minutes with their leaders in a room and…” She gripped her pink canister again, then her shoulder slumped and she sighed. “I’ll prosecute them to the fullest extent of the law.”
“I will not.” He clenched his fists. “I have come to deliver that warning."
She nodded. “So what’s your plan for delivering the warning? You want to make a video?”
“I want to look into their eyes.”
They must understand him. He would not allow them to escape a second time.
Hazel pursed her lips. “There’s the problem. If we could look the leaders in the eye, they’d already be in jail. All we’ve found are low-level interest groups and a couple of area lieutenants on notice.”
“Take me to them.”
“But it won’t help. There’s a group that meets at the college down the street to drink craft beer and talk about how great they are. Until the government classifies those yahoos as a terrorist group, they can have meetings and advertise, no big deal.”
“They will convey my message to the leaders.”
“But how? They don’t know who their leaders are either.”
How was that possible?
“Ever since our security consultant, Starr, began looking into them, the leaders pulled way back,” Hazel said. “They don’t issue orders or commands. Somebody’s running their website, but all that person does is post news and opinion articles to get people angry. It’s a real problem.”
“They are all the enemy.”
“Well, I agree, but it’s complicated.” Hazel checked her phone. “Everyone arrested for a crime against a merman has called himself a member of the Sons of Hercules. But in comparison to the number of people who attend the meetings, that’s like, one crazy person per thousand or something. It’s really low. Most are getting together to drink and rage. Only one or two are crazy enough to hurt somebody.”