away with a silent curse, he surged upward, exploding out of the water in a violent burst of energy. Flinging back his hair, he stared measuringly at the low platform hanging over the water.
If he were but mer, like his sisters, escaping would be no problem. But he was meremer, one of the cursed ones. For him, there was no transforming back and forth from mer to human between land and sea.
He glanced at the high porthole then turned to study the door at the top of the twisting staircase. A low growl rumbled in his throat.
Like a princess she had descended, wrinkling her nose, holding her skirt high. Stepping over the small puddles on the floor with dainty precision.
His eyes narrowed with grim satisfaction at the memory of how she had left, fleeing from this pit with water streaming down her hair and dress. A minor revenge, but he’d enjoyed the sweet taste of it nonetheless. It fed his hunger for more.
He began swimming again, relentlessly working his arm lest the wound in his shoulder should become tight and stiff. He was not worried that he might have startled her away for good. He’d seen the fear in her blue-green eyes…but he’d seen the curiosity, as well.
It was the same ill-fated curiosity that had drawn him to her when she’d stood on the bow of her ship.
His jaw tightened, his strokes grew faster. Aye, she would be back. Like the turning of the tide beneath the full moon, her return was inevitable.
And so was his escape.
Chapter Three
Yep, if anyone knew about mermaids she did, Beth reflected the next day as she sat in the shadows at the top of the staircase in the hold. Everything from the Disney classic to ancient texts of mermaid lore. In fact, due to her father’s obsession, she’d probably be considered an expert on the subject.
As a child she’d listened for hours as—minute detail by detail—he’d recited the descriptions of the sea people documented by the Roman historian Pliny the Elder. Or reviewed aloud the eyewitness account given by the esteemed Bishop Pontoppidan of Norway, who vouched for a mermaid netted at Hordaland in Bergen Fjord.
She knew that a Greek named Alexander had been the first to describe a mermaid complete with a fish tail—reportedly a lovely creature who burst into tears when a curious crowd examined her, then dived back into the water, yelling unintelligible curses as she swam off. And as a teenager Beth had practically memorized the stories about the fifty beautiful daughters of Nereus, a god of the sea. Apparently, they rode the waves on the backs of dolphins, and had many fantastic adventures.
Yes, she’d heard them all—fables of sea sirens who saved ships or foretold the future or lured sailors to a watery grave. Stories of mermaids with green hair, or feathers, or scales they could remove when they wanted to live on land but had to wear when they returned to the water. She knew legends of potent mariners who’d married mermaids and went on to found dynasties of great navigators because, after all, who would know the sea better than the creatures who lived there?
How fiercely she’d longed as a little girl to actually see one of the lovely, mystical beings. And how she’d wished, even more desperately in recent years, for some proof that her father wasn’t completely delusional.
Well, now she had it—both her wishes granted in the form of one restless bundle of male energy trapped in the tank below. Be careful what you wish for, she thought wryly.
She stifled a sigh. As she shifted to ease the numbness in her bottom caused by sitting so long on the metal step, her hand brushed a sticky patch on the railing by her side. Making a face at the machine oil on her fingers, she bent over to try to wipe it off on the metal step at her feet. She probably had it all over her jeans and red silk shirt, she thought in disgust. The light was so shadowy at the top of these stairs.
She’d lurked in the dimness for over two hours now, unnoticed by the men below. Which was exactly what she wanted. She didn’t plan to interfere—or even make her presence known. She hadn’t even intended to come watch. Her instincts kept telling her to get as far from the merman as she possibly could yet, at the same time, she hadn’t been able to stay away.
A fearful curiosity was part of what drew her back, she admitted silently to herself. The same kind of feeling that caused people to slow down and gawk at the scene of a car accident. Or pick up the National Enquirer to read about the latest sighting of fanny-faced aliens landing in the Arizona desert.
But even more than any of that was the disquiet she still felt. An odd niggling uneasiness that just refused to disappear. Worry for the people around the merman; and a bit of worry for the merman himself.
Not that she’d seen any evidence to support either. As he’d said, all that Ralph and his two helpers did was watch the merman swim endlessly around the tank. Beth kept watching too, but like the previous day, she wasn’t able to see much from the staircase. Just an occasional glimpse of a dark head, or flash of a golden tail fin, flipping up through the foaming water. But even those brief glimpses made her breath catch and her heartbeat quicken. Fish mentality or not, the merman was definitely a fascinating creature. She could hardly look away.
Ralph didn’t take his eyes off him, either. Her father’s assistant had changed from his dress shirt and slacks into a set of work clothes he kept in a small supply behind the stairs. Dressed all in black—shirt, pants and even shoes—he stood on the wooden platform built out over the tank. Hands behind his back, rocking on his heels every now and then, Ralph kept turning to keep the merman in sight. Like the ringmaster in a circus, Beth mused. The effect was heightened by the light shining down on him from the porthole above.
Unlike Ralph, the Delano brothers stood in the shadows, well back from the tank. They were watching the merman, too, Beth noticed, as she glanced their way. She studied them, wondering what they thought of the creature they’d helped capture. She certainly couldn’t tell much from their expressions. Ralph had once told her the men were twins, but beyond having the same olive-toned skin and dark hair, the brothers didn’t look much alike.
Small and wiry, Little Dougie Delano’s shrewd expression and quick movements—not to mention his long pointed nose and buck teeth—gave him an unfortunate resemblance to a rat. Standing next to his brother, Big Mike appeared as huge and stolid as a baby elephant. Legs spread, slowly swaying back and forth, he stared at the tank with his mouth agape, dull surprise briefly lighting his fleshy face every time the merman passed.
Around and around the merman kept swimming, without any noticeable decrease in the speed or power he’d displayed from the start. Fifteen more minutes slipped by. Thirty. Beth was just thinking that the merman would swim endlessly, when Ralph gave a shout.
“He’s tiring, boys! Get ready to get to work.”
Unconsciously, Beth stiffened, leaning forward. At first, she thought Ralph was mistaken. The current was still whirling at a fantastic rate, lapping now and again over the side of the tank or up onto the low wooden platform to trickle beneath Ralph’s shoes. But as she strained forward to see, she suddenly realized the water was slowing. The merman, rather than pushing it along, now merely appeared to be floating with the current, the motion of his arms and tail sporadic, and frighteningly weaker.
Even so he was obviously alert enough to avoid the side of the pool where the Delano brothers stood. The brothers were lowering a slatted crate that vaguely resembled some kind of lobster trap into the water. Once they had the box in place, they picked up long, sharp poles and began herding the merman inside.
The merman refused to cooperate. Time after time he’d appear about to enter the crate, only to slip away at the last possible moment. For over an hour the game continued. Big Mike stayed in one place stabbing steadily, if ineffectually at the water, while Little Dougie chased about the perimeter, trying without success to prod the merman in the correct direction.
Obviously exasperated, Ralph had quickly grabbed a pole, too. From the platform, he tried to block their quarry from swimming from one end of the tank to the other, but the merman evaded the poles with seemingly little effort, almost appearing