Page 92 of The Hunted

“How do they reproduce?” Eryx asked.

“It changes,” Corval replied. “Depends on their lifestyle. The women can choose a pregnancy unlike our women, but when they remain on land for a period of years, it seems their cycles change to be similar to our kind.”

Which explained his and his brothers’ births. Before, Eryx had never held any interest in these things, but now … he felt like he needed to know it all.

“Humans, however,” Corval continued, “can’t mate—bond—with a mermaid the way they do. As we’ve come to learn, reproducing with their species isn’t the same as mating. If it’s the magic in the blood, well, we just don’t have it, Prince.”

Eryx said nothing.

Why?

Because he wasn’t like the rest.

He was half. Not entirely human. Not entirely like her. But maybe he was just enough …

“And you don’t know how they mate,” he said.

Corval shrugged. “No, it’s never been witnessed, but we have our assumptions. The blood from both, perhaps. Other than that … well, you could just ask the source.”

“Pardon?”

“Her. You have a mermaid here. Ask her.”

Eryx’s jaw clicked from clenching. “Well, that’s a problem, then.”

“Why is that?”

“Because the more time I spend near her, the less I understand.”

“About what?” Corval asked.

He let out an aching breath. “Myself.”

TWENTY

Arelle

THE CAST IRON tub, filled nearly to the rim with hot water, wasn’t helping Arelle’s newest problem. The itch under her skin continued, even after she took the roughest cloth she could find in the bath chambers and scrubbed and scrubbed until her flesh was red.

Almost raw.

She called for more hot water, and the guard waiting outside the chambers was quick to fetch yet another boiling bucket from the kitchen downstairs. Droplets of condensation dribbled down from the tub onto the shell-shaped claw feet before spilling to the stone floor. She was sure the cracks between the stones were filled with water, now. How the candles filling every flat surface in the chambers still flickered with light and managed to shine through the amount of stream, she didn’t know. The steam rolled through the room like a cloud, filling every nook and cranny as she tried her very best to stop the sensation of something crawling under her skin.

The itch she just couldn’t scratch.

She had a good mind to drag her nails over her legs and arms again and again until she bled or the itching stopped altogether. Whichever came first, as long as the itching stopped. That was all that mattered to her.

Adding onto the sudden itchiness was the loneliness. She didn’t think the people on the estate understood the meaning of community or friendship, considering they barely spoke to one another and most of the time, they didn’t bother with her, either. That probably shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did, but she wasn’t used to this.

Her people didn’t live alone.

They weren’t alone.

Not like this.

She could count the exact number of days she had been here—seventeen—and not a single one of them had been spent like they would have been, if she were back home in her colony. The bigger problem was the fact she couldn’t seem to leave.

Not because guards watched her. Or because someone would come after her again. All those things were a given.