Page 25 of The Demons in the Deep: Extended Edition
Mai lurched, fear spiking through her anger. But she was small and thin, sluggish with drink, and her attempt to break away only made the men laugh and press closer, as their hands began to drift over her clothing.
She sucked in a breath to scream, but the man behind her sealed off the sound with his palm.
“Hush now,” he muttered. “We’ll be quick.”
Something sloshed and splashed in the dark water, and the man with the hairy chest froze. “What was that?”
“A fish?” said the other.
“Too big to be a fish.”
Another splash, and then a slow scrape of sharp points on wood, like knives—or claws.
“Bollocks and bilge,” gasped Hairy-Chest. His eyes widened. “What in the tides is that?”
The man behind Mai turned to look, and she bucked, jerking free. But as she started to run, she stumbled, and the hairy-chested man grabbed her again. He pulled her against his chest like a shield this time, smashing a hand over her mouth, forcing her to face whatever it was that had him so frightened.
“It’s a monster,” said the second man. “One of those exotic slaves the Magnate’s ships bring in.”
Mai squinted into the darkness, blinking away the blur of drink and terror. Along the pier stalked a tall figure—inhumanly tall, with massive shoulders narrowing to trim hips. She could only see the person in silhouette, but she could make out the sway of long hair tucked back behind pointed ears. She could see hands tipped with claws. As the figure approached, and the hint of light from a distant lamppost reached him, Mai saw that his eyes were immense, glimmering orbs, and his nose was low-profile, with delicate slanted nostrils. His cheekbones had knife-edges, and his jaw was just as sharply cut. Along his throat were gills, sealed shut as he breathed through parted blue lips. He carried a satchel, and around his waist hung the only bit of clothing on his entire naked body—a golden belt.
He was as beautiful as he was impossible.
Every thought in Mai’s head froze. Shock seized her lungs, and her heart began to beat very, very loud, hot and terrible and enormous, so big she feared it would burst right out of her chest.
Not him, not Rake.
Something that looks like him.
A ghost.
“Why are you holding my friend like that?” said the impossible figure. His voice was low, his diction incredibly precise. Sharp teeth flashed between his lips as he spoke.
“What are you?” asked the man holding Mai.
“I believe I asked a question first. Why are you holding my friend like that?”
“Going to have a little free fun,” said Hairy-Chest, but his voice shook. “The pleasure trollops in this city are too expensive. This one’s ours.”
The figure advanced a few more steps, swaying a little on his legs, then striding more confidently.
Rake. Rake, it was Rake. It couldn’t be Rake.
“You are holding my friend against her will,” he said. “You’re threatening her.”
“What’s a freak like you going to do about it?” said the second man, and he drew a broad knife.
Rake’s wide, wide mouth stretched in a horrifying smile, and his tongue skated out between razor teeth, traveling along his upper lip. “I’m going to bite you.”
“Sick bastard,” gasped the man with the knife, and he charged.
Rake’s claws met him halfway, slicing four clean lines across his throat.
Blood sprayed the pier, and Mai screamed against Hairy-Chest’s palm.
Rake caught the body of the man and tossed it aside, off the pier and into the black water. He hissed through his widening jaws, showing another row of teeth behind the first. “Let her go.”
Mai could feel Hairy-Chest trembling. But instead of giving in, he backed away, dragging her with him. His other hand tucked itself under her jaw. “Stay back, or I’ll break her little neck.”
