No, he doubted it. He’d watched her paint the outside of the cove a bright blue, and the scarf she’d given him was a pretty green. After days and days of tracking her all over the island, he knew she preferred colorful things, so he doubted her cove was decorated in drab grays and blacks like the pool room.
I should check,he decided, knowing that his curiosity was getting the better of him. But so what if it was? He had been gifted the extraordinary luxury of time to stalk his mate and learn her while the pod was away. It would be foolish not to take advantage of it.
ChapterFour
He wasn’t nearly asdexterous out of the water as he was in it, but Emory had no trouble maneuvering himself completely out of the moon pool and onto the floor. Slinging his satchel around to rest on the small of his back, he used the powerful muscles of his arms and upper body to pull himself toward the door. A small reach to turn the handle and the door swung open.
A long, dimly lit hallway opened up before him.
Emory held still, his dark eyes roving, assessing the new space with all his senses. The floor under his hands was some odd artificial wood. The scent that reached his keen nose was soft and sweet, with an undertone of something sterile, like the cove itself hadn’t quite absorbed the scent of its owner yet.
He wasn’t surprised. After all, he’d watched as the drones lowered its great metallic bulk onto the beach. A smart decision, that. If they’d sent workers out, he would have been forced to defend his territory.
Luckily they didn’t, and it was even luckier that his curiosity over what the land dwellers might be up to after such a long period of inactivity had stayed his hand when he considered attempting to dismantle what he could only assume was some sort of home.
But he’d always been more patient than most of his podmates. More patient with mysteries, anyway. When it came to politics, dominance games, displays, and chasing down coy, bite-happy women? Not so much.
It was why he was considered a loner, andthatwas why he was the first of his generation to snatch a mate. Or he would be, anyway.
Right place, right time.He’d seen her first. He’d determined that she brought no mate with her, and even if she had, he would have attempted to steal her anyway.
She was his to snatch because he’d been so patient for so long. No one, not even the most bloodthirsty, mate-hungry podmates would get their claws on her.
With that thought in mind, Emory pulled himself down the hallway and toward the closest door in a practiced rolling motion that utilized his powerful tail. A quick check showed that it was an empty room that reeked of old chemicals — paint, he guessed.
He moved on to the next door. Inside, he found a sparkling, all-white bathroom liberally spotted with colorful products. Some, like hair care and wash cloths, he recognized. Others, like the myriad of things hanging in the large, class-enclosed shower stall, were beyond him.
He eyed the stall critically. Yes, he decided, he’d fit in there with a little careful tail placement. In his cove he installed a special outdoor shower that used collected rain water. The nozzles in his mate’s shower appeared more or less the same, so he figured they’d rinse the salt off of his body adequately enough. There was a nicely sized bench, too, so he could sit comfortably.
He suspected the bench would become very useful.
While there were many challenges to taking a land mate — mainly their fragility, itty-bitty lungs, and their cove requirements — there were a great many benefits. One of those was dexterity. His kind could be very creative when it came to sex, but they were inherently limited by their anatomy.
It would have been almost impossible for him to fuck one of his kind in the stall, but his precious little prey? She would have no trouble straddling his lap, or being bent over the bench so he could mount her from behind. No trouble at all.
Pleased by his discovery, he backed out of the bathroom and into the hall. His cock ached behind his slit, but he ignored it as he pulled himself closer to the final door.
It was slightly ajar. The closer he got, the stronger that soft scent became. It was like flowers, though he didn’t have the vocabulary to properly identify which one it might be.
It didn’t matter to him what it was called or where it came from. He liked it. He liked her. Soon he’d have her and the pretty scent all over his skin.
Moving with a predator’s deliberation, he used the tip of one claw to gently nudge the door open a few inches. What he found on the other side was a peculiar bedroom.
The far wall was dominated by large windows partially covered in cream-colored curtains. A neatly made bed took up most of the space, alongside two small side tables and a dresser strewn with bottles, brushes, and sparkly things he itched to touch. Everything looked soft and clean and feminine in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
He’d never been in a bedroom before, but he knew what they were supposed to look like in theory. His father had explained houses to him in detail. It was mostly to satiate his troublesome son’s intense curiosity, but Emory sent a prayer of thanks to the depths for it anyway.
He hadn’t always been grateful for his land-dwelling father when he was alive, but he was at that moment. His mate would not be claimed by some ignorant buffoon. She would be well taken care of by a man who understood how easily she could drown and who knew the comforts she was used to.
Certainly, she wouldn’t do well in his cove, as comfortable as he’d made it over the years. Her bed looked like a mountain of softness. There was no way she’d sleep well in his bedding on the hard floor of the alcove he’d carved.
This will be my cove now,he thought, eyeing the height of the bed critically. There would need to be adjustments, of course, but he was extremely adaptable.
It was an all-important tenet of ocean life: adapt or face the consequences. Sometimes those consequences were losing out on a meal. Sometimes they were death.
Sometimes they were worse than that — like losing out on a coveted little mate, with her soft, bouncy hair and sweet voice.
Emory had no intention of letting his mate slip through his claws. Like any good hunter, he intended to stalk his prey, learn her habits, and pounce at the right time. Godswilling, she would be good and claimed by the time the pod streamed into the Bay with their cocks out and their eyes roving for a tasty little morsel like her.
