Page 79

No.

Syrus approached the boat, closer than he had dared since they’d gotten in the water, but not so close the dead man would startle. He held his torso up out of the water, and he let this walking, talking corpse see what Syrus would do to him should he let their spawn come to harm.

Syrus couldn’t speak, couldn’t sing, but he could communicate in a language this man would understand. The threat of violence. The promise of irreparable harm.

The dead man stared, and Syrus didn’t miss the bob of his throat as he took a hard swallow. He kept his eyes on Syrus but nodded at Luke. “The smaller waterproof bag. There’s food.”

“Thank you.”

The words must have been hard for Luke to say, gratitude for what could barely be considered the smallest mercy. He should not have had to say the words at all. He should not even have been there.

My fault. All my fault.

Luke’s gaze darted to Syrus as he dug in the bag, and Syrus did his best to speak wordlessly again. Not much longer, my brave love. Hold on for me.

Luke broke the connection, and Syrus could only hope he’d understood.

The dead man’s hand was shaking more noticeably now, and Luke’s head was lowered, still searching through the bag for Colby.

Syrus dove back into the water with his normal small splash—here I am, his splash said, doing what you ask of me—but he didn’t swim any farther out.

He swam under.

Deep in the water, too far down to be seen from above. He traveled the short distance that would bring him up on the other side of the boat, with the dead man’s back to him.

He held himself there for a moment, under the water. He would need to make it all exact: maximum power, with enough control to aim true.

He waited, the gills behind his ears pulsing.

And then he burst up.

And up.

He exploded from the water with all his strength and twisted, letting the full force of his powerful tail smack right where he knew the dead man was sitting. He felt the satisfying weight of flesh hitting flesh.

And then he was back in the water in time to see the body landing headfirst into Syrus’s domain.

The water churned as the bottom of the boat rocked wildly, and Syrus could only hope Luke was holding Colby tightly. He must have been, as no other bodies fell. Only the one, arms and legs flailing as he tried desperately to return upright.

No.

Syrus darted over, grabbed a flailing ankle, and tugged down.

And down.

Into the deep. Into the cold. Into the dark.

The dead man was fighting Syrus with all his power, but it was nothing to the strength Syrus possessed. Syrus rolled and tumbled with the movements until he had the dead man held still by his arms, just far enough away for them to see each other clearly.

It might have been too dark for the dead man to see at all, if not for the bioluminescent glow Syrus emitted in deeper waters.

But the glow was there, so the dead man could see him. He could see as Syrus finally opened his mouth, his lips no longer held tightly shut by threats to his mate. He opened it wide, baring all his many sharp teeth.

The dead man let out an underwater scream, more bubbles than sound. He thrashed uselessly in Syrus’s hold.

Syrus laughed. The terror was delicious, echoing through his waters. He could have soothed it if he’d wanted, could have calmed the dead man down with a melody and made him easier to hold.

But Syrus didn’t want to soothe anything. He wanted to watch that terror build as the dead man failed to get any oxygen into his pitiful mortal lungs. He wanted to watch him realize that this was the only merman he would ever see, and that moreover, Syrus would be the last creature he ever saw.