Page 3 of Cruel Tides (Queen of Tridents #2)

3

Claira

M y room reeked of fish. Spoiled, vile, acrid fish guts. Channeling my inner peace, I took in a deep breath and held it. He wasn’t worth all this trouble. Not even a little bit.

Sure, I had managed to heave his smelly carcass into the fish cart, and yeah, I had somehow jerked the wheels over the little lip of the front steps without bursting a tire. Plus, Gram hadn’t even come out of her room in the time it took me to dump the evidence and fly the cart back out to my boat, but still…

My bedroom. My carpet. My shaggy, pink rug that he rudely flopped out onto instead of landing on the nice plastic tarp I’d set out on the floor for him.

Well—I knew I’d be cursing his pretty face for at least a week while I scrubbed and shampooed every inch of it to get his stench out. Fan-freaking-tastic. I should have dumped him in the sand and let the crabs have their way with him. They would’ve let him wash back out to sea… eventually.

Heaving a sigh, I stepped over the mass of blankets and naked man-ass to strip the sheets from my bed. Pretty boy wasn’t going to sleep on them—no, he had the nice floor tarp I had painstakingly laid out for him—but I didn’t want him seeing my cupcake sheets and unicorn comforter.

My cheeks heated as I wadded them into a ball and shoved them into the clothes hamper, scooting the entire container to the darkest corner of my closet.

I might have been twenty years old, but Dad knew how much I loved the color pink and enjoyed spoiling me. And really, is anyone ever too old for unicorns and cupcakes? But for some reason, my stomach lurched at the thought of a man my own age seeing them—not that I expected a beached merman to know a unicorn from a cupcake if he saw one.

Slamming the closet door shut, I went for the portable heater. I skimmed my hand over the grill, checking for dust, then plugged it into the wall and set it on high.

“That should be good enough.”

Turning around, I smoothed the edges of the tarp next to my bed. I inspected the stray arm and head resting on the soft twines of my favorite pink rug and clicked my tongue over the roof of my mouth.

Well, that certainly wouldn’t do. He was going to have to move.

My fingertips skimmed over a bare patch of skin peeking out from between blankets. I only needed to scoot him down a little to get his entire body on the tarp. Getting to my knees, I carefully brushed another blanket aside, studying his other leg.

“Sorry, pretty boy, but I’m gonna need you to keep your sea cucumber tucked away,” I breathed out, licking at the dry salt coating the corners of my lips. My palms spread out over the span of his legs, searching for the best spot to grip.

A surge of heat tickled my cheek as the heater cranked on, the warmth emphasizing the coolness of his skin as I pulled him toward me.

Piercing blue eyes shot open, a much deeper shade than the icy tinge of his lips. I froze in place, my wide eyes locking onto his.

His pupils focused, lazily scouring every detail of my face as if they were searching for some sort of recognition in my features.

A sluggish tongue traced over the curves of his lips as I watched the gears in his head gradually churn to life. His muscles tensed underneath my palms, and he strained to draw in a deep breath. “My… sea cucumber?”

His voice drifted like a shaky breeze, the words too low to register if I hadn’t been staring at his mouth as he mumbled them. Blue eyes narrowed and veered back, his head lolling off to the side and… he was out like a light.

Oh, thank Poseidon.

I released a massive breath and shifted my weight on my knees. Back to business. Just a little more, and my rug could stop soaking up seawater from his slimy, nasty-ass hair.

Yanking back again, I slid him down until he was centered on the tarp exactly where I wanted him. There.

He probably won’t remember that , I reassured myself while straightening the blankets back over him. When I was satisfied he was covered well enough, I rested back on my heels and chewed at the corner of my lip, wondering what to do next.

There was still so much work to do today. Could I really just leave him in my bedroom alone?

My eyes scanned the outline of his legs through the blankets. There was a good chance he had never even used his mortal legs before. If that were the case, well, who knew how he’d react when he saw them?

A sigh escaped me as I kneaded at the accumulating tension in the middle of my forehead. No—It was clear that I needed to shirk my chores and come up with some excuse to stay in my room until he woke up again.

Looking down at my thermal overalls, I couldn’t help but feel a bit self-conscious. The last time he had seen me, I was likely swathed in ocean silks, my hair adorned with hairpins made of pearls and coral. But now…

My eyes trailed back to the death-like pallor of his lips, and I fought the urge to stroke my thumb over their delicate flesh, wondering if they were as frightfully cold as they appeared.

Don’t be stupid, Claira.

Even if I showered and changed into the nicest clothes I owned, he still wouldn’t want me touching him. He probably wouldn’t even recognize me after all these years. In fact, I was counting on it.

My hands clenched the thick, waterproof fabric covering my thighs as I looked him over yet again. He was as still as a corpse.

Springing to my feet, I cursed and turned, rummaging for a change of clothes in my chest of drawers. If I hurried, I could probably shower and change before he woke back up. Odors mattered little when you lived underwater, but on land, fish smell wasn’t cute—even for an ex-mermaid.

Not that it mattered what he thought of me, of course. But considering how he smelled worse than a warm barrel of fish, the small victory over him might just be enough to get me through this unfortunate reunion.

Grabbing a fresh towel, I opened the door and poked my head out, preparing to sprint to the bathroom. I glanced over my shoulder, checking to make sure his eyes were still shut.

Honestly, it should have been a crime for someone to look so strikingly handsome while smelling so awful. Freaking mermen.

On second thought, other mermen probably couldn’t pull off such a feat as easily as he could.

It wasn’t every day that a fisherman caught a merman in their net—especially not undersea royalty. But there he was, laid out on my bedroom floor: Leander, the Crown Prince of the Atlantic. A beautiful, bitter nightmare.

I bolted for the bathroom door, mumbling as I went. “Should have thrown you back when I had the chance.”