Merlicious 3 Read online

  A large whale surfaced and slapped its tail on the water a hundred yards from the boat. Paul's eyes widened as the huge beast turned and faced him while a pod of bottle-nosed dolphins circled the Bertram at high speed.

  * * * *

  Sargo jerked to attention, recognizing the call of a king. Behind her, a whale smacked a salute with its tail, and she spun around. At the sight of a boat, her breath caught in her lungs.

  Beaming an elated smile, she dived under with a kerplunk. She swam to the side where he stood waving dolphins away, and studied him from under the water's surface.

  He had eyes the color of an afternoon sky, and they enthralled her because she never saw a merperson with that hue. His dark hair curled a little, framing his face and brushing his collar.

  Her fingers ached to brush his strong jaw, his full lower lip, his angled cheekbones. The stubble on his chin and cheeks and the hair on his arms held no appeal, and his chest and limbs were thin compared to mermen. However, his eyes and something else she could not identify affected her, confirming she found her mate. The sight of him close up sent her body into full alert. The scales on her tail flexed, and she gasped as a pleasurable pressure began low and spread up through her torso. Distracted by the bombardment of new sensations, she shook herself to gain back some focus.

  As she expected, his legs seemed out of place. Yet her heart pounded. Her mother said he was a merman, but she had no doubt that the man before her was every inch a human. This could not compare to any other adventure in her life, and she grew excited over the forbidden feel of this encounter.

  She caught a glimpse of gills peeking above his collar but her hair floated forward, blocking her view.

  * * * *

  Paul watched as another whale joined the first. Swimming a close distance off the portside, they kept pace with the Bertram's idle.

  A flash of movement right below him caught his attention and he bent to get a better look. A woman's beautiful face, with huge green eyes and long, curly brown hair flowing back, stared up at him from just under the surface of the glassy, clear water.

  Not believing his eyes, he leaned further and reached out a hand. Slender, graceful fingers rose out of the ocean and wrapped around his palm. Startled, he reared back. With surprising strength, she held tight and lifted out. Ripples gurgled around her as she moved through the water at the boat's speed. He blinked, shocked to find someone this far and swimming alone.

  Her beauty paralyzed him. Her skin seemed to have no pores and no blemishes marring its perfection. Dark lashes framed her jewel-like eyes and curled up to touch tips with her fine, arched brows. A pert nose turned up a little at the end, giving her an impish appearance, despite the obvious maturity shining from her gaze.

  Coral-colored lips, full and inviting, curved up at the corners, and she said, “Welcome home."

  Not mistaking her British accent, he thought he caught a hint of some exotic note in the lilt of those two words. Her voice swirled around him, the rich, smooth tone that of a cultured, well-bred aristocrat. He never knew anyone who moved in the upper echelons of society, and she intimidated him. He had to get her back where she belonged.

  Dragging his eyes away from her incredible face, he looked out across the water. He saw nothing but whales, water and an occasional dolphin fin.

  Looking back at her, he asked, “Where did you come from? Do you need a ride back to your boat? Ship?"

  She grinned, stirring his vitals to life, and he swallowed. She gave his arm a tug and he pulled back, fearing she would yank him into the sea. Grasping his arm, she rose higher out of the water. He looked down and she arched, flicking a tail on top of the water with a slap. Noticing the gills on her neck, he jerked in recognition. Her ridges were identical to his.

  He closed his eyes. “I think I'm delirious. You're not real."

  "I'm as real as you. I've come for you."

  He expected to open his eyes and find her gone, but when he looked, she still clung to him. He frowned and said, “Because I'm dying today? I thought angels had wings. You look like a mermaid."

  She chuckled. “I'm not an angel. I am a mermaid."

  Lowering her back into the sea, he said, “You sound English. And you're killing my arm."

  "Sorry.” She let go.

  He shook his head. “Mermaids aren't real. You're a dream.” Squinting, he bent closer in an attempt to see her more clearly and dispel the mystical vision. “God, you're beautiful."

  Chapter Four

  The look he gave Sargo, like he wanted to devour her, warmed her all over. Heat radiated from her cheeks, and her eyes watered. Above her stood her mate. Her husband. Her king. He did not look like a king, but she trusted her instincts.

  A thrill ran through her. Tonight she married him, and tomorrow they would begin their journey home. She hoped he made a good student because three days gave her little time to teach him the basics before they arrived.

  With raw nerves, she looked over his head and asked, “Are those fishing rods? I've heard about them.” Under the water, her tail shivered with excitement.

  He looked over his shoulder then back. “Yeah."

  "You catch sea creatures with them?"

  His eyes narrowed. “Yes."

  "Catch me,” she whispered, staring at his lips.

  "What?"

  "Catch me. Bring me onto your boat.” Her entire body trembled at the idea.

  He shrugged and asked, “Why not?"

  Placing his hands beneath her armpits, he hauled her out of the water and over the side. His strength surprised her and she grinned again. He laid her across a seat, and she propped herself up on one elbow.

  He did not seem to share her excitement, and she pursed her lips in frustration. “What's that rumbling?"

  "The engine,” he said, moving behind her.

  She listened as a click preceded a clunk. Cheerful tinkling tickled her ears right before the rumbling stopped. Then he came back and knelt in front of her.

  "I'm having a hard time believing my eyes,” he said.

  Touching his cheek, she ran her thumb along the stubble covering his jaw.

  "I didn't shave this morning.” He ran a hand over his other cheek and gave her a look of apology.

  "Every king should have a nice, full beard."

  "Oh, I'm not a king. The name's Paul.” He held out a hand.

  "Paul,” she tried the name on her lips. “I like it. Paul. Paul. Paul."

  "That's my name, don't wear it out. What's yours?"

  "Sargo."

  "Unusual name. I've never met a girl named Sargo."

  "I'm not a girl. I'm a mermaid princess. And you're going to make me a queen,” she said, her chin rising a notch.

  He guffawed. “Is that so?"

  They stared into each other's eyes and his grin slowly faded. Reaching out, she snaked a hand around his neck. Her fingers combed into his hair as she pulled him to her. Their lips met, and she felt his gills flare under her wrist. His reaction shot fire through her veins.

  Urging her to open, he touched his tongue to hers. He tasted sweet and foreign and thoroughly intoxicating. Closing her eyes, she inhaled through her nose, smelling the tangy scent of his skin. He smelled like nothing she ever experienced.

  He groaned deep in his throat, and her breasts grew weighted and achy as her nipples hardened. His hand alighted on her shoulder, a feathery caress as he fingered the gem-encrusted strap of her halter. When he drew away, she lifted her heavy lids with reluctance.

  "Wow,” he said in amazement. “Where did that come from?"

  "We're drawn to each other. You're mine. I'm yours.” Her heart beat a tattoo against her ribcage as she spoke the sacred marriage words.

  Leaning back, he stood and turned away. “Did I fall asleep? This has got to be a dream.” She held her breath and watched as he touched tentative fingertips to the place where the scales of her turquoise-colored tail melted into the more supple alabaster skin of her abdomen.

  Th
e brush of his skin against hers sent goose bumps skittering across her belly, but she ignored the sensation. “Paul, you're not dreaming. I've come to take you home.” She could not keep impatience from her tone.

  He spun on his heel, his brows drawn together. “What does that mean? You're not making any sense. My home's in Virginia Beach."

  Snapping her own brows together, she planted a fist on her hip. “Your home is in the Sargasso Sea. You were raised by humans, but now it's time to take your place and lead your people."

  "My people? My people are human."

  Staring him in the eye, she ran a fingertip over the gills on her neck. “Think about it."

  He looked uncertain and touched his own gills. “I've got two legs. I walk on land and breathe air."

  She noticed the fading light and glanced at the setting sun. Her time was running out. “I need you to do something for me."

  His brows shot up and he waited.

  "Please, come here. Take my hand."

  He seemed skeptical but did as she asked. The heat of his touch seared her and she struggled to find her voice. “I need you to say, ‘You're mine. I'm yours.’ Right now."

  "You're mine, and I'm yours?"

  "Don't ask it. Say it."

  "Why?"

  "Because if you don't, we're doomed,” she bit out.

  He chuckled and shook his head.

  Glancing at the horizon, she saw that only a sliver remained of the sun in the steel gray sky. “Please,” she begged. “I'll explain later."

  Shrugging, he said, “Fine. You're mine. I'm yours."

  She sighed in relief.

  Paul's expression changed from curious indulgence to pain. Falling to his back, he arched. His cry of agony ripped across the dark water. His voice changed, becoming a mixture of something human and something merkind. Flipping to his side, he writhed with pain. When his eyes opened a brief moment, he sought her out and begged her for help with a look.

  Sliding off the chair to the deck at his side, she pressed herself against him. She did not know what to do, and his screams caused fear to constrict her throat, making it difficult to catch her breath. Wrapping an arm over his shoulder, her other hand brushed the bag her mother gave her.

  "The transformation,” she whispered. Then louder, “You're transforming!"

  Rolling onto his back again, he gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed. “What?"

  She tried to pull the bag free, but the filament holding it to her side refused to break. She could not get the bag open either because the line fit too snuggly around her middle.

  Glancing around, urgent for a tool to cut the bag loose, she barked, “Something sharp. I need something sharp."

  He grunted in pain then pointed to a door built into the back wall of the boat behind their heads.

  She scooted the short distance and gave the door a shove. “There's no handle."

  "Put your finger in the hole and pull.” Groaning, he clutched at his stomach.

  She did as he instructed but the door did not budge. “It won't open!"

  "Pull hard!"

  Rising up, she gave the panel a yank. It popped open. Inside the compartment sat a large box. She pulled it out and dragged it back to him.

  Boxes similar to this one, salvaged from shipwrecks, found their way all over the coral city, so she knew how it worked and opened the front clasps to lift its lid. At the very bottom, she found a small, sharp knife. Careful to touch only the handle, she lifted it out.

  "My mother said the contents of this bag will help."

  He yelled out, throwing his head back and hugging his arms across his ribs. “Hurry!"

  She slipped the blade under the filament and cut it. Opening the bag, she spilled the contents into her hand. Her brows drew together.

  "I don't understand,” she said.

  "Please,” he begged.

  "But it's just sargasso weed. I'm not sure what we're supposed to do with it that will help you."

  He groaned again and drew his knees to his chest. “What do you normally do with it?"

  "Eat it."

  "Let's try that. I feel like I'm being ripped in half. I'll try anything."

  Breaking off a bite-sized piece, she placed it in his waiting mouth. He chewed and swallowed. With a worried lick of her lips, she watched him and held her breath, waiting to see what happened.

  She saw the muscles in his jaw flex as he clenched his jaw and shivered with pain. The weed did not seem to help.

  "Give me more,” he ground out through clamped teeth.

  She broke off another section, one with a couple round floats attached, and placed it on his tongue. Again, he chewed and swallowed. The result came immediately. He relaxed and opened his eyes to stare at her.

  "What's happening to me?"

  Suffused with sadness for his suffering, she studied his handsome face. “I wish you didn't have to go through this. Your body is changing. You're taking on your true form."

  "What are you talking about?” Reaching out, he took some seaweed from her and ate it. “Tastes like salty grass."

  "Paul, you're a merman. A king, actually. My father, our current king, is approaching the end of his two hundred year reign. It's time for you to take his place."

  Looking weak and vulnerable curled up in a ball, he shook his head. “Two hundred years? That's nuts. When am I going to wake up from this nightmare?"

  She slapped the deck. “How many times do I have to tell you, you're not dreaming? Listen to me. We've got to get off this boat."

  "And do what?” He shuddered as a flash of aquamarine fluttered up his bare legs then disappeared.

  "Why do you think you came to just this spot? Today, of all days? It was to meet me so I can take you back where you belong.” Her temper flared but she no longer cared. Their situation grew critical.

  "I don't belong anywhere,” he snapped. “I didn't set my coordinates to this place. I floated here by chance. I came to throw myself in the ocean and end my life."

  "Exactly!"

  "You're crazy.” He closed his eyes.

  "Think about it. You picked today. You came to this very spot where I waited. You came to throw yourself into the ocean. It's instinct. You planned to end your human life and begin your life as a merman."

  "I don't believe in instinct,” he mumbled.

  His lack of cooperation irritated her to no end, but she needed to reach him. She thought for a second then said in a quiet voice, “Your twenty-fifth birthday is in four days."

  His eyes popped open. “How do you know that?"

  "We're three days away from our home in the Sargasso Sea. Our kings take the throne on their twenty-fifth birthday."

  Another painful attack made him kick his legs straight and yell out. Her eyes widened as his hips bulged outward, straining the seams of his shorts. She dropped the seaweed on the deck beside him.

  "You've got to get out of these,” she gasped, grabbing at his waistband.

  The bottoms did not budge. Finding a pull string, she untied the bow. His shorts and underwear slid easily, and she saw the top of his tail already took shape. Thick, rippling muscle stretched taut under green hued skin and transitioned in a strange way to his two legs. An unusual patch of dark hair at the apex suddenly fell from the skin and dropped to the deck. While the green of his skin deepened, he groaned.

  She shoved his shorts and underwear off, knocking his brown loafers from his feet, and sucked in a breath. His toes were nearly gone. They gave way to the fine, translucent tissue of his forming tail fin.

  "We have to go. Now!” She shoved a piece of weed into his mouth.

  "I can't move,” he coughed out.

  Taking all that remained of the seaweed, she pushed it between his lips. “We have no choice. I need you to put me back in the water. Once your tail forms, you'll be hard pressed to get yourself off this vessel, much less help me. We have to go now, while you still have two limbs."

  The sargassum seemed to do the trick, a
nd he relaxed.

  "Try sitting up. Please,” she begged, trying to compel him to haste.

  Pushing himself up on wobbly arms, he looked down at his legs. Alarm contorted his unnaturally pale features. “Where's my—Where's my ... And my feet! What the hell?"

  "We don't have time for this.” She shoved him hard. “Get up!"

  "On those?” Pointing at his fading feet, he gave her an incredulous look.

  "Move!"

  "Damn it!"

  He maneuvered into a kneeling position. “My knees feel like mush,” he complained.

  Sargo scooted to the side of the boat and waited for him. “Hurry."

  Getting his footing, he lunged upward and sprang high into the air. “Holy smokes! My legs are so strong."

  "They're not going to be legs much longer. Come on."

  He landed on his feet with a loud smack and rushed over to her. “The pain's coming back,” he said, bending at the waist and lifting her in his arms. “Tell me you have more of that stuff."

  "I gave you all I had."

  With a pained expression, he tossed her over. She landed with a huge splash. The water surrounded her, soothing her parched skin and causing her gills to tingle with pleasure.

  She said, “Now you. Quickly."

  Chapter Five

  Paul pinched his arm but still did not wake up. The excruciating ache in his legs increased by the second, and he feared they would collapse under him, stranding him on the Bertram.

  Waving her long, shapely arms, Sargo summoned him into the deep. Yet he hesitated, blinking at the irony. He came out here to toss himself overboard, but now that the moment arrived, he paused.

  His knees buckled and he caught the side of the boat, easing his hip on the ledge. Glancing down, he saw his legs connected at mid-thigh and all his hair fell out. His smooth skin appeared almost waxy and glowed pale turquoise with blotches of emerald green and royal blue.

  "Paul,” called the mermaid.

  He looked at her, barely making out her form in the waning light. A half moon hung behind her, growing brighter as its backdrop turned to black and stars dotted the sky. He could not remember seeing so many at one time.

  Deep, searing pain cut into him, starting where his bellybutton used to be and tearing a path down the inside of his legs. Slamming his eyes shut and digging his fingers into a rod holder to keep from losing his seat, he cried out.