His scent was… warm. And sweet. It called to me on an instinctive level. I couldn’t let anyone else scent him like this. No. He was all mine when he was in this state.
Well,eventuallyhe would be mine.
I told him I would handle everything so that he would go upstairs and take care of his heat.
And now I’m in charge. I have a clipboard and a script and everything.
Everything is going to be just fine.
I glance down at the file in my hands.
Harold “Salty” McKinnon
Aspiring lighthouse worker.
Collector of Victorian romance novels.
Loving father, husband, and friend.
Huh. Victorian romance novels? That's kind of cool.
The front door chimes, announcing today’s first guest. I straighten my shoulders and paste a warm yet professional smile on my face, ready to introduce myself. I open my mouth…
But before I can speak, a young girl barrels toward me holding a seashell-shaped speaker.
“Is it okay if we play ocean sounds during the service?” she asks, eyes wide with hope.
“Yes,” I say smoothly. Confidently. “That would be lovely.”
She presses play on the small speaker, and seagulls begin screaming. Not the gentle coastal sounds of waves crashing onto sand, but very close, very loud birds screeching.
“That’s very accurate, dear,” an old alpha man says as he follows the little girl up front.
I inhale slowly, trying desperately not to freak out. Sunshine is upstairs, trusting me with his livelihood, and my first decision of the day brought in bird sounds so loud I can barely hear myself think. This does not look like it’s going in a good direction.
More family and friends of the deceased flow into the parlor. Hugs and tears are exchanged in equal measures, with quiet laughter sprinkled throughout. These are the sounds of a person loved as much in life as they are in death.
When the time comes, I signal to Salty’s brother that it’s time for the service to begin. Everyone takes their seats as he walks up to the front of the room and clears his throat loudly.
“Good morning,” he begins smoothly, his fingers running along the rope that’s wrapped around the podium. “We are all here today to celebrate the life of Salty. He was a man who loved the sea. Respected the sea. And once, according to his lawyer, he attempted to legally marry a lighthouse to try and become the owner.”
A loud “it would have worked” comes from somewhere in the back, followed by chuckles from everyone in attendance.
Salty’s brother nods solemnly. “He was a true visionary. It still doesn’t feel real that he isn’t here.”
The seagull caws intensify, and the crashing waves seemingly grow louder, crashing dramatically every few seconds.
“Salty lived boldly and loudly. Without embarrassment or a hint of shame. He insisted on being called captain, although I’ll never understand why,” he shakes his head with a small smile. “He’d never even been on a boat!”
A chorus of fond groans ripples through the parlor.
His long-winded speech continues for twenty more minutes, going into immense detail about Salty’s life. I honestly could’ve lived the rest of my life without knowing what it was like to fuck a mermaid in its shifted form.
Finally, he announces that Salty’s omega partner would like to say a few words.
Said partner moves to the front to exchange spots behind the podium. He’s wearing a pirate hat, flipflops, and a nautical striped shirt. He dramatically swings off his hat, placing it over his heart and bowing deeply, his balding head catching the light and shining brightly. If he isn’t careful, he could blind someone. He clears his throat before reciting a poem that makes literally zero sense for a wannabe lighthouse keeper.
“We stand where quiet waters lie,
