I yank my hand from Arion’s mouth, and he shoves me from his arms. We drift apart as inconspicuously as possible. “There will be none ofthat.”
Gavriall turns with a taunting grin. “Sharks, cultists, or sexual tension?”
“All three,” Arion growls.
“Then you have never shared a bed with me, Warlock Stone. I always simmer with sexuality.” Gavriall winks suggestively before he continues his merry swim to nowhere.
Arion glances at me—just once, so briefly I almost miss it—and then slices through the water after Gavriall. I follow, though dread sinks like an anchor in my gut.
Something about this—aboutallthis—feels wrong.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ARION
Jagged rocks of the Sel’s vicious depths give way to a dozen underwater caverns, all different gnarled shapes and sizes. Zephyra explains that they were used by illegal traders to store stolen wares so kingdoms couldn’t find and claim the treasures as their own. Before the Merrow Wars exploded across every sea and made piracy treacherous for even the most savage villains. Before merrow slaughtered humans on sight. She doesn’t add the last bit, but I remind myself of it anyway. I need tokeepreminding myself of it.
Otherwise, I’ll acknowledge my hunger. For her. Acknowledge the need that clenches an agonizing fist around my cock every time she breathes, laughs, sighs. It’s the bond. It’s her lips. It’s her soft curves and pretty hair and wicked tongue and—and I’m losing my fucking mind. She has ruined it. She has ruinedme. All with a single kiss. The taste of her strawberry-sweet lips, and the sinful sound of her mewling lust. Impossible.Bullshit.She is a merrow. She is a demon, and I am a warlock.
A disgraced, traitorous warlock.
Fuck.
I can’t even repress my own emotions anymore. They plague me. Rage. Frustration. Regret. And that intense, thunderous craving for her. For more.
If I can just steal the heart, I can fix this. Divine powers. Immortality. I can use them to garner favor with the kingdom, to reinstate my position, to damn the merrow to the Fathoms and cleanse myself of her touch.
Does he have a name, or should I just moan my own?
Gods, I despise her.
“Are you quite certain it’s empty?” Gavriall asks, apprehension bubbling from his lips as Zephyra gestures to the largest of the caverns. The water feels colder here. Tastes sweeter. Appears darker. Her tail undulates almost lazily as she hovers just before the entrance. A few threads of pearls have come undone since the fight, spilling,brushing, against her breasts, her soft belly, the turquoise scales on her waist. I don’t stare at any of it.
“Yes,” she answers simply. “Who else would use it?”
“Merrow, pirates, heathens, serial killers,” Gavriall says. “The list practically writes itself.”
“Minnow,” Zephyra snaps.
Gavriall’s eyes narrow. “Lead the way, then. Mermaids first.”
“No. Now, hurry up—merrow could swim across us at any time, and they’re likely to gut you on sight.”
He huffs at that, bubbles spilling from his lips. “Why can’tyougo?”
“Well, if there is a murderer in there, I don’t want to be the first victim.”
“You said it’s empty!”
“I’m not psychic, Gavriall. You go first. You’re the most expendable.”
“That’s offensive. I am the smartest historian in a century—”
“Enough.” I snarl and shove between them. “Fucking cowards.” The only good thing Zephyra has wrought are my gills. Aside from assuring I don’t drown, they make my body feel lighter, more buoyant, and allow my wings to move with renewed purpose. They carry me through the mouth of the cavern, then up. Up. I rise into a large craggy chamber and throw myself onto a dry surface of hard rock. Seconds pass before they join me. I can barely make out their hazy forms in the sea, a blur of pink and black.
Zephyra is the next to surface, though she hesitates rather thanimmediately climbs onto the stalagmite-infested ground. It glows fluorescent violet beneath my feet as my wings shake themselves dry.
“There’s no one here,” I tell her.
