Page 13 of Adonis (Salt and Starlight #1)

Connor’s annoyance with Laurence persisted into the following day. He woke, thought about Laurence’s blasé reply of “I just did,”

and scowled at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected exactly, but at the very least, an actual reason had been part of his low expectations. That Laurence was so casual about approaching someone that could harm him was infuriating.

Connor threw back the heavy blankets and got out of bed. He was getting worked up in a way that was out of character for him, and he didn’t have to do much soul-searching to know why. He liked Laurence. Liked his smiles, his innocence, the attitude he threw Trevor’s way, and even how he responded to a bit of teasing.

Connor opened his bedroom window. The ocean was dead calm outside. The air was still, and there wasn’t even the tiniest wisp of cloud in the sky. He’d been watching the weather reports, waiting and biding his time.

There had never been a more perfect day.

Connor checked the time on his phone—the new one Trevor had bought while Connor and Laurence ate yesterday—and saw that he didn’t have long to do his convincing. He trotted downstairs, following the sounds of voices and cooking.

Laurence was bent over the stove, carefully stirring something in a pot. Everyone else ate a mixture of toast and cereal at the table. Nick watched Laurence’s back with a frown until he noticed Connor, and scowled at him instead.

Connor approached Laurence, seeing that he was concentrating on four eggs poaching in boiling water. “Is this for me?”

he asked. To someone else, it might have sounded presumptuous. To Connor, who had seen the reverence with which Laurence studied Sally’s menu yesterday, it was too certain to even be called a guess.

Laurence’s focus didn’t waver. “It’s almost done.”

Connor leaned against the counter next to him and glanced toward the table. Edith was typing on her phone—very rare since she was usually engaged during mealtimes—while Trevor poked at his food, staring at Laurence’s back with a faint frown.

“Did he refuse to cook for you?”

Connor asked, trying to interpret that frown. He dismissed Nick’s expression, rotten as it always was.

“There aren’t enough eggs for the rest of us second-class citizens,”

Trevor explained.

Laurence’s cheeks turned red. “There was plenty of other food you could have had. You’re the ones who decided to just make toast for yourselves.”

Trevor took a bite of said toast, levelling an unimpressed look on Laurence. As usual, Connor could detect no actual bite in the regard directed toward Laurence. He had to do his best to stop his smile. The idea of a little brother giving him special attention wasn’t so bad.

“Watch out, Trevor, he’ll be sending his CV to Sally next,”

Connor warned jokingly.

But the look that darted across Laurence’s face wasn’t what he’d expected. Laurence shifted his weight, poking at the eggs he should be leaving to cook. “It’s not the worst idea…”

Nick put his spoon into the cereal with a clank. “Laurence,”

he said his name, packing disapproval and warning into it. There was no follow-up message; he let his tone do all the work.

“I want to learn how to cook all the vegetarian meals,”

Laurence said meekly.

Trevor raised his eyebrows at Laurence, but there was no sharp word or harsh discouragement. “If that’s what you want,”

Trevor said, his tone mild. Connor didn’t think Trevor was mad at Laurence for wanting to work elsewhere. It made sense, actually. Trevor didn’t seem the type to bind one’s wings.

“I was thinking I’d give the lab a miss today,”

Connor ventured into the lull of conversation. “I’m still waiting for the social worker to review the work I sent on already. No point in working too far ahead if I’ve been doing something wrong.”

“How does one read a book wrong, exactly?”

Trevor wondered.

“My comments on Orlando were closer to trash talk than critical reading.”

And it wasn’t even that Connor disliked the book—he hadn’t. It was that Orlando was competing with a merman for Connor’s attention and had lost the battle tragically.

Trevor snorted, amusement colouring his face. Edith’s lips pinched tighter together, but beyond that, there was no hint of any other emotion.

“I don’t see any problem with it,”

Trevor said, glancing at Edith for her input. Connor didn’t think Trevor realised she wasn’t going to disagree with him so obviously. And since Trevor had already spoken his opinion, Connor had gotten out of the lab.

“You won’t have a car,”

she said. “If you get bored, you’ll only be able to walk into town.”

Was that supposed to dissuade him? He’d spent his childhood walking into town. It was only last summer that he’d started taking his dad’s Jeep around the place, and he’d never once been allowed behind the wheel of his mom’s car. And asking Edith for a lift anywhere? Forget it.

“I’ll be fine,”

Connor reassured her with a bladed smile. She met it without so much as a flinch.

“I’m pretty caught up in my schoolwork…”

Laurence ventured, peeking over his shoulder.

“Not a chance,”

Trevor told him promptly.

“I want to hang out with Connor!”

“You can do that after school.”

Laurence pouted.

*

Shortly after ten, Connor walked out to their private dock in shorts, a hoodie, and his bare feet. He tested the water with his foot and sucked in a sharp breath at the chill. Despite being in the final leg of spring, it still had winter’s bite. He opened the shed built a few paces beyond the shoreline and dragged out his paddleboard. He set it half-floating in the water and lifted his prepared cooler onto the end, securing it tightly with straps.

In an emergency bag, he had a red and black life vest, a waterproof torch, a light jacket, and a small stash of water bottles and energy bars. Connor stood on the paddleboard, taking a moment to find his sea legs, and pushed off from the shore. He’d never glided out to sea so effortlessly. Even the smallest of lapping waves seemed to disperse, welcoming him into their midst.

Connor stuck parallel to the shoreline and headed away from the town where the population grew sparse. The coastline was largely private property and overgrown bracken in this direction. Very rarely did Connor run into anyone, and that made it perfect. A dark form on the horizon caught his eye. A large shipping barge sat deep in the water, its black hull a stain amongst the natural blues of the ocean and sky. Eighteen years and he’d never once seen a ship like that on this coast. He frowned at the ugly shape in the distance before looking away and putting it out of his mind.

Connor rowed for an hour without stopping. He watched the water—it was glass-clear today—and spotted dozens of fish swimming beneath him. His knowledge of local species was already extensive but thanks to his studies in the lab, he could identify almost everything he spotted with reasonable confidence. If he was lucky, he would even spot sea turtles during the summer. Anyone with common sense would tell you the waters were far too cold for them, and they never came out this close to the Atlantic but they did.

Connor’s shoulders burned and his cheeks flushed from the steady exertion. The sea breeze in his lungs felt amazing. Despite his tiredness from the physical activity, he felt better than he had in weeks. Fresher. His mood was bright. I can do this, he thought. A summer on the ocean, just like before. He would get lonely eventually. He always did. But that wouldn’t be until later in the year when people made plans to go home to their friends and family and Connor would be left behind.

Like always.

Connor pulled the oar from the water. He’d rowed close to the shoreline of a small beach and waited to see if he was caught in any current. The paddleboard shifted, angling him parallel to the beach, but the waves were barely a visible bump on the surface. If he were moving closer to shore or out to sea, it was too slow to spot.

Connor slipped the oar into its knot and sat. He held his breath as he dipped his feet into the water at the sides and forced himself to hold still as the cold of the ocean washed over him. It wasn’t that it was unbearably cold—Connor just wasn’t used to it anymore.

He retrieved his flask and sipped the hot tea he’d brought with him, simply basking in his surroundings for a long while. Next, he reached for the fantasy book he’d stashed. He used to hesitate about bringing books with him, worried he would drop them into the water, but newly released paperbacks were very easily replaced should an accident happen. And Connor loved nothing more than reading a book as the waves rocked him.

The face that emerged from the water five feet ahead of him startled him so badly his flask slipped from his grip, knocked onto the paddleboard and then rolled into the ocean. The merman dipped beneath the waves.

Connor held his breath. He was exposed here, his feet in the water, but he had considered the merman might approach him before he’d headed out. He would be lying if he said that it hadn’t been one of the main reasons he had come at all, though the abstract thought that he tempted danger felt very different to meeting the reality of it.

Connor watched the merman—the immense size and bulk of that tail—as he dipped beneath Connor. The merman changed direction, quick as a whip, and surfaced once more. This time his face broke through the waterline at the front of the paddleboard, so close his forehead might have brushed it.

The merman stared at Connor through half-lidded eyes as he set the red flask on the end of the board. Connor gazed into the dark, dark blue of his eyes before the merman disappeared back underneath the water. Except he couldn’t disappear, not entirely, not with the water as clear as it was today. Connor could see his dark shape moving around the board as he swam in circles.

He surfaced again in front of Connor a few feet away, and there he stayed, floating.

Indecision ruled Connor for long minutes until anticipation instead clutched the reins of control.

“Will you not come closer?”

Connor asked. The merman seemed wary. “You were braver when I was on the boat.”

The merman treaded water, nearing until he was at the tip of the paddleboard. Whether it was Connor’s words or simply his voice that encouraged him, Connor couldn’t tell. He doubted a creature that spent its life in the ocean had any understanding of English, even if it was intelligent. That didn’t mean communication was impossible, though. Connor had been able to read his expressions during the last few encounters.

His merman picked up the flask. He crept closer and placed it down next to Connor’s leg, so close he would have touched Connor’s thigh had his fingers twitched at the delivery.

The merman glanced from the flask to Connor and back to the flask.

“Thank you.”

Connor picked it up.

Pleasure blossomed in the merman’s eyes. His face looked almost entirely human. His sharp cheekbones and the darkness of his eyes set him apart, not to mention how his ears tapered into delicate points.

After engrossing minutes of mutual examination, Connor nodded underwater to the merman’s lower half. “Will you not show me your tail this time?”

The merman’s eyes lit up beneath the folds of his lids, and he moved, floating on his back next to the board.

Connor’s shivered seeing just how big the merman was. If Connor got on his nerves, he would have no issues flipping him into the water and holding him down. The merman made a keening noise in his throat as Connor swept the length of the merman with his gaze. He couldn’t see any male anatomy at all. Nothing to indicate this merman was a merman. Apart from the maleness of his chest and face, that was. But did the same rules apply to merpeople as they did to humans?

The merman made the keening sound once more, and he touched his own tail; the part beneath his abs, the same spot he always seemed to want Connor to look.

“Yes, I see,”

Connor told him.

The merman splashed his tail, spraying Connor’s back with cool ocean sea water. The keening was more of a protest now. The merman’s dark gaze darted between Connor’s face and his hand. Face. Hand. Face. Hand. He made an aggrieved keening sound.

Slowly, so that he didn’t startle the merman, Connor reached out. He didn’t even have to lean out over the water the merman was so close to him. He simply moved his hand over and his fingers grazed over supple scales, a body that radiated heat.

The merman’s gaze snapped to the point of contact, his lips parting as his breath hitched, and a tremble shook his body. Connor traced his fingers along the bands of muscles exploring how the tail was shaped and put together. The merman’s twitching hand caught his eye. It was larger than his own and much paler, which made sense for a creature that lived underwater where the sun’s rays wouldn’t penetrate. Connor brushed his index finger against the merman’s thumb. The appendix twitched.

Gills flared out along his merman’s sides and neck, and he hyper-focused on Connor’s hand. Connor dragged his finger against his thumb again, and the merman’s tail splashed. Connor almost mistook it for agitation until he pulled his hand away, and the merman chased after it.

There was a sudden grip on his ankle. A hot band burning his skin, while above water, he barely dared to brush his fingers against Connor’s hand. The merman’s gaze darted to Connor’s face as if to read his expression before he took hold of Connor’s wrist and guided his palm flat against his tail. He pushed Connor’s hand down much harder than Connor had dared to touch him.

The merman led Connor’s exploration, keening in his throat and watching Connor’s face. The hand on his ankle moved, creeping up the back of his calf in a long, smooth stroke.

Connor’s breath caught, a surprising prickle of heat throbbing up his legs and through his thighs.

The merman’s gaze sharpened. Connor ducked his face, his cheeks burning in shame. He should not be getting aroused by a sea creature touching his leg. It should be scary and maybe exhilarating; it shouldn’t send bolts of heat straight to his junk. The merman’s firm and slow touch on his calf spiked more heat.

“Enough of that,”

Connor said, embarrassed. He shook his leg. The merman snaked his arm around the front of the board instead, and rested his cheek on the side. He blinked slowly and tilted his head to the side, looking toward the shore. The hand holding Connor’s wrist released and rested in the water instead.

With his half-lidded eyes, Connor would almost think the merman was bored. But something about the sudden disinterest in Connor seemed feigned. Like a cat who pretended to ignore you but was, in actuality, aware of exactly where you were and what you were doing.

Connor turned over the flask of tea in his hand. He reached out and set it down on the merman’s tail. His gaze snapped straight to the flask. Confusion rippled over his expression, though faded quickly. After glancing at Connor’s face, he resumed his uninterested pose.

Connor considered that and took the flask back. He picked up his book and set that on the now-dried scales. The merman only spared half a glance. When Connor put a bottle of sun lotion on him next, he didn’t even look. Nor did he pay any attention to the torch or the jacket. Connor was getting the towel when he heard a snort.

Connor went still, turning only his head to see the merman giving him a side-long look. There was something haughty about his expression, as if he found Connor silly.

Connor placed the towel down and leaned over, setting both hands on the merman’s tail. The merman twitched and then tensed up, the underside of his jaw flexing tight, though he refused to look at Connor. Connor grinned and pressed down harder, shifting his weight all onto the merman. The merman’s gills flared out as Connor spread his fingers wide.

The paddleboard creaked under the merman’s tightened grip; his jaw was locked in tension, and his eyes were almost entirely shut.

“You’re obviously paying attention,”

Connor goaded. “You might as well look.”

The merman’s body was taunt with tension, but he did not look. Another snort came out. This one was ridiculously forced.

Connor wasn’t about to lose to a sea creature. He leaned back and drew his legs onto the board. The merman watched him out of the corner of his eye. Connor didn’t have to worry about tipping the board as he moved. The merman was holding it steady. Connor crawled forward on his hands and knees and lowered himself onto the board. He lay on his side, his face planted directly in the merman’s line of sight.

“Now you have to look at me,”

Connor said.

The merman’s gills flared. His hooded eyes focused on Connor, obvious interest in his expression as his gaze darted over Connor’s face. Lingering, momentarily, on his mouth.

Connor couldn’t have said if that look implied the same kind of interest as it would have if a boy from school looked at his lips when they were inches apart.

Slowly, Connor reached out. Letting his impulses get the better of him, he touched the merman’s pointed ear. It was as warm as his scales; apparently, mermen ran hotter than humans.

The merman blinked slowly. The water shifted as he lifted his hand up, but he froze, his hand suspended in the air a mere inch from Connor’s face. His brows creased slightly as he set it between them without touching Connor.

Connor glanced at the hand, understanding unfolding inside of him. “Because I told you no?”

he asked. He reached out, taking the merman’s hand. This time, he guided the merman. “Was it my ear you wanted to touch?”

He set the merman’s damp hand against his ear. The merman made a keening noise in his throat, hoarse and low. His fingers sank into Connor’s hair, dragging against his scalp, sending fire and warm goosebumps racing across his skin. He shuddered.

Connor tried not to squirm as hot fingers played with his ear, tugging at the rounded end and then tracing the delicate shell. His ear throbbed as if it were burned.

“Okay, that’s my limit,”

Connor took the hot hand away from himself, beginning to feel overwhelmed. He set it back onto the board.

He waited to see if the merman would retreat at the rejection, but all he did was acknowledge his displaced hand and flick his eyes back to Connor’s face.