“Clark!”
His attention snapped back to the women in an instant. They’d turned to him, their arms linked, and were giving him nearly identical looks of glowing happiness.
A grin pulled at his lips.Gods, there really is nothing better than seeing my mate so happy.“Howdy, Em. Nice to finally meet you!”
Clementine’s laughter was a little raspier than his mate’s. Their skin tone was the same, their hair had the same waviness that bordered on curly in the salty air. A few sea glass beads had been woven into tiny braids by her ears, and she was a little shorter than Nelly, a little softer in her curves. Where Nelly’s features were aquiline, Clementine’s were foxlike, almost, which gave her a delicate, mischievous look. She wore simple, comfortable lounge clothes in muted earth tones and a set of peculiar accessories: a black braided cord —hair? —looped several times around her throat, and a matching set on each wrist.
But when she smiled, he recognized his mate in the crinkle of her nose, the gleam in her hazel eyes. Not even the exhaustion of being a new parent could obscure the connection she had with Nelly. Clementine wasn’t just familiar because he’d spoken to her dozens of times via video calls since he and Nelly mated. Something fundamental in him recognized her as a member of his clan.
Almost at once, they moved to embrace one another. Clementine unlinked her arm from Nelly’s and Clark bent his knees to carefully pull her in tight. Knowing she’d only had a month of recovery time since the birth of her baby, he didn’t dare squeeze too hard or hoist her up like he might have otherwise.
“Thank you for coming. I’m sorry the trip was so rough.”
“Don’t you worry about it. It wasn’t so bad,” he lied. Catching his mate’s amused look over Clementine’s shoulder, he gave her a playful wink. “Trust me, I’ve been on rowdier horses. ’Sides, I’m here to meet my nephew! Rough seas couldn’t keep us away.”
Pulling back, Clementine replied, “Well, come on then. He’s inside, along with the ginger ale you definitely don’t need to settle your definitely not seasick stomach.”
Grasping the handle of their overnight bag once more, he muttered, “Some of us might just like ginger ale, Em. Doesn’t need to be more to it than that.”
It was a special sort of joy, watching the two sisters break out into identical peals of laughter. They turned their backs on him, arms hooking automatically, and giggled the entire trek across the beach to the large, metal-walled home perched over the waves.
Clark loved listening to Nelly and her sister chatter as they passed through the entryway and into the open kitchen and living space. There was much talk about the abalone shell that sat in the window sill above the kitchen sink, its iridescent belly full of frosted sea glass in a myriad of colors, and the many, many corded art pieces that decorated the walls.
But of course, the real star of the show was not the decor, nor the breathtaking view from the windows, nor the curious arrangement of their furniture, which centered primarily in the living room.
It was the swaddled bundle strapped to Emory’s back.
The merman emerged from the hallway connecting the two sides of the house slowly, his large body low to the ground and his dark eyes watchful. They’d spoken many times during their calls, but Clark couldn’t exactly blame him for being extra cautious as he examined the strangers in his home. He would be protective, too, if he had a newborn to look after. He suspected orcs weren’t any nicer about strangers wandering into their nests than merfolk were.
Deliberately relaxing his posture, Clark slung his arm around Nelly’s shoulder and offered Emory a wide, closed-lip smile. Still, Emory didn’t move an inch from the hallway until Clementine trotted over to him, saying something in a lilting, cooing sort of language.
The moment she was close enough, the merman’s webbed hand curled around the back of her thigh in a possessive display.
Clementine smoothed her fingers over the bumps of his short braid, pulled tight against his scalp, and said, “Honey, this is my sister and her mate. Nell, Clark, this is Emory.”
It might have felt a little silly doing an introduction when they’d spoken so many times, but Clark knew it was a gesture of respect. They had entered Emory’s sacred space, where he kept his most precious treasures. He wasn’t about to scoff at anything that made him feel more comfortable having them around.
“Thanks for letting us stay in your home,” he offered, really meaning it.
Emory’s eyes remained fixed on his, scrutinizing the threat, for a moment longer before he glanced at his mate. Immediately, the tension in his sharp features melted away. “You’re part of our pod. You’re welcome in our cove.”
Smiling, Clementine leaned over to peek at the bundle securely strapped to Emory’s back. “Is Oscar still asleep?”
As if he already recognized his name, a distinctly newborn mewl emanated from the swaddle.
“Not anymore,” Emory dryly replied, shifting to allow his mate to extract their baby from the layers of fabric.
The moment a small, dark head of hair emerged, Clark let his arm drop from Nelly’s shoulders. She was hustling across the room before it’d even come to rest by his side.
Clementine turned to present her sister with her new nephew, a massive grin popping the dimples on her cheeks. “Oscar, meet your auntie!”
Nelly hovered over her sister, her hands moving in fluttering, excited motions all around the baby in her arms. “Oh gods, Em, he’s the chunkiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life! I swear I look at his picture every day, but seeing it in real life is something else!”
Stepping up behind his mate but careful to always keep himself within Emory’s eyeline, Clark peered over Nelly’s shoulder and let out a long whistle. “Good gravy, what are you feeding this kid? He’s got more rolls than a potluck!”
And Oscar was damn cute because of it. He lay in his mother’s arms, loosely draped in a soft, knitted baby blanket. His belly and cheeks, both delightfully thick with pudge, were starkly white. His tail, squishy-looking and slightly wrinkled at the tips, draped over Clementine’s arm and seemed to curl reflexively whenever she spoke. Oscar’s hair was a wispy mop of black strands, almost identical to the braids his mother wore around her neck and wrist, and the little fists curled into the folds of the blanket were webbed. Tiny black claws tipped each thick finger.
He was in all ways a perfect little mer pup… except for his eyes.
