Vexed: A Tidal Kiss Novella (The Tidal Kiss Trilogy Book 5)

by Kristy Nicolle

  “She’s at the game already. Wanted to arrive before the other council members. After all, we both knew you’d be late.” He gives me a sly glance like he’s got me all figured out, as we begin to swim, side by side, toward the arena.

  “You see, if this was a good idea, she wouldn’t need to babysit the rest of the stupid council,” I mutter, and Orion rolls his eyes.

  “Look, I get it…you’re scared. If Poseidon had threatened me the way he did you, I would be too, but we can’t just keep them locked up. You’ve said that before. It’s about integration, right?” He’s trying to be reasonable, sweet even, making me want to smack him in his stupidly perfect face.

  I think back to the night Starlet had passed, how I had beaten him black and blue.

  Good times. I muse as we pass under the shadows of the farthest Alcazars, belonging to the Kappa and Sirena, in bloody scarlet and hideous fuchsia pink.

  The sky overhead is grey, and the water is reflective; a still, black mirror for the world above, or at least, for now. It looks like a storm is brewing, perfectly resonant of my current mood.

  “I said integrate, not throw them into the deep end with freaking contact sports,” I snort, shaking my head and feeling my dark hair billow out in the water around me, noxious, as my pupils dilate.

  “They were born in the deep end. Besides, don’t you think it’s more likely that this is something they’ll excel at? I don’t see them wanting to get involved in ocean conservation, do you?” Orion asks as we pass rows upon rows of glistening surface scrapers. The bottles embedded into their walls are whole again, a far cry from when they had been shattered and jagged under Psiren rule before.

  “Does drowning sailors count?” I ask him, a wicked smile tilting the corners of my grim lips into some semblance of a smile. Orion doesn’t look impressed, cocking his head at me with a serious gaze.

  “That’s not funny.”

  “It’s funny if you’re me,” I retort, and he runs his hand back through his hair, frustrated. I roll my eyes. “Look, I was put in charge of these rabid teenagers okay? If shit goes wrong, I’m the one getting dragged to hell, not you. I know this darkness better than anyone, and I think this is a stupid idea. Just because Domnall wants a freaking fight, due to the fact he’s bored, isn’t a reason to throw the Psirens into something like this. Besides, Isabella seemed rather up for the idea. I think it’s a set up,” I admit, biting my bottom lip and balling my fists at my sides as I increase pace. My hair is pushed flat against my skull now as Orion surges forward, catching up to me in only seconds. He looks outraged.

  “That’s ridiculous; Isabella wouldn’t do that.” Orion stands up for her, and I cock an eyebrow in disbelief.

  “Seriously? I mean how stupid are you, Orion? She hates the Psirens. Though I can’t discern why. They killed her asshole ex-husband. She should be thanking them.” I’m indignant, and Orion blinks a few times, taking in what I’ve said like I’m speaking a foreign language.

  “Why do you do that? Lash out when you’re scared?” he demands, the Hydraball stadium towering over us as we approach the enormity of its jade, crystalline height.

  “I’m not scared. I’m fucking pissed!” I yell, losing some semblance of what had once been my temper as I wonder when he got so insanely dense.

  “You don’t seem pissed to me… you seem…” he begins, and I cut him off.

  “How, how do I seem to you, oh mighty Orion?” I snap. He shakes his head, eyes narrowing as his gaze becomes firm. His biceps bulge as he rights himself in the water, folding them across his chest and exhaling heavily, angry.

  “You seem freaking suicidal. Like you don’t care. You could’ve stopped this. If you had come to Callie and me, given us good reasons, we would have listened. Instead you just…” he’s stuttering, trying to put the blame on me like the coward he is.

  “Just what exactly?” I bark, only marginally avoiding letting out a hiss at him.

  “You rolled over. You gave in,” he informs me, and I snort.

  “No shit. I didn’t ask for this job. And nobody wants me to have it or respects my right to it. Not the Psirens, not the council, not you. I’m just the weird girl in the corner with the bad attitude who got the shit stick because some God said so!” I spit, moving to swim away, to avoid any and all conflict that may put my self-restraint at risk of failure. I’m so done with this conversation, with him. He doesn’t know me any more than our father did after all those years we spent apart.

  “Azure…” he calls after me, and I turn, momentarily hoping more than anything that he’ll call this off, that he’ll tell me he thinks I can do this. That he knows I have what it takes and that I’m right.

  “It’ll all be fine,” he simply says as the flurry of bubbles around me disperses, letting his frail blue gaze drop from mine.

  Coward. I growl inwardly.

  “For the Selkies’ sakes, I hope you’re right,” I call back over my shoulder, proceeding to the inside of the stadium and not looking back.

  “You’re late,” Callie notes as I drift into the royal box, taking several strokes through the water and emerging from behind her makeshift throne. I take a seat in a similar throne on her left, between her and Callista. Baby pink sandstone surrounds us on all sides, separating us from the rest of the crowd, those who remain inferior to us through no fault of their own.

  The young mermaid Queen’s blonde hair and aqua fluke sparkle unnaturally bright for such a dull day, causing something within my gut to grate like two pieces of broken glass being rubbed together.

  “That would be because I didn’t want to come,” I retort with a deadpan expression. Callie places a hand on mine as I let my palm fall to the armrest of the black crystal chair, as though it’s comfort I want and not to be heeded.

  “It’ll be fine. I don’t know why you’re so worried,” she tries to assure me, essentially repeating the words of her soulmate, to no avail. I pull my hand from beneath hers and sit back in my throne, looking dead ahead and not replying as I contemplate why I bothered coming at all. As if I need to witness my own failings at her hand in person. She has no clue what she’s doing, but because she had a small brush with the darkness, it’s like all of a sudden she’s an expert.

  Pffft. I sneer internally. I’ve seen lattes darker than her soul.

  “All will be well, Azure.” Callista tries to comfort me too, again repeating the exact same sentiment as everyone else, but I have no use for her hopeful attitude today either. Her zebra striped tailfin remains eerily still in the water as I sigh out, ignoring her too. She irritates me, but I don’t turn to her, despite the audible clicking of her shell-beaded braids, which slap against the flesh her breasts, continuing to grind against my rapidly fraying temper. Instead, I choose to be ignorant to the world around me, a most pleasant state to be sure.

  I look down at the charred scales on my tailfin, at the way they bind me to the ocean in the worst way possible. They shackle me to its darkness, to its hate, its destruction.

  The water above is twisting into silvery clouds which look heavy like liquid mercury, yet again reflecting the silent fury of my own temper which remains trapped and useless behind my fear and hesitation to act in any and all capacities, an invisible threat to all.

  I stare at Callie for a second, remembering her with black hair and dark eyes. She had suffered with the temptation for merely days. Until you’ve been in that shadow for several centuries, torn skin from muscle and tissue from bone with a smile on your face, you don’t get to tell me shit about darkness.

  I curl my fluke, impatient now, flexing my muscles and trying to distract myself as a deep sound echoes out through the water, diverting my attention to the centre of the stadium.

  Gideon’s lips are wrapped around the end of a large, pink conch shell, and his expansive chest is exhaling air, signalling that the game is about to get underway. I take this opportunity to lean forward, wondering how entertaining this slow-motion car wreck will turn out to be.
>
  In the too bright stands of the tall cylindrical stadium, Psirens are already cat-calling mermaids on the opposing side of the circular seating arrangements. I watch as Isabella, who is three seats down from me on the right, is rolling her eyes and grimacing in distaste at their nature.

  As if Paolo wasn’t just as bad, and he didn’t have dark potent magic as an excuse. I sneer.

  “Welcome, Kindred, to the first official game of the Hydraball season! We have one hell of a match today with the Psirens of The Deep versus the Selkies of Scotland!” Gideon bellows, the white of his tail stark in the dim light as the storm moves into furious tumult overhead.

  The crowd cheers, deafening as a flash of lightning sparks above the ferocity of the surface. Thunder surely follows, and yet it is drowned out by the bloodthirsty screams of the surrounding fans.

  I let my gaze find Domnall in the din, his fiery red hair and enormous mass unavoidable in my field of vision. He looks contented, relaxed even, cocky. I find this ironic, to say the least, because it was not long ago that the Psirens had very nearly ripped him limb from limb. Though, seemingly, despite the unrest and prejudice, the council appears to have forgotten just how dangerous those with my persuasion can be. Or, at least, enough not to take me seriously in the slightest.

  The teams emerge from the dark tunnels that lead from the outside of the stadium to the central playing space, which hangs vertically, with only green sand below as a mark that it’s any different from any other patch of ocean.

  I am glad, in this moment, for the saving grace that is the size of the opposing team. The Selkies are by far the savviest warriors of all the mer pods. With their thick dumb accents and ridiculous muscles, they are little more than biceps with a brain attached if you ask me, but at least, if worst comes to worst, they’ll have a chance of fighting back.

  Behind them, a swarm of Psirens take to the arena, their oddly mismatched bodies and pale skin unmistakable to any onlooker. As they zoom forward to take their starting positions, ready for Gideon to begin the match as referee, I hear booing from the crowd, making my heart sink.

  I don’t give a shit about the Psirens, but that’s just uncalled for. This is supposed to be about moving on. I shake my head, but don’t rise to object or call for silence.

  In days gone by, I would have ripped out the throat of anyone who crossed me or those supposedly in my protection, but as of now, I am tired. Exhausted. The Psirens barely respect me as a leader, so it’s almost impossible to imagine why the other mer pods would. Then again, now I think about it, what did I expect? They didn’t choose me…they chose Solustus and loved Alyssa as a mother; I’m nothing but a murderer to them.

  Oh, the irony.

  I was a fighter, but that part of me is fading to nothing but memory, leaving only harsh words and little action in its stead.

  Gideon calls for silence, with noticeable irritation in his tone, causing the crowd to stir as I take in the team that Vex has put together. He’s the captain, hanging in the water with undulating tentacles attached at the waist to his infuriatingly hard abs, and netter for the team, which has caused nothing but issues from day one. I swear, the amount of time I’ve spent having arguments over the advantage of his tentacles when defending the Psiren’s goal is just plain ridiculous. It’s not like I don’t have better stuff to do. Like, for example, loathing him from afar and avoiding the mere memory of our encounter in the corner of my throne room. Or plotting his death while imagining the many ways in which I might maim him if I had the energy or inclination.

  As it is, I’ve decided he’s not even worth the effort violence requires, so I merely seethe in silence with narrow, dark eyes from a distance. Letting my hate turn my bitter heart even colder.

  I examine the rest of the team as they take their places in the water, muscles visibly tense as eyes dilate dark, making me even increasingly uneasy.

  Celius, the most volatile of the group, reminding me ever so slightly of Caedes in his temperament, is one of the four interceptors. Unfortunately, he’s not as spindled in figure as Caedes, with bulging muscles and a torso thick with masculine power. His tail is that of a barracuda, quick and agile, and his cropped hair is like bloody seaweed as it floats incrementally in the water around him.

  I should probably know the names of the other interceptors, and yet I don’t.

  I know that Darius is the Sling Shot, having boasted to me about his experience in high school football because that’s absolutely the same thing.

  Not.

  Other than this, I know nothing of how the game will unfold, or even really the intricacies of how it’s played.

  Orion had tried to explain it to me a dozen times, but just as my sister had thought it pointless, so do I. Netters defend the hoops at the top of the arena, anchors remain in the bottom quarter, stopping the heavy pearlescent ball from hitting the green sand below, interceptors fight for possession, and the slingshots in the upper-mid section of the vertical arena shoot past the netters for points. Or, that’s essentially what I picked up from the seven-hour conversation Orion had torturously forced me into about the game.

  It’s like they’re all looking for a way to relate to the Psirens, rather than viewing them as a different animal entirely. Domestication is the goal, like a proud lion made to perform in a circus. It makes me sick. Not that it should, it’s not like I have any better ideas on how to harness the Psirens or their dark power.

  The game begins as another sound passes from Gideon’s lips, through the body of the conch, and out into the stormy yet clear grey of the water. I sit back in my seat, waiting for the crash and burn, which I know is inevitable.

  God, this is boring. I muse, wishing now that some kind of violent altercation would break out. It’s all very artistic, the way they throw their bodies through the water, slapping hard, dense tailfin against the ball and causing it to rise higher and higher, despite the forces acting upon it in opposition. But what the hell is the point? It’s a complete waste of time and effort.

  The Psirens have behaved themselves, not even having so much as a penalty so far, and I watch Gideon like a hawk as he continues to judge the state of play. Aedan, one of the interceptors for the Selkies, comes close to me. So near, in fact, that I feel the surrounding fluid displace from his course through the water as I hang, listless, over the partition of the royal box, half-heartedly pondering whether or not to toss myself over the edge.

  The other leaders are sitting, backs straight, and two in particular look somewhat irritated. I assume because my people haven’t yet mass murdered the entire ginger squad that’s opposing them. I turn back, watching as Aedan maintains possession of the white pearlescent ball, sighing out as my boredom reaches its underwhelming peak.

  As the bubbles clear from my vision yet again, Celius comes up the inside of Aedan’s track but can’t keep pace as the enormous muscles of his opponent outreach his swimming capabilities by far.

  Weenie. I think, watching as my eyes widen and I see it.

  Something in his eyes, something I’ve seen before in the mirror.

  Malice.

  Celius reaches out, closing the gap between himself and Aedan, grabbing the Selkie’s red hair in his palms and pulling him toward him with a jerk. His forehead cracks audibly against the man’s skull as he headbutts him and takes the ball for his own. His eyes are fully dilated as he turns to me, and Aedan sinks to the floor. I perk up, righting myself as Gideon blows on the conch shell, and the arena explodes into outrage.

  I watch as Aedan regains his composure, stopping his descent toward the sea bed. Within moments, he and Celius are soaring through the water, a sick, twisted tornado of cracking bones and flashing teeth. Celius’ skin maps dark with power, and I merely float, dead inside, watching as the council rises in hurried unison from their thrones beside me. I catch Vex descending from above with an audible, yet predictable, “Bloody hell!” escaping his lips.

  The scrapping pair crashes to the floor, and several of the Ps
iren players look to me as I hang, unimpressed and without care, as a mushroom cloud of green sand flies upward in the water. The ball falls to the floor beside them, play forgotten.

  The crowd does something I never imagine, descending from the stands and piling into the space of the arena, packing it shoulder to shoulder with bodies as they watch the brawl with fascination from above. Trapping the fighters in on all sides, most of them, unsurprisingly, are egging on Aedan. The Psirens look like they might get involved, their eyes turning dark in unison as they stare up at me, like I’m a dark sun, there to stop them, to burn them to a cinder for breaking the rules, but I do nothing.

  Callie and Orion fight their way through the crowd with the rest of the leaders in tow as lightning flashes overhead, illuminating more lime sand, which hangs like synthetic poison, even at this height in the water.

  I watch on, unmoved to act.

  After a few moments of being on the outside, squinting down upon the spectacle, I find Gideon and Vex at the centre of it all, each one restraining a bloody, bruised figure.

  Celius’ wild eyes stare up at me from the ground like a naughty child as he licks his lower lip. It’s spattered with Aedan’s sticky blood.

  I told you this was a bad idea, is the only thought I can form, my expression remaining dead on my face as rigor mortis settles comfortably over my soul.

  “Azure!” Isabella calls out, rising in the water. “What do you have to say to this… this monster?” She demands an answer of me, the rubies of her tail catching the light in gory splendour. Her dark hair is luscious around her face, beauteous, but her dark eyes are vindictive and laced with predictably sour intent. The crowd lifts its collective gaze to me as I stare at Orion, the expression not angry but simply dissonant.

  “Yes, Azure, you really should deal with this,” Callie prompts me, rising in front of Isabella as if to shield me from the viciousness of her gaze. She has kindness in her eyes, more than I deserve, especially from the likes of her oh so blessed self.