The Merman from the West Coast - Chapter 2

Something pinched both my cheeks.

After waiting a long moment for death to arrive, I cautiously opened my eyes.

Black markings covered White-Hair’s chest and climbed faintly toward the side of his neck. Above them was a strikingly handsome face.

He stared at me and cocked his head. His thin lips moved.

What was he babbling about?

I was preparing to play dead—a time-honored survival strategy—when he abruptly wrapped an arm around my waist and shot off through the water.

I instinctively clung to his neck. He swam so fast that the world blurred around us, the violent current battering my face until I could barely keep my eyes open.

By the time we reached our destination and I released him, my head was spinning. In all my life, I had never known it was possible to get swimming-sick.

Before I could recover, White-Hair began circling me excitedly. He squeezed my arm, then my tail, as curious as a baby merman discovering something new.

I shook my head clear and finally took in the cavern.

My body stiffened. I wanted to run.

Animal remains were piled everywhere. Apart from those, the cavern held only a crude stone bed padded with seaweed.

White-Hair stubbornly kept an arm around my waist and refused to let me leave.

“I want to go home,” I whispered.

We didn’t speak the same language. He only tilted his head in confusion.

Then he seemed to remember something. He pulled me to the bed and placed an enormous luminous pearl in my hands. A moment later, his abdomen tightened, his tail snapped, and he vanished from the cave.

I sat on the edge of the bed, holding the pearl and idly slapping my tail.

I didn’t know why White-Hair hadn’t eaten me, but I didn’t want to stay. This place was dark and damp, nothing like the sunshine and beaches of the West Coast.

More importantly, I couldn’t even defeat the local food.

Outside the comfort of the West Coast, I apparently lacked the skills to survive at all.

When White-Hair returned, he found me sitting miserably beside the bed.

A delicious smell reached me. I slowly raised my head and saw him slit open a fish with practiced ease. He tore its flesh into strips and held one to my mouth.

I lowered my eyes. My ears burned red.

Not even my parents had ever fed me like this.

But my stomach was already growling. I closed my eyes and took his fingers into my mouth with the fish.

My eyes flew open.

It was so good!

The flesh of the powerful deep-sea fish was springy, tender, and delicious. I quickly finished the strip, released White-Hair’s hand, and gazed at him expectantly.

He went still. His eyes dropped to his wet, glistening knuckles.

At my cautious urging, he placed the next strip of fish on his palm instead.

My face heated. Of course he would be disgusted after I had slobbered all over his hand.

This time, I carefully held his palm between both of mine and took the fish with my lips. For some reason, his breathing grew ragged. When I looked up, however, he was back to normal.

I blinked, failed to understand, and lowered my head to finish eating.

Once my stomach was full, drowsiness rolled over me.

I shook my head hard. I couldn’t sleep. I had to begin the journey home.

I was about to mime my intention to leave when White-Hair handed me a reddish-orange fruit and gestured for me to eat it. It looked as though it had been picked on land. I leaned closer and sniffed its sweet, fresh scent.

When I obediently finished it, White-Hair smiled in satisfaction.

Rubbing my overstuffed stomach, I began clumsily gesturing again. The instant I pointed toward the cave entrance, his expression darkened.

He seized my waist and pressed me onto the stone bed.

Holy crab! This bed was rock hard!

I thrashed so violently that even he could barely hold me down. Eventually, he seemed to realize I hated the bed. He pressed his lips together and swam outside.

He soon returned carrying a bundle of soft seaweed and the hide of some land animal. With both spread across the stone, the bed was considerably less awful.

White-Hair pulled me against him and held me there. My nose rested against his soft, muscular chest. My gaze darted away, and the tips of my ears warmed.

He patted my back as though soothing a little hatchling to sleep.

My eyelids soon grew heavy. Just before I slipped into darkness, I thought I heard his voice—low, gentle, and somehow understandable.

“Good night, baby.”