Page 9 of Taken By the Alien Merrow King

His people’s history had always fascinated him, and this tale was particularly bloody. He frowned, wondering if maybe this wasn’t the best story to tell his lady love when he was trying to seduce her.

But then he gave a mental shrug. She’d more than proved her fortitude and grit when she ran towards danger and she’dshaken off getting shot like it was nothing. She’d fit right in around here, and he wanted her to know it.

“Well, sweetheart, today is an important day in our history. It’s the first day of Bright Night, a three-day festival commemorating the defeat of the Unkillable Leviathan.”

A group of boisterous twenty-somethings wearing horns and tentacles ran by shouting, “Death to the Unkillable! Death to the tyrant!”

Everyone within earshot echoed the chant and cheered, waving long red tassels above their heads.

“Tell me the story,” she said, nestling closer to his side as a cool spring breeze ruffled her hair. “Because now I’m intrigued. Why is everyone so eager to celebrate this guy’s demise? And what’s with the tentacle hats?”

“The hats are just for fun,” he said with a laugh. “You ready for a story filled with death and dismemberment?”

“Bring it on.”

“Okay, here goes. Generations ago, Inbhir Na Clem, otherwise known as the Unkillable Leviathan, once ruled most of the northern seas with an iron fist,” Des said, settling into storyteller mode as he enjoyed his mate’s closeness. It was a simple pleasure, one he couldn’t get enough of. “And he despised the Merrow for their ability to shed their scales and walk on land, something he was unable to do. So dark was his hatred and jealousy that he ordered his army to hunt down any Merrow who dared set fin in water, pull them deep under the waves, and drown them.”

She cocked her head. “But how? Don’t you have the ability to breathe underwater when you do your shifting thing?”

“There are some merfolk with that ability, but not us. What we do have is a large lung capacity. We’re able to hold our breath for up to about thirty of your human minutes while swimming underwater, but then we need to surface for oxygen or we’lldrown. Now, can I get back to the story? Or would you prefer a detailed scientific breakdown of our biology instead?” he teased.

“Why not both?” she said with a husky laugh. “But the story first, please. I’m invested.”

He paused to buy her a seasoned meat skewer from one of the bustling food carts parked on every corner.

She sniffed it, deemed it acceptable, and took a big bite. She fanned her mouth between chews. “Yummy,” she said, her mouth still full. “But so hot.”

He laughed. “You’re supposed to let it cool down first,” he said as he guided her along the busy, winding street towards their destination.

“I’ll know that for the next time.” She took another big bite, repeating the process.

Shaking his head as she enthusiastically devoured the meat stick, he returned to his story. “For too long, Inbhir whittled away at our people. Though we returned the favor, there have never been a great number of us, definitely not enough to fight back against his endless tide of troops. We were trapped. Some even became fully land-bound, no longer able to shift into their other selves.”

She made a little noise of distress. Automatically, he went to pull her close and give her a kiss before stopping himself, remembering what she’d said about disliking public affection. As much as he wanted to comfort her, to touch more than just an arm or hand, he resisted. Boundaries were important, and he wasn’t about to go pushing hers, especially not when he was working so hard to charm her. So he tucked his hands in his pockets, even though they itched to touch her.

They paused by a street vendor selling beautiful knit scarves. She stroked a fuzzy one with alternating pink and purply blue flowers and, ignoring her protests, he bought it from the rosy-cheeked young female who made it. He carefully knotted itaround Astra’s neck, his fingers tingling where they accidentally brushed against the soft curve of her jaw.

“But our people are smart and sneaky,” he said, continuing his story as he handed over the credits for the other scarf Astra’s gaze had lingered on.

“That we are, sire.” The vendor gave them a cheeky wink. “We don’t let the monsters win.”

“Exactly.” They thanked the young artist, and Des guided Astra through the growing crowd along the boardwalk with a light touch on her elbow. “We did not despair. Inbhir could be defeated. We merely had to do our research, prepare, and bide our time. Tyrants and oppressors may temporarily gain the upper hand, but the fight for freedom is an ever-burning fire, stoked by passion, perseverance, and knowledge.”

“And sometimes spite,” she added, with an astute nod. “Spite is a powerful motivator.”

“True,” he acknowledged, handing her a waxed paper packet of fried potatoes and a recyclable pint of red ale. He took a sip of his own pint before continuing. “Late one night, after months of pouring over every volume in the Royal Library, a young academic by the name of Tadu Onsson uncovered an ancient text that spoke of the leviathans who made their homes in the abyss, including how to kill them. Northern leviathans, you see, require the pressure and darkness of the deep to regenerate. Light makes them vulnerable. And Inbhir rarely came to the surface. Determined to live forever, he was.”

She sampled the potatoes. “Ooh, these are good, too. And this ale is amazing. Tastes nothing like what attempts to pass for beer in my neck of the woods. So much better.” She carefully tucked the mug in the crook of her arm and ate another potato from the packet. “So your people needed to find a way to lure him up to the surface.”

“Indeed we did.” He steered her past a rambunctious group in the process of setting the skeleton frame of a boat filled with pine boughs on fire. “See that boat?”

“The one now on fire?”

He nodded, tipping his chin at the people who raised pints and tassels in greeting as they passed by. One look from Gunnar kept them at a respectful distance. “We burn them during the first full moon of the spring migration to symbolize of our triumph over the tyrant. You see, my lovely Astra, there are those among us with the gift of song, a sound so sweet it will bring tears to the eyes of the stoic and influence monsters.

“Under the bright light of the full moon, the singers gathered on the shore and sang, luring Inbhir and his soldiers up from the depths. They dragged themselves ashore, unable to resist our song. And the Merrow got their revenge,” he said, leading her down a wide set of stairs lit by flickering torches to a beach drenched in moonlight.

Merrow of every shape, size, and age gathered on the hard-packed sand.

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