Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of awareness that made her skin crawl.
“Go on.”
“I can’t marry you.”
The words hung in the air between them. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—went flat and dangerous.
“I see.”
“It’s not… I’m not trying to break the contract without consequence.” She was babbling, she realized, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “I know my father owes you. I know there’s a debt. But there has to be another way to settle it. I’ll work for you, dive for you, find whatever you want from the depths of the ocean. Just… not marriage. Please. Not that.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Then he smiled.
It was worse than if he’d erupted in anger. That small, controlled curve of his lips promised horrors that yelling never could.
“You’ve met someone.” It wasn’t a question.
“That’s not?—”
“Don’t.” He held up a manicured hand, cutting her off. “Don’t insult my intelligence by denying it. I saw the indications of elevated emotional states in your reports. Levels you’ve never experienced before. Specifically, arousal.”
Revulsion coiled in her stomach. He had studied her responses, reducing her to a set of data. A biological machine.
“So what if I have?” She lifted her chin, defiance warring with fear. “I am not a possession, Merrick.”
“Oh, but you are.” He rose to his feet. “A very valuable possession. One that has had its value significantly increased by your father’s modifications. A unique specimen.” He circled her slowly, like a predator assessing its prey. “And unique assets cannot be allowed to… wander off.”
“I’m not an asset. I’m a person.”
“Are you?” He stopped in front of her, so close she could smell the faint, sterile scent of his expensive cologne. “A person doesn’t have gills, Ariella. A person’s skin doesn’t light up like a Christmas tree when she’s excited. A person can’t spend hours submerged in freezing water without ill effect. You are a creation. A piece of living technology. And I own the patent on that technology.”
Each statement eroded a little more of the confidence she’d built over the past few days.A piece of living technology.Was that all she was? A collection of modifications, a walking patent?
“You don’t own me,” she whispered, but the protest sounded weak even to her own ears.
“Don’t I?” He smiled again, that chillingly polite smile. “Your father’s research, the modifications, the very DNA that makes you possible—all of it was funded by my corporation. All of it is legally mine. Including you.”
“That’s not legal.”
“Laws can be… flexible. Especially when you have the resources to bend them to your will.” He gestured around the sterile lab. “You think your father works here out of the goodness of his heart? This facility, this equipment, the permits to conduct research on a protected world—I provide all of it. And I can take it all away. Including your father’s freedom.”
Her breath caught. “You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?” He took a step back, giving her space that felt more like a trap. “Default on our arrangement, and I’ll have your father charged with corporate espionage, illegal genetic experimentation, and misappropriation of funds. The penalties for those crimes are severe. He’d spend the rest of his life in a penal camp, although I doubt he’d last long.”
He was threatening her father’s life. Not her own—her life, apparently, was a foregone conclusion—but her father’s. And the worst part was, she believed him. Merrick Bane was a man who collected people for his games, and he wouldn’t hesitate to toss a defective piece back into the gutter.
“I hate you.”
The words slipped out, raw and unbidden, but he simply looked amused.
“Irrelevant,” he said coolly. “What is relevant is your compliance. The wedding is in less than three weeks. I expect you to be present, cooperative, and appropriately… grateful for the opportunity I’m providing you.”
He closed the distance between them in one long stride. His hand came up to cup her cheek, and she flinched at the touch of his cold dead skin. His thumb stroked across her jaw, mimicking the gesture she had cherished from Valrek, but with none of the warmth, none of the life.
It was clinical. Disgusting. A collector assessing his prize.
