There were sensors just below that metal, protected from the water but designed to pick up the presence of an incoming submersible via electric current. When a vehicle approached, the hatch would slide open automatically and the submersible arm would lower to pull it out of the water, allowing the passenger to climb out before docking it high above the pool.
He’d never seen his vulnerable little mate usehersubmersible before, which was a relief, but he’d seen plenty of the like on research vessels and those same illegal harvesting ships. Normally he took special pleasure in breaking in to rip those vehicles apart.
That was not his aim today.
At that moment, his mate was hiking up the zig-zagging trail to the stout lighthouse like she always did at mid-morning. A perfect opening. He didn’t like her being so far away from him, but it was a small price to pay for the opportunity to learn more about his prey.
A familiar pulsing tingle coursed through his fingertips. Then, with a low whine, the hatch opened. Pale green light blazed in a circle above him, making him hiss. Like most of his kind, he had extremely sensitive eyes designed for peering into murky depths and adjusting slowly to light as he moved up toward the surface. In most cases, bright lights were a mild but effective deterrent to curious merfolk.
But only when a mate wasn’t on the line.
Blinking away the spots in his vision, Emory whistled a half-hearted complaint and wrapped his fingers around the ledge. The powerful muscles of his core and upper body flexed as he hoisted his bulk up and out in one fluid movement.
Water sluiced off of his black and white patterned skin, beading and slipping back into the moon pool to leave him completely dry in seconds. His hair had similar hydrophobic properties, but with its length and mass it still tended to get water everywhere, so he’d made sure to braid it, then bind it in a tight coil before he swam from his cove to hers. It was, of course, secured with her gift — a pale green scarf.
Perching on the edge of the pool, Emory ran his claws over the end of the scarf possessively. His cock throbbed behind his slit. It didn’t matter that she didn’tintendto give him one of her pretty things. It was once hers, now it was his, and every time he touched it, he thought of how good it would feel when he finally had her bound and spread for him.
Traditionally, his kind used rope of their own making to bind their partners, but he’d make an exception for the pretty green scarf. When he mounted her, he wanted to see the color against the soft brown skin of her wrists.
He’d use his rope later.
Reaching into his satchel slung over his chest, Emory eyed the door at the far end of the room. He doubted it was locked. His mate was vexingly reckless, and seemed to think that she was perfectly safe from his kind just because the moon pool hatch was shut. This was despite the fact that he’d broken in several times already. There weren’t even any wards on her big metal cove. Anyone could swim right up, haul out, and lay in wait for her.
If he didn’t know any better, he would say that she wasinvitinghim in. Except he did know better, because no being who valued their hide would do such a thing.
At least I know she’s not senseless,he reassured himself.She’s tried lying in wait for me before.
No doubt she was attempting to trap him and kill him, as any smart woman would do to a prospective mate. It was a lucky thing that he knew better than to show up in a regular pattern, and only when she was atleasthalfway up the slope, which he could see from the rocks just beyond her cove.
He was perhaps a touch wilier than his mate – and infinitely more motivated.
I’m not the only one, though.
The thought made him gnash his sharp teeth. His mate had no idea what kind of danger she was in. She was just lucky that the pod hadn’t returned from their migration up the coast yet.
Yet.
The word echoed in his mind. How much longer did he have? Weeks. A handful of months if they were lucky. Maybe two, but probably less. And then the pod would fill Grim’s Bay again, some of them mated, but most of them not.
There were too many lonely merfolk — an unintended byproduct of the damn treaty that had brought them little more than useless wealth. It used to be easy to snatch a mate from the shore or from boats or the water. Now a whole generation had grown up coveting mates from afar but with very few chances to snag one for themselves.
Emory counted himself among that unhappy number.
Of course his kind mated with each other, but it was… harder, in many ways. Much more risky. One of their own might be inclined to take a cock, but it was a fifty-fifty shot if they wanted to bite it off or not.
Hence the ropes, and why land mates were considered superior.
Even if theydobreak easily.
They were soft, fragile, and had far fewer sharp teeth. Men, women, or neither — his kind didn’t care. They took what they could get and fought to keep the right to it. If you couldn’t stop another from snatching your mate, then you didn’t deserve them, anyway.
Gently extracting a large, bowl-shaped shell from within his satchel, he gave it a good shake before he set it down on the rubbery floor. He adjusted itjust so,angling it to catch as much light as possible on its iridescent inside.
It took some time, but he’d finally harvested the right abalone for her. It was a perfect specimen and more than an equal gift to match the mug she’d given him.
Emory rested his fingertips on the edge of the shell, but his gaze was drawn back to the door, as it always was when he snuck in. He knew every rock, every grain of sand, every shoal around the islands. It rankled that he didn’t know every inch of his mate’s strange cove, too.
Was it all as stark and dim as the room with the pool? He pressed his palm against the floor and felt its strange, rubbery give.
