Merlicious 3 Read online

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  Midnight Showcase

  www.midnightshowcase.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Anthology Authors

  First published in 2007, 2007

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  MIDNIGHT SHOWCASE

  Erotic-ahh Digest

  ISSN 1555-5496 Vol.77-14ED

  Merlicious—3

  MIDNIGHT SHOWCASE

  www.midnightshowcase.com

  Published by

  Midnight Showcase

  PO Box 300491

  Houston, TX 77230 USA

  www.midnightshowcase.com

  To Catch A Dream, Copyright © 2007 Laura Kitchell

  Somewhere Between Worlds, Copyright © 2007 Susan Anthony

  Through Thick and Fin, Copyright © 2007 Cara Preston

  Unexpected Truths, Copyright © 2007 Cheryl Bonner

  Tails, You Win, Copyright © 2007 Andrea Jackson

  A Fish Out of Water, Copyright © 2007 Barbara Donlon Bradley

  Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISSN 1555-5496 Vol.77-14 ED

  Credits

  Editor: Caro Ballantyne

  Copy Editor: Jane Carver

  Format Editors: Wendy Mackrell, Mae Powers

  Cover Layout Artist: Mae Powers

  Printed in the United States of America

  Merlicious—3

  In space and under the sea, merfolk exist. Enjoy these tales of fin, fun and fantastic adventures in life and love.

  To Catch A Dream, Laura Kitchell

  Sargo, a mermaid princess, must convince Paul, a human, that he's a merman, a king, and he has to marry her.

  Somewhere Between Worlds, Susan Anthony

  Prince Troidan came to the surface with a single goal. Now, with his kingdom depending on him, he must choose between duty and love. Through Thick and Fin, Cara Preston

  A mermaid sand sculpture bears Marina's likeness and unwanted advances from the wrong man are the impetus for the right man wanting to protect her.

  Unexpected Truths, Cheryl Bonner

  Neptune sends his best mer-enforcer Nick Sirius to teach paranormal writer Jessie York that merfolk are nothing like her stories, then make her forget.

  Tails, You Win, Andrea Jackson

  Tails you win ... wealth, fame and love in the annual Mermaid Games under the sea. But Stella must figure out which is most important to her.

  A Fish Out of Water, Barbara Donlon Bradley

  At the shore, throwing a wayward stone brings a handsome, naked man to Sarah's feet. Too late, she learns he's a fish out of water.

  To Catch A Dream

  by

  Laura Kitchell

  Sargo, a mermaid princess, must convince Paul, a human, that he's a merman, a king, and he has to marry her

  For my husband, a king of the ocean in his own right. And for my biggest fan and greatest support, my mother. A special thanks to Crystal for dedicating her precious time to help me make this the best story possible.

  You can email Laura at [email protected]

  To Catch a Dream

  by

  Laura Kitchell

  Chapter One

  "The time has come. He's ready, and you have to go to him."

  Sargo spun around so fast tiny bubbles flew out of her green-brown curls and tickled her cheek. “What if I'm not ready, Mother?” she asked, wringing her hands.

  The mermaid queen glided into the room. Sargo watched her slide an admiring hand along a sparkling, peach-colored coral wall. “You knew this day was coming."

  "But he's human!” She spat the word like it left a bad taste in her mouth. “He's not fit to be our king. I have no problem taking my place as queen, but I refuse to do it at the side of a man."

  Her mother ran a soft finger down Sargo's cheek, affection glowing from her deep, purple eyes. Moving to the window, her lovely white hair billowed like sea foam. She looked down from the tower window onto the coral city below and said, “I'm going to tell you a secret. And you must promise you will tell nobody.” The older mermaid looked over her shoulder. “Promise."

  Gulping, Sargo drifted low, her tail fin brushing the pitted floor. “I promise,” she said, forcing the words past a throat gone tight.

  The queen turned back around and stared out the window. Switching to the human language that only royals spoke, she said, “Every two hundred years, a king is born. The baby is left with humans to raise. Only our kings, queens and a secret sect of elders know this. When the king-to-be turns twenty-five, he takes the throne. He doesn't learn his true heritage until the day he meets his queen.” She pivoted back around. “It's your responsibility to tell our new king who he is. To teach him our ways."

  When her mother had spoken in the royal tongue, Sargo braced for the impact. A different realization hit her at once, and she struggled for breath. “Father was human?"

  "No. He was raised by humans. Just like your life-mate. They have always been mermen."

  Her brows drew together. “I don't understand. Mermen have tails, like ours.” She gave hers a flick for emphasis. “How can one of us be raised on land?"

  Smiling, the queen asked, “How do you think we know when a king is born?"

  Sargo shrugged.

  "The baby is born with legs."

  * * * *

  Paul drove his truck with care down Shore Drive on his way to his favorite launch ramp. As his boat, secured to its trailer, bounced over a series of rough spots, he groaned. He did not fish for recreation. He did it because the ocean called to him. He understood the habits and nature of sea creatures to an extent even he could not comprehend. His fishing buddies called it instinct, but he refused to put a name to it. He just knew he did not belong, and that was hard to bear.

  Turning, he bumped along the narrow residential street leading to Cobb's Marina. He drove around the shanty-style shop at the yard's center and lined up with the ramp. As he hopped out, a marine laborer walked up.

  "You alone, mister?” asked the boy.

  "Yep."

  "Want some help?"

  He had not looked forward to the hassle of launching his boat alone. “I'd appreciate it. The ropes are in the left deck hatch."

  With everything in place, he backed down the ramp until the boy held up a hand. He walked to the rear to make sure the boat sat far enough in the water. Satisfied, he headed for the winch.

  "That's a real nice boat you got there,” said the boy, holding the ropes.

  "Thanks."

  "It's a Bertram, right?” The laborer raked the boat with an appreciative eye.

  "Yeah. A ‘66 Moppie. I refurbished it."

  "Looks like new. I noticed you ain't got a cooler. Aren't you going to bring back any fish?"

  "I had a live-well installed in the transom.” The boy did not need to know Paul had filled it with ice.

  "Cool."

  Paul turned the w
inch on and the deafening grinding noise made it impossible for them to talk. The Moppie eased backward down the trailer. When he determined it had enough water under it, he released the winch cable and gave the hull a gentle push.

  "She's all yours,” Paul called as the boat floated back.

  The kid stopped him as he walked toward the truck. “If you park between the Sarah Sue and the Bonnie Brave 1, nobody'll mess with your stuff. Those yachts are at the end of the yard up there.” He pointed.

  "Thanks.” Paul parked then met the laborer halfway down the dock. Handing his helper a ten-dollar bill, he said, “Take care of the launch fee for me, would ya?"

  The kid took the money and shoved it in a front pocket. “Sure. Anything else I can do?"

  "Nah. I've got it from here. Thanks for your help."

  The boy's eyes narrowed, and he pointed at Paul's neck. “What's that?"

  Pulling the collar of his polo higher, Paul shrugged. “Birth defect. It's nothing.” The shirt snagged a little on the bumps and the sensation set his teeth on edge, making him shiver with a grimace. He detested the defects, but not as much as he disliked the doctors who could not tell him what the sensitive, scaly patches were.

  Avoiding more conversation, he headed for his boat while deep in thought. Women made up excuses for why they could not go out with him the moment they saw the bumps. It killed his dating life and any dreams he had of intimacy.

  He did not know a single person he could call a friend. Even his fishing buddies kept their distance. They only fished with him because he taught them so much. He shook his head. Without friendship or hope of love and family, there was no point to anything. No point at all.

  The ocean mattered more to him than his crap apartment, his meaningless job as a welder, or his senseless life. He stepped down into the Moppie, intending this to be his last trip. He was not coming back.

  Easing the throttles into reverse, he took the helm and made his way to the Chesapeake Bay. With a sigh of relief, he reached into a cubby and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. The eighty-two degree July weather felt more like ninety-five degrees with the humidity, and he wiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead before it dripped into his eye. The monotone, automated voice on the radio confirmed good seas and fair weather. He smiled. It was a perfect day to die.

  Chapter Two

  Swimming fast, Sargo used her instincts to find her way. She had left the coral city at the edge of the Sargasso Sea two days ago and had another day of travel ahead. Behind her parents’ backs, she often sneaked out of the city to explore alone. Once, she went so far she stumbled onto a shipwreck.

  Going on adventures alone was nothing new, but she had never ventured this far from home before. This time, she not only traveled a great distance, she sought a man who would change her life. It took every ounce of courage she could muster to keep from turning around and going home. Uneasy and alone, she relaxed when a sweet-faced, bottle-nosed dolphin circled around and squeaked a greeting.

  Smiling, Sargo offered an invitation to eat. With a delighted barrel roll, the dolphin darted away to gather the rest of its pod. A school of baitfish headed her way, and she trilled a summons. They swarmed in alternating circles and she pronounced a quiet K-K-T-T-T to make the nearest fish fall into a listless float. Reaching out, she took one.

  The dolphins returned, and the school organized for a retreat. As promised, she issued another summons, keeping the school in place, and the pod went to work gathering their fill.

  While they ate, she looked down at the fish in her hands. She needed the sustenance for strength to continue on her journey, but the thought of eating made her stomach queasy. She tried to imagine her man as a handsome and kind human.

  All she had as examples, however, were men she saw on ships that crossed the sea. Compared to mermen, she did not find humans attractive in the least. Covered in hair and walking on two silly looking legs, they seemed awkward and dirty. The idea of kissing one of them sent a chill down her spine. But she had to do this. This was her quest as queen-to-be, and in a way, she found the challenge invigorating.

  Forcing the food down, despite her protesting stomach, she got her bearings and headed out. As a thank you for their full bellies, the pod accompanied her the rest of the day to provide protection and companionship while she headed for the Norfolk Canyon.

  * * * *

  Paul rounded Cape Henry, gritting his teeth as the choppy waters made his kidneys ache. Passing out of the sloppy seas and heading offshore on well-spaced waves that made for a smoother ride, he breathed a sigh of relief. Calm settled over him when he came upon glassy swells that reflected blue from the sky like a rippled mirror. The long run out to the John Morgan wreck provided peaceful reflection.

  When the GPS began to count down his distance, he slowed his approach. In the distance, two boats anchored to the Lillian Luckenbach. He took his time anchoring, glad to have this spot to himself. With that job done, he dropped into the cabin through the top hatch on the bow and retrieved two heavy, double-thick brown paper bags with the tops rolled closed. A strong fish smell lingered in the locker, and he waved the door to air it out before closing it.

  He set the bags of live clams and crabs on the deck next to the transom. Getting a can of soda out of the ice in the live well, he popped the cap and downed the whole drink. His eyes watered as it burned its way down his throat. Squeezing the aluminum flat, he dropped the empty can into a yellow bucket. Suddenly, his stomach heaved, and he vomited over the side of the boat. All the soda came back up. What the hell was wrong with him? Ever since he ventured out on the open seas as a toddler, he'd never been afflicted with seasickness. What was going on with his body today?

  Shaking, he turned off the engine. As his stomach settled back to normal, he lifted a rod out of an overhead rod holder. He took a moment to admire it. All six of his rods were identical Penn Internationals with Penn Spin Caster reels. He got them for a bargain as a boat show special in Hampton. Still, they cost him four whole paychecks, and they were worth every penny.

  Midmorning sunlight glinted off the rod's translucent green fishing line. The color caught his eye and made him more aware of the ocean's beckon. Not yet. He wanted one last day of fishing and one last meal of sushi before he threw himself to the depths.

  He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck to ease the tension in those muscles. He considered suicide a weak man's way out and had no respect for the option. Yet when the thought entered his mind that throwing himself into the ocean might be his only way out of a life of lonely darkness, the idea held powerful sway, as if he had an epiphany that this course was his only choice.

  Even now, the idea of suicide left a bad taste in his mouth, but when he pictured himself diving off the boat, butterflies of anticipation fluttered in his belly. With an incredulous smile, he considered it a strange reaction to ending his life.

  Taking a deep, unsteady breath and tugging a hat on his head, he walked to the cockpit and set up the rod's tackle. In minutes, he had his bait hooked, his line in the water, and his rod in a holder. He prepared two more then got a bottle of water from the cabin. Taking a sip from the bottle, he wrinkled his nose at the too-sweet taste of the water.

  Without thought, he plucked a shaker from his dinner makings and poured salt into the bottle. With a sigh over the improved taste, he propped his feet up on the side of the boat and watched the rods for signs of a bite.

  Chapter Three

  On the morning of her eighteenth birthday, Sargo stared up at the pink dawn sky and touched the velvety bag hanging alongside the scales of her hip. Nearly three days earlier, her mother had tied it around her with a piece of floss and told her the new king needed the contents for his transformation. Now she inserted a finger under the cord to make sure it stayed secured then continued on her journey.

  She spent the day racing toward her future and bouncing between anticipation and anxiety. As the sun began to set, she reached the Norfolk Canyon, panicked that she fai
led by arriving too late. Her birthday drew to a close with no man in sight.

  * * * *

  Paul's day bordered on perfection. He used up all the clams and most of the crabs while the fish at the wreck kept him busy. Spadefish, bass, a couple skate, and a shark ended up on his lines throughout the day. He returned everything to the sea except two black bass that he saved on ice for dinner.

  When his watch read four o'clock, the two boats over the Lillian Luckenbach headed back to shore. He cut his anchor line and started the engine, idling out toward deep ocean.

  When he threw himself into the sea, he wanted to avoid getting washed back to shore. After setting the autopilot for a southeast course, he dumped the last of the crabs overboard and cleaned his fish for dinner. He sprayed down the cockpit with ocean water before putting the hose away.

  Cleaned up and ready to eat, he twisted open a beer. It tasted off, but his stomach handled it well, so he got to work slicing thin sections of meat from the bass filets. Laying them on single leaves of red leaf lettuce, he covered them with homemade salsa and rolled up his sushi dinner.

  Ten sushi rolls and four beers later, he laid his head back and slid a CD of Kenny G into his player. He almost fell asleep, but when the last song began to play, a chill raised bumps along his arms and legs. The ridges on the sides of his neck itched, and he rubbed the collar of his polo across a set.

  Sitting up, he saw the sun setting and he rubbed a hand over his eyes. It had to be after eight o'clock. He noticed with surprise that he reached the Gulf Stream. The waterline clearly marked the change, and he idled the boat from murky aquamarine-colored water to a very clear, deep blue.

  An urge to jump in made the ridges on the sides of his neck quiver. He touched the bumps with his fingertips and felt moisture. A terrible thirst hit him. His throat grew sore, and when he tried to clear it, the strangest high-pitched squeal came out. The sound seemed to echo, as if the surface of the water caused it to resonate and magnify.