Secrets of the Sea Lord Read online

  “Jean-Baptiste!” Lifet threw open the door. “There is a thing! In the water! A water thing!”

  “Eh?” Jean-Baptiste tucked the Sea Opal into his suit pocket where it dragged down the fabric. “A monster?”

  Lifet screamed over the thundering hurricane. Her former lover’s face contorted into that of a madman.

  “Hey!” Jean-Baptiste called. “A man? Or a creature?”

  Lifet disappeared. The open door battered the frame.

  Rain lashed the deck. The waves swelled into monstrous animals battling beyond the safe wood of their deck. When it went dark again, dread built in her stomach.

  Jean-Baptiste forced her to unsteady feet and, with an iron vise grip around her shoulders, dragged her to the door. “Which do you think he saw? Good fortune? Or the lives of your family?”

  He swaggered into the storm’s fury.

  Powerful floodlights dimly illuminated the flooded deck. The life raft was gone. Lifet hung from empty rigging. He fired into the sky.

  Rat-a-tat-tat.

  “Come and get me!”

  Rat-a-tat-tat!

  “What have you done?” Jean-Baptiste dropped her and pushed across the deck. “Lifet! Stop shooting!”

  The noise stopped, but Lifet held his pose. He’d expended his ammo.

  Jean-Baptiste grabbed Lifet and shook his shirt. “Where is our life raft?”

  “I set it free.” He flung the gun into the water. Whatever drug Jean-Baptiste had put in his weed had sent him well over the edge. Lifet was unhinged. “It is free to catch fishes. To its death!”

  “Crazy—you— Where is the monster? The Sea Lord?” Jean-Baptiste released Lifet and searched the heaving water. “Where?”

  “Come out, fish man!” Lifet screamed over the storm. He lofted her great-grandmother’s massive Sea Opal. “Come out, come out!”

  Jean-Baptiste patted his empty suit pocket and shrieked, “Lifet!”

  Lifet threw it into the rising black storm. “Eat! Be merry! Aha ha ha!”

  Jean-Baptiste gripped the railing as the yacht rolled hard.

  She slid into the wall.

  Jean-Baptiste shook as if his rage had tilted the boat. “No. No! NO!”

  The boat righted itself.

  He turned on her. Lifting her by the collar, he screamed, “Where is the Sea Lord?”

  Bile erupted from her mouth and exploded across his soaked suit front.

  His brows lifted in shock. His soul plunged to deadly black.

  This was the absolute bottom. The utter end.

  “I’m sorry,” she wept. “I’m sorry.”

  He wiped his dripping face and snarled. “Is he coming? Is this the true location?”

  She shook her head. Her great-grandmother had given her vague directions to an abandoned island deep in the Caribbean. Not the southern tip of the Florida Keys.

  Jean-Baptiste let her collar slip through his fingers. He strolled across the wave-rolled deck, muttering, “They will all die.”

  “Yes! Starting with her!” Lifet pounced at Harmony’s waterlogged feet. His teeth shone white. Red veins popped in his dilated eyes.

  “No!” Jean-Baptiste turned and slipped. He threw out his hand. “No, we still need her!”

  Lifet dragged her to the railing.

  Behind him, red and white lights blinked. A crack of lightning revealed the owner. A naval gunboat bore down on them.

  Rescue.

  Too late.

  “Eat!” Lifet scooped her up as he’d done on their first date. “And be merry!”

  Instead of swooping her over a street-wide mud puddle, he threw her into the roiling black sea.

  Chapter Two

  “Captain.” The human male braced long tube-glasses against a beam and peered through them at the yacht. He drawled, “They threw something overboard.”

  “Something? Meaning what?”

  “Waves blocked my…hmm.”

  Everyone studied their blinking screens. Or they strained without the benefit of the long glasses to see into the dangerous storm.

  Faier also peered through the thick panes of ship glass. Reflections of the command deck of the Coast Guard cutter obscured his view.

  “Well? What was it?” The tall, dark-haired female captain stood in the command center. “Drugs? Weapons? A second lifeboat?”

  No one answered.

  The captain sucked air through her teeth. She had been doing so since the storm warnings coincided with their breakthrough tip to arrest drug smugglers. “Is that idiot still shooting at the storm clouds?”

  “No, sir.”

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Throwing his gun overboard.”

  “Has he seen us?”

  The spotter licked his lips but did not answer.

  The crew had been on edge since leaving the harbor into a forbidding wind.

  Normally, they pursued enemies with a helicopter and small boats on calm seas. An unarmed pleasure yacht sailed by wanted drug lords? Anchored right on their normal route?

  Tempting.

  Already, several things had gone wrong. The smugglers’ boat hadn’t been anchored at the coordinates where their tip had said it would be. It hadn’t been anchored at all. And brewing storm clouds cloaked their “satellite” tracking. They’d stumbled upon the yacht by luck on their way to safer seas.

  Plus the yacht was clearly armed.

  “What’s the bearing on the storm?” the captain asked.

  One of her officers answered with exact coordinates, and added, “If they continue their drift on this route, the storm will miss us.”

  “So we could follow them out of the storm.” Her soul light burned bright in her chest for the first time in hours. “They won’t outrun us. Maybe we’ll have a little pleasure cruise after all.”

  The other officers chuckled. Their hearts lightened with relief. Instead of being forced to weigh safety against justice, they could follow and arrest these dangerous trespassers on their terms.

  “Keep them in our sights,” the captain ordered. “We will do this smart and safe.”

  Faier gazed upon the massive, storm-shrouded swells that poured over the bobbing metal deck.

  He had never seen such waves until he’d surfaced two years ago. He had never—

  Light flickered in a valley between waves.

  He pressed his face against the glass.

  Where was it? Had he been wrong? A trick of the glass, a blip reflected off a computer—

  Flicker.

  There. Between swells.

  Flicker. Flicker.

  “They threw a human,” he said into the quiet room.

  His announcement impacted the crew like a thunderclap.

  “A human!” The captain strode to the window and stared out. “Are you sure?”

  Faier pointed. “Between the swells.”

  “How can you see out there?”

  “I see the light.”

  “Light! Come about.”

  The cutter wheeled. The bow plunged through a wall of rough water.

  “You turned too far,” he noted. “Come back.”

  “Come back.” The captain addressed her spotter. “Do you see?”

  “No, sir. It’s black as a barrel of tar out there.”

  Faier traced the dip and dive of the soul. “There. Go fast. She is being sucked into the storm.”

  She was so strong against the crashing waves. How amazing that this fragile human struggled again and again for the surface as the ocean crushed her.

  “I don’t see any light.” The captain squinted. “Is it a flare? Flashlight?”

  “Soul.” Faier touched his chest.

  She leaned back and took a good hard look at the thick rubbery coating of his cold-water suit. “You see his soul?”

  “Her. A woman.”

  The cabin dropped silent.

  He felt the weight of their disbelief. He was used to that reaction. “Believe me.”

  “I do.” She sucked ai
r between her teeth again. “The gangster must have realized his girlfriend led him right to us. Does anybody else have eyes on?”

  The crew reported in the negative.

  “How can we contemplate a rescue if we can’t see where she is?” she muttered to herself.

  His fingers closed around the zipper of his suit. “I will.”

  “No, Faier. Even if we could see her, the seas are too rough.”

  “Not for me.” Faier unzipped his suit and stepped out. He was nude underneath. A faux pas for humans, but necessary.

  The captain and crew averted their eyes.

  Scars bubbled across his tissues and hamstrung his muscles. They disrupted his full-body mauve tattoos, unbalancing the swirls of honors and effacing his accomplishments so only little ink spots remained. His past imprisoned his body. But he was still the best chance the drowning female had for survival.

  He stepped free of the suit. When his weight rested on his right leg, the weakened joint collapsed. He staggered.

  “You go into that water and we’re not getting you back out.” An extra-tall wave smashed into the windows, illustrating her point. “Not you or her. And trying risks our lives. It’s irresponsible to even consider that course of action.”

  “My skill is rescuing in water.”

  “You’re our responsibility. How would I explain to your king if anything happened to you?”

  “King Kadir would understand.” He forced his wrecked, protesting body straight. “I am a warrior.”

  The captain held his gaze for one long moment. Respect glinted in her eyes.

  Then her gaze dropped to his scarred, twisted body. Doubts flitted. Her soul light dimmed. “Put your suit back on, and keep an eye on the girlfriend.”

  “Captain. The yacht is turning.”

  “They saw us.” She strode to the navigation panel. “Prepare for a chase. We herd them away from the storm, not into it. Hail the yacht.”

  “No can do, Captain.” The spotter scanned the ocean. “Their comm tower broke loose half an hour ago.”

  “That’s right. I forgot.”

  The woman’s soul light disappeared. Its sudden loss punched Faier. “She is now under the water.”

  “Under the—?” The captain swore. “This is the tenth death we can attribute to these two gangsters in American waters. We’re nailing these two. We’re nailing them to the wall.”

  Faier kept his gaze on the last place he’d seen the struggling female. She must be terrified. She must have—

  There! Light.

  “She is alive.”

  The captain cut off a stream of obscenities. “She surfaced?”

  “No.” He could see her light beneath the surface. Strange. Most humans dimmed when they drowned.

  The captain grimaced. “Focus on the yacht.”

  Another officer drew her attention. “Should we fire a warning shot?”

  “We can’t board or tow in this weather. Stick with a nice, gentle pursuit.”

  While they discussed strategies to trap the criminals, Faier slipped out the door and hobbled across the rollicking deck.

  On an ordinary day, officers preparing for a rescue readied white floating rings, orange life jackets, and rubbery suits. Their souls glowed in their chests.

  Now, only Dive Officer Peters braved the storm to chase after him. “Faier! Wait!”

  He gripped the railing while sideways rain and waves spackled him. He was here today because of Dive Officer Peters.

  And he was grateful.

  Fewer than a hundred warriors had surfaced in the two years since the secret existence of the mer had been exposed to modern humans. The undersea war between traditionalists who wished them to return to hiding and rebels who wished to forge a union with humans raged hard, preventing all but the brashest warriors from daring to surface.

  A thousand years ago, the two races had coexisted in peace. But a catastrophe had driven the mer into hiding—and into human legend.

  Only a few isolated “sacred” islands knew of the mer’s existence up to modern times. They upheld an ancient covenant to hide the mer’s secret. And after the mer’s females had died out, their sacred brides had joined with mer husbands and repopulated the emptying sea floor.

  But then, due to rising ocean levels and modernization, the sacred islands had emptied. The mer had dwindled once more. Rebellious voices had challenged the ancient covenant. And, two years ago, centuries of secrecy had been broken the instant an injured mer warrior had been captured by a human’s “GoPro underwater camera” machine. Days later, a highly respected warlord flouted mer law and took a modern female for his bride.

  The undersea world had cracked into pieces.

  Faier now hailed from the rebel city Atlantis. He had surfaced to find a modern bride and defy the traditionalist All-Council still ruling the largest pieces of the fractured seas.

  The surface rarity of mer warriors was both a curse and a blessing. Faier was the subject of great curiosity, but it was still possible for him to visit grocery stores, bowling alleys, and tourist attractions and be mistaken for a human with strange facial tattoos.

  When he’d first met Dive Officer Peters, the Coast Guard male had clearly mistaken Faier for a human. Both had been touring the Statue of Liberty when a ferry boat had overturned. Both had dived in to rescue trapped passengers.

  “Hey, buddy! You’re taking too many risks, okay? Don’t drown,” he had shouted to Faier while they’d bobbed on the icy black waves.

  The irony.

  After Faier had rescued humans quickly and efficiently from dangerous areas of the submerged ferry, Peters had called Faier a hero. His shipmates had received clearance to explore a unique partnership with the mer. Since the ferry incident, whenever a special circumstance arose, the Coast Guard had contacted Faier for assistance.

  Faier enjoyed assisting. It kept his mind off his failure to secure a bride quickly and return to his besieged city. He preferred not to dwell on the disappointment he must be causing to his king, Kadir.

  Dive Officer Peters ran into the furious wind. A tether clipped him to the railing for safety. “Where are you going?”

  “A woman is there.” Faier pointed at the soft brightness in the deep black ocean.

  Peters followed his gesture and took a faceful of water. He sputtered and coughed. “You can’t go out there. That’s a deadly storm!”

  He nodded.

  The man’s dark brows lifted. He frowned at Faier’s injuries. Doubts clouded his gaze too.

  He was the same height, similar breadth. Faier had muscle. But where Peters’s skin was smooth and unscarred, Faier’s was unbearable wreckage.

  That was why he had failed to find a bride.

  Peters’s soul burned pure with his mission. “We have a duty to return you to shore.”

  Faier clasped Peters’s forearm. “You are an honorable man.”

  Half of Peters’s mouth curved up in wry amusement. He returned the shake with reluctant respect. “Don’t drown.”

  “I will not.” Faier turned to the railing. “Because, as you know, I am immune.”

  Peters stepped back, and then a shout dragged his gaze back to the command center.

  The captain had noticed Faier’s exit and realized what he was doing. She screamed. “Faier! Stop! I won’t risk your life for hers.”

  But I will.

  Without answering her, Faier avoided Peters’s surprised tackle, and he threw himself over the side.

  The high seas slammed into him.

  Warm, slick water gripped his body, prised into his mouth, and gushed down his throat.

  Salt. Choking oil. Bitter, nasal gasoline.

  These flavors disappeared from his tongue as he shifted to mer.

  The stormy black ocean lit up as his eyes changed. The glowing souls of fish and creatures churned, somersaulting, beneath the boats and under the waves. Their noises bounded around in his chest cavity.

  Gills perforated his lower back and squeeze
d heavy liquid through his transformed lungs.

  His toes unfurled into long fins. His body’s separate legs made the same profile as a human “scuba diver,” only his natural foot-fins were much larger and more effective. Thin webbing flexed between his fingers.

  An assistant had once called him a “sexy, tattooed Swamp Thing” because Faier, like all mer, had separate legs. He hadn’t known how to respond. Why did human legend portray mer with no legs but a fused fish body? Such an unnatural, impractical idea, and strange.

  A distant light glimmered. Human.

  He kicked his mer legs toward her.

  Humans did not survive underwater. But she had survived a long time. And her distant soul twinkled. How? She must be dying, but her soul glowed. Drifting deeper into the abyss.

  He kicked hard.

  His right knee, tendons severed in an ambush and never properly healed, ached. He kicked harder with his left.

  She was limp. Unconscious. Thin fabric floated around her lax body like the skin of a jellyfish.

  No air bubbled from her mouth.

  That was bad. Humans required air. Why was her soul so bright?

  He reached for her.

  I must not touch her. She is not my bride. A mer must only touch his bride.

  Faier shoved off those useless thoughts and hooked an arm around her midsection. I apologize for this touch, human female. He lifted her toward the surface.

  Her soul brightened.

  Strange.

  When humans or mer were fearful, their souls dimmed. Death carried the lights away entirely. He had seen it in his rescues, above and beneath the waves, more often than he wished.

  This female seemed asleep rather than dying.

  Asleep? No. His senses must be mistaken.

  Faier broke the surface.

  Rain smashed the moving mountains of surf. White cracked the sky.

  Faier lifted the female’s mouth above the surface. She coughed, spluttered, spasmed. Her soul light flickered like a small candle.

  Where were the—ah! In the distance, the Coast Guard cutter chugged after the smugglers’ damaged yacht.