He hauled himself against the Polar Bear’s back. The same bony hands clamped around his legs and yanked him backward.
He screamed—thin and high. There was no dignity, only pure childlike terror. His fingers clung to the rocks, knuckles white. Sweat poured down his face despite the bitter cold gnawing into his bones. His legs kicked wildly, water churned around him, but the iron-clad grip didn’t loosen.
The stench hit him next: rotting fish, salt, and something worse… something dead. He gagged, coughing seawater and bile, desperate for fresh air to clear his senses and snap him back to reality.
“A fisherman?”
The voice was silvery, strange. Syllables rolled together like waves, the accent lilting, but unplaceable. A voice to draw you in, only to drown you.
“This will be very satisfying.” Said another, thicker and crueller, laughter bubbling just below the words.
Martin searched for the voice. A mop of black hair sank below the surface before he could see their face. Something brushed against his ribs as it passed beneath him. Then he saw her.
A third, silver-grey creature leaned against the Polar Bear above him, her skin slick with seaweed. For a heartbeat, Martin forgot to breathe. The creature's hair was dark and tangled, cascading over her shoulders, half concealing her tall, lithe body.
A hot wave of embarrassment flooded through him, but he didn’t look away. There was a beauty to her that he couldn’t comprehend, as though some unseen or ancient force drew him towards her. Her sapphire eyes met his and held his gaze. He felt himself drawn forward, as though pulled by an invisible tide.
Before he could speak, the hands around his legs tightened.He lost his grip. Fingernails scraped bloody trails down the rocks as he was dragged backwards.
The sea swallowed him. He thrashed, kicked, and clawed at the dark. Water forced its way into his lungs before he could scream. The current twisted him, dragging him face-to-face with the monster swimming towards him—her powerful tail slicing through the water with ease. The last rays of sun caught the blade in her hand.
Martin’s lungs burned. His vision blurred as he scrambled towards the surface that no longer seemed to exist. Then the knife plunged down—and the water around him turned red.
Chapter 2
Archie
Archie Wolfenden yawned as he buttered his toast at the kitchen table. It was just past six, and the Monday morning silence would soon be broken by the usual chaos of delivery day.
He had to collect stock from the first boat of the day into Latharna, then sort it atThe Wolf’s Den, his shop on Main Street that sold everything from tourist trinkets to school uniforms and seasonable clothing. It was going to be a busy morning. Latharna was in the grip of an unusually hot, dry. Summer—they’d already sold most of their summer stock and needed fresh supplies on top of the usual back-to-school and soon to be displayed Halloween range.
The business was a solid financial enterprise—but underneath the counter, he ran a lucrative trade in antiques. The taxman and the Latharna Police Department would ask too many questions about the kind of weapons he bought and sold.
The back door rattled, jolting Archie back to reality. Despite being six foot two, the wrong side of forty, and more than capable of handling himself, his hand instinctivelygripped the butter knife as the door creaked open. He wasn’t expecting callers at this time of the morning, and years of training taught him to always be on guard.
His shoulders relaxed once Ina, his fifty-one-year-old sister, stepped into the kitchen, returning from what had supposedly been a quick game of cards on a Sunday evening with Tilly, her long-time friend.
Ina’s dark brown eyes were hidden by oversized sunglasses—a sure sign she was hiding a hangover. Archie had no idea what they actually got up to under the guise of a “card game,” and he knew better than to ask.
“I thought you were long past sneaking home after a late night.” Archie raised an eyebrow and smiled at his older sister. They were close, and childish teasing had never left their dynamic.
“We finished later than expected, so I slept at Tilly’s rather than wake you both up.” Ina covered a yawn with her hand.
They had both lived in Riverside all their lives. Even after Archie married Heather and their boys were born, it was perfectly natural to them all that Ina would remain in her childhood home if she chose to.
Archie released his grip on the knife, but Ina noticed. “There’s no need to butter me to death.” Her voice was dry, as ever. She gave as good as she got when it came to taunting.
“If you say so.” Archie bit into his toast. “There’s tea in the pot.” He nodded towards an old ceramic teapot sitting in the middle of the table.
“Thank god,” Ina dropped into her chair with a groan. “I love Tilly to pieces, but she makes the worst tea.” She nodded towards the kitchen door. “Any sign of Malachi?”
“He’s got another five minutes before I wake him. We’ve a busy morning ahead, sorting the delivery.”
They sat in silence for a moment, choosing it over the heavy weight of the anniversary of Rhys’ death sneaking up on them. A date and time forever carved into Archie’s mind, yet it still managed to appear out of the blue as time rolled forward. The air in Riverside was always thick with grief as summer drew to an end. Malachi still had nightmares, though he stopped talking about them. Now he simply withdrew until they passed.
Guilt soured Archie’s stomach. He swallowed hard, forcing down the mouthful he’d been chewing. Time flew by and stood still in equal measures. It felt like only yesterday he was shouting at his boys for sneaking into his office to play. Now he’d give anything to hear their giggling as they hid under his desk.
Anger swelled in his chest, and he crunched hard into his piece of toast. He’d failed to protect his family—or to properly avenge them. Malachi’s screams echoed through his mind. His skin puckered from the coldness of the water as he searched in vain for Rhys. The memory etched into his soul like a brand of defeat. Malachi had built such strong emotional walls around himself ever since the day Rhys was taken, and no matter how hard Archie tried, he was never able to scale them. In truth, he’d lost both sons the day the Selkie came upriver.
