Page 7 of Tempting Triton
Elena
Déjà vu washes over me as my eyes spring open, only to be confronted with a pink coral ceiling, rough and pitted in texture. Not again. I groan in relief, the pain in my chest no longer unbearable to the point of passing out, and yet I find myself underwater and able to breathe just fine once more. I clutch at my throat, bewildered at how any of this is possible. My fingers graze across something akin to cuts down the side of my neck, and my other hand flies up to touch the other side, fingers tracing three long slits on each side of my throat, just below my ears. It’s not possible. Gills?
Sitting up inside the giant clam of a bed, I look around for any sign of the merman from my first encounter, but find the room empty. I should feel relieved, but instead, I’m disappointed, which leaves me feeling confused. I shouldn’t want to see my potential captor, shouldI? Yet, I have so many questions, and something tells me he’s the only one who can answer them.
I spot the floor-length mirror resting against a wall, and scramble from the bed, noting my movements are a lot more fluid this time than the sluggishness of my first encounter. Now knowing that I’m underwater, my swimmer brain kicks in, and I decide to swim my way to the mirror instead of attempting to walk, confirming my suspicions that it’s easier and quicker to move with the water than to be against it.
Tentatively approaching the mirror, I peer into its tarnished surface, turning my head side to side. I stare at my face, frozen in shock as I acknowledge there are, in fact, gills on the sides of my neck. My mouth pops open as I trace them. Gills make sense in a twisted way; how else could I breathe underwater? Buthowdo I have gills? I want to scream. I can feel the pressure of one building in my chest, terror prickling behind my eyes.
A thump outside the bedroom door startles me from my crisis with a yelp. I flick my eyes to the slab of bleached driftwood. My heart ratchets in my chest, tittering away at the sudden scare. Another thump has me inching towards the sound.I chew my lips, pondering if I should open it or not. Is this where I meet my end? Solidifying the stereotype of the silly blonde who is always murdered first in horror movies?
I search around me for a weapon, the feeling all too familiar once more, and spot the broken piece of coral I used to whack the merman over the head propped up beside the giant clam bed. I swim toward it, snatching it up and holding it with two hands before I move as quietly as I can towards the door. What if it’s the merman? Am I going to whack him over the head again? I shake my head to myself. No, I have questions, and I’m sure he has the answers. But what if it’s not the merman? What if it’s someone else? What if there are other mermen? Mer-people? I pull myself out of my spiral. There’s only one way to find out.
I yank the driftwood open, or attempt to, forgetting that the pressure of the water slows everything down. Instead, it swings open at a regular pace, completely ruining my element of surprise. I yelp, dropping my chunk of coral as a dolphin rushes into the room, spinning to face me. In its mouth is a plate of shucked oysters that it sets down on a side table made ofstone, which looks like it’s been polished and smoothed over time, beneath the weight of the ocean.
“Oh, good, you are awake.”
I blink, and my brain short-circuits. Did the dolphin justspeakto me?
“Oh, hell no.” My eyes dart to the window I escaped out of previously, before propelling myself back through it and out into the vast ocean.
“Nope. No. Nah-uh. No way.” I kick my legs and stroke through the water, away from the talking dolphin and the coral castle. The lack of oxygen must be getting to me or something, becausewhat do you mean there’s a talking dolphin? Then it hits me. How can I be lacking oxygen if I’m breathing underwater? A hysterical giggle slips out of me. I’m losing my mind. That’s it. Maybe I’m still in the shipping container, and I’m just hallucinating through the trauma. Sure, that’s got to be it. I’m going to come to, and I’ll still be inside that dark metal cage, surrounded by unconscious women.
The other women. Morgan.
I whimper. With everything that’s happened to me, being kidnapped twice, technically three times if I count the human traffickers, I forgot all about the women. What if they’re still on the beachwaiting for help? What if Morgan came back for me, only to see that I’m missing?
I peek over my shoulder, the coral castle fading away as I swim closer to shore. My chest hitches as I see the dolphin lazily trailing along behind me, its tail flicking up and down, keeping its distance, but following nonetheless. I’d be a fool to think I could out-swim it, yet it doesn’t stop me from trying. The pain, however, returns. The sharp burn behind my ribs cripples me the further away I get. My body fails so much quicker, and the adrenaline coursing through me is only capable of so much.
I don’t remember how long ago I last ate or slept—that wasn’t because I had passed out. I lag in the water, my lower half sinking as I lose momentum and energy, before a silky nose is beside me, nudging me to attention. It clicks at me, nodding its head, and I feel like it’s trying to tell me something. It doesn’t speak this time, which makes me feel like I am going crazy and hallucinating the whole thing. I think back to the plate of oysters it deposited on the small table, and my stomach grumbles, spasming as it remembers it’s empty and wants to be fed. Turning my back on the shore and the other women, I grimace, grabbing hold of the dolphin’s dorsal finand letting it drag me back to the coral castle. I’d be no help to anyone in this state anyway, but I will come back as soon as I can.
9
Triton
Ichó pulls my mate alongside him and back through the window, depositing her on the bed. Warmth unfurls inside my chest, seeing her in my space—a space only Ichó and I have ever been in. Now, my mate is right here in front of me for a second time, and I do not want her to leave again.
She eyes me warily, pulling the plate of shucked oysters onto her lap before greedily slurping them down. I swallow, my eyes tracking the movement of her throat, my own feeling parched despite being surrounded by water.
Ichó flicks his head between us, noting her trepidation and my sea puppy eyes.
“Fools.” He clicks at us and leaves the same way they entered.
I sigh. I do not know why I even bother having a door.
The platter clatters to the floor.
“It can speak!”
I tilt my head to the side as I study my mate curiously. She hugs her knees tight to her chest, eyes wide as she stares after Ichó. My mate, who knocked me over the head with a piece of coral, is scared of a dolphin?
“Of course he can speak. His name is Ichó.”
Her head turns to look at me, her blue eyes sparkling as they reflect the sunlight filtering through the breaks in the coral. Beautiful, just like the depths of the ocean.
“What do you mean ‘of course he can speak’?” She repeats my words in a deeper tone, and I cannot help but be amused.
“Is that what I sound like?” I smirk. “All animals can speak.”
