Page 2 of Cruel Tides (Queen of Tridents #2)

Claira

PRESENT DAY

I ’d never caught anything too interesting in my net, but today was an exception. Gawking at my lean arms in astonishment, I wondered how I’d managed such a feat. Hoisting load after load of fish every morning must have finally paid off.

Now is not the time to be impressed with yourself , I thought with a shake of my head.

Not when there was a man in the bottom of my precious lift net, his bare skin conveniently covered by only a blanket of flopping mullet. The load hadn’t felt particularly heavy when I first pulled it in, but there he was, clear as the morning sun…

A man. A naked man.

In my net.

My cheeks flushed as I scanned over way, way too much sandy, sun-kissed skin peeking out from the heap of thrashing fish. A sharp breath whistled through my lips as I took hold of my hand net and began scooping through the fish between us.

My mouth fell into a grimace, and I hesitated. Did it matter if I hurried? I had fished him up out of the ocean, after all, and humans weren’t exactly known for their proficiency in sucking down salt water.

A rogue fish bounced away from his hips, revealing a particular region of his body that had me inhaling another quick breath.

His body might have been spared the bloat that came from soaking up too much seawater, but the sea cucumber snaking between his legs sure hadn’t needed any help looking engorged. “Damn. What a waste.”

What crazy life had this dude led to end up drifting bare-ass naked in the grimy deep? Guess I’d probably never know.

My hand net lingered in the air, the small collection of fish inside it alive with movement. I gazed over his dewy skin, lost in a trance.

Well, we all had to die eventually. When my time came, hopefully I’d still be wearing pants.

A strained, almost inaudible huff rattled through parted lips, and the man’s chest sank.

Holy, merciful—

I nearly dropped my net.

Tightening my grip on the handle, I bit back the urge to scream. I was still close enough to the shore that if I shouted now, Dad or Gram could hear it. They wouldn’t hesitate to seize a neighbor’s boat to come after me, and I wasn’t sure they’d believe I was capable of hoisting a man onto the deck all by myself.

And, well, considering his blatant lack of apparel, Gram might just have a heart attack before I had a chance to explain myself.

Fish bounded for the water below as I emptied a scoopful of mullet that had just been flopping on top of him. “Uh,” I said, tapping his shoulder with the edge of the net’s rim. “Hello?”

The man’s chest rose, the slight movement arduous enough to furrow the space between his sandy eyebrows.

So he was alive after all. Cool. Cool, cool. Good for him.

I let myself relax a fraction. Well, it wasn’t like he could hurt me, so what was there to be afraid of? Sure, he could have been a crime lord or strung out on some crazy drugs or something, but if he woke up and tried anything shady, one good whack, and—

His chest suddenly constricted, his lips sputtering out a pained gasp, and I barely stopped myself from striking him over the head with my net.

“Ugh. What am I doing?”

Chucking the hand net, I lowered the lift net’s weave, welcoming dozens of frenzied mullet into my boat along with him.

“Hold on, sir, I’ll get you back to shore and call for an ambulance.”

My fingertips sank into a frozen block of muscle, the contact sending a chill up my forearms. Sure, he hadn’t drowned, but if he didn’t thaw out fast, he wouldn’t be alive much longer.

Grabbing on to an arm, I yanked again, but his body was harder to shift than a bag of wet sand.

“What the heck,” I mumbled. Hadn’t I just lifted him into my boat? Now he barely budged.

Panic washed through me. Abandoning the lift net, I hopped out of the cockpit and bolted for the helm. If he was going to pull through this, I needed to get back to the shore, and fast.

* * *

Blankets! I needed blankets!

The smell of Gram’s crumble pie—a mixture of spiced apples and cinnamon—invaded my nostrils as I threw open the front door. My mouth salivated as I sprinted for my room.

Any other day, her pie would have been the perfect way to warm up after a morning of gutting fish, but today, I had definitely caught more problems than one fillet knife could manage. Pie would have to wait.

Dad would understand why I returned without any fish—chilly mornings were sometimes like that—but he wouldn’t understand how a naked man ended up in the stern cockpit of my boat. Lift nets could hold some fish, sure, but they weren’t that strong . And I certainly wouldn’t believe I was strong enough to hoist him up there myself if I were him.

Cold perspiration collected on my temples as I threw open my closet and grabbed as many blankets as my arms could carry. Salty brine cut through the aroma of pie as I turned, my nose catching a whiff of my thermal overalls. No time to think of that now, though, when someone needed my help. I was so panicked that I hadn’t even called for an ambulance yet.

Realization struck me as I ran. If a man ended up dying on my boat, I couldn’t imagine what kind of trouble I’d be in. I didn’t even have a birth certificate or a social security number, and if the police started asking Dad questions…

Sprinting on the balls of my feet, I whisked through the front door, slamming it shut behind me without even bothering to look back.

It’ll be all right as long as I get him warmed up in time , I reassured myself, but I found it hard to believe. I had snagged him from the ocean, after all, and my boat was the only one I’d seen on the water all morning. He could have been floating out there all night before my net came along.

Dad staggered across the shoreline, his shoulders hunched as he hauled a mucked-up pail between his legs. “Decent catch today, Claira?” he called, flashing me an optimistic grin.

My head shook, and I tightened my arms around the blankets as I ran. Should I tell him now? Get him to call for an ambulance? But if the police got involved…

“Nothing today. Sorry, Dad.” Leaping from the sand, I skipped the steps and landed directly on the pier. “I… I thought I might read out on the deck for a bit before I cleaned her up,” I said, attempting to sound casual, but the lie felt unnatural on my tongue.

“Take all the time you need, but remember Jeanette said she’d be making pies this morning. Better get you a slice while they’re still warm.” Dad fought through the waves as he spoke, the breeze whipping overgrown strands of graying hair around his eyes as he surveyed the wet sand below. He looked absolutely ridiculous, but I knew he didn’t mind. Hair was the least of a fisherman’s worries.

Gram always said, “Sleek, luxurious hair mattered little when the rest of you stunk of fish guts,” and it was hard to argue with that logic. Following Dad’s example, I kept my hair free-flowing and perpetually unkempt whenever I was out working. The long, fiery tresses were only tamed when enough seawater dried into them for the salt to take hold of the unruly strands. Sure, crunchy salt hair wasn’t very stylish, but the fish never complained.

Weathered planks creaked under my boots as I shot down the pier. Tossing the blankets into the boat, I clutched the side of Lady Ochre ’s hull and hoisted myself over. My eyes scanned the deck.

Numerous fish had already escaped the cockpit in their pursuit of freedom, invading every inch of the deck like an odorous plague. I knew better than to think they would stick around—mullet were jumpers, and one had to work fast if they expected to keep them. Normally, I would have scooped them up before they got the chance, but thanks to a certain naked man, well, let’s just say today was their lucky day.

The man’s limp body, soggy and battered, lay in the middle of the weave, exactly where I’d left him. A curse flew from my lips as I snatched up the blankets, my boots skidding across the surface as I ran to his side. I couldn’t help but grimace when I stepped into the net, knowing full well that I would have to spend extra time combing it over for breaks later. Falling to my knees, I crouched over my catch.

Goosebumps puckered his skin as I skimmed my palm over his arm. Pure ice. Even his swollen lips were tinted blue. His chest scarcely moved, and I leaned in, straining to hear the whisper of breath that would tell me he was still holding on.

I unfolded a flannel blanket while I listened and pulled it over his chest, tucking it under his arms. As I went for the next one, my eyes swept over a curve of honed muscles, their cords trailing all the way down his hips. My breath hitched, and I knew my ears had to be brighter than the apples Gram bought for her pies.

Up close, he seemed younger than I had imagined, probably around my age, but it was hard to tell. I hadn’t spent much time around men—well, at least men my own age. The local anglers were all around Dad’s age or much, much older, and babbling on about rods and lures hadn’t exactly made me popular with my peers.

I chewed my lip as I wrapped the next blanket around his stomach and pulled it over his hips, feeling somewhat disappointed by the loss of his golden-tinged skin. There was no shame in looking, right?

Uneasiness roiled my gut, and I frowned as I covered his legs. What was I doing, ogling someone half-dead and unconscious?

Even if he was awake, there was no way a guy like him would have ever looked at me twice. Sure, I could scrub up nicely if I had a reason to, but there was always more work to get done, and as a fisher’s daughter, my hands and face were always coated in layers of brine.

Releasing a long sigh, I cradled the final blanket around his neck and snaked it over his head. Honey-brown strands of hair fell over his eyes, and I swept them back gently, tucking them into the folds of the blanket. I had to admit, he was rather handsome for discarded jetsam.

“Hmm.” With a soft face like his, he wouldn’t make a convincing crime lord. So I guess that left alcohol, drugs, or maybe a jilted lover that sent him for a dip in the sea?

Concentrating on his features for the very first time, my head tilted in awe.

The arch of his thick eyebrows. The tiny mole that dotted his left cheek. All of it brought on a sense of nostalgia. How strange.

“Wait—” I gasped in realization.

The curve of his jaw might have sharpened since his youth, but I knew this man’s face, and he was never a man to begin with.

“Poseidon help me.”

Good thing I hadn’t called for an ambulance. Even if I had, they wouldn’t have known how to treat him.

My stomach sank. It had been eleven years since the last time I’d seen him, but even a hundred years wouldn’t have been long enough. Glaring at that pretty boy face of his, my lips curled over my teeth in disgust. His was a face meant to be perfect, to allure and entice any unfortunate soul that happened to look at it.

Oh, he was handsome all right, and I had almost fallen for the facade, but I wouldn’t let it sway me again. He was going to wake up, and then he was going to leave. Even if I had to toss him back into the ocean myself.

He’d survive it, that much was certain. Water or air. He would be all right either way, so maybe it would be better to hoist him over right now so I’d never have to dwell on memories of him again.

A raspy breath echoed through his chest.

That didn’t sound good. His lips were so, so blue.

I opened and closed my fists in irritation, wracking my brain for what to do next. The cold shouldn’t have bothered him like this, and the wind wasn’t something he would be used to above water.

My eyes fell on my fish cart, and I shook my head. No. There was no way Gram would let me through the front door carting that smelly, old thing. The wheels were caked with sludge, and fish goo clung to every hole and crevice no matter how many times I scrubbed and hosed it down.

I drifted back to my catch’s stupidly handsome face and eased in a slow breath. His lips sure didn’t look right.

After debating whether my conscience would let me hurl him back over the side of the boat, I relented with a huff and got to my feet.

“Smelly fish cart it is.” Maybe I could dump him in my room before Dad or Gram noticed.

Wheeling the cart to the edge of the lift net, I stooped over my catch. “Today is your lucky day, pretty boy.” Still covered in blankets, his shuttered eyelids tensed. “Because if any other fisherman had found you and taken you to the hospital… Well, one saline drip, and you’d have wound up a gutted merman.”