Page 42

“Did Goldilocks tell you why The Brothers gave us the body?” Vi asked Sam. At Vi’s request, Sam was adding colour to the statue of Belle in the entrance hall. He’d been in her villa more often than not the past few weeks, and despite all the books he brought her, he still wished to offer more for her hospitality.

Sam looked up from the scale he was in the middle of painting. Goldilocks, who had been patiently modelling for him for hours, had shifted to fetch them lunch. Vi wore a dress of gold, not dissimilar to the shade on Sam’s brush bristles. She sat, the hem trailing into the water of the pool. She studied the work Sam had done so far as he set aside his palate. “I’ll admit, it’s a little more morbid than I’m used to from my upbringing.”

“It is morbid,” Vi agreed. “Who wants to look upon their love’s murderer each day? Why keep it in the house at all? Ghouls are peculiar creatures. They steal memories, but they do not destroy them. All of those memories are still within them; that’s how they learn.” That, Sam thought, was how his ghoul had known how to text Eric. He’d stolen enough memories to know how to lure Eric to the house. Alone. “Belle’s memories are in that thing’s body, and I have spent years and years of study in order to access them. I am a driven woman, and if there is even the smallest chance for me to see part of her again, I will not stop searching.” She reached out, her gloved fingers hovering over the wet paint, a look of desperate longing on her face.

“I’m sorry that you lost her,” Sam said, truly meaning it. His heart ached for her.

“As am I,” Vi said. She waited a minute, drew in a deep breath that seemed to ground her. “I have not yet figured out how to find her memories, but I did manage to return Goldilocks’s memories to him. Goldilocks brought the ghoul’s corpse from your world to me and asked I do for you and your family what I did for him. I have been preparing these past weeks, and I am now ready.”

Sam’s breath caught. The idea that his dad could reclaim some of what had been taken was staggering, and his internal voice of caution struggled to dampen a powerful surge of hope. “We’re not merfolk like Roan.” He tried to lessen it. Tried to kill the feeling dead in his chest right there and then. I can’t expect that , it was a desperate thought. Because I’ll be crushed if I don’t get it .

“I believe it will work.” Vi sounded certain, and there was a gleam in her eye. Confidence. “I was a skilled witch even before I mated Belle, and over the years of study, I have only honed my abilities. Goldilocks won’t allow me to first attempt it with you. It must be either Eric or Oisín. I recommend Eric.” Vi placed her gloved hand atop Sam’s. “However, there is one drawback to consider. It must be all the memories. I am not skilled enough to withhold some and return others. It would mean the return of the assaults and violations alongside what you wish restored.”

That halted Sam’s imagination. His dad had been subjected to the ghoul for so many years, had so much stolen from him, that Sam shuddered to think how many bad memories would return alongside the good. Sam had been out of the house, yet his dad hadn’t left it in years. There would be little else but memories of the ghoul the past decade.

“For myself, it’s worth it,” Sam said. It was worth it to have the brother he only had glimpses of returning. “We’ll have to ask Eric and my dad to see how they feel about it.”

“Let us go and do that,” Vi said. She squeezed his hand again and stood.

“Vi. Thank you.”

Vi graced him with a rare smile. “You are welcome.”

***

They gathered at midday. Two slabs of stone had been brought into the garden, and the black rock had runes chiselled into its face. They were similar to the ones that had been on the knife Roan gifted him, the ones that had burned the ghoul when it tried to pry the weapon out of his chest before it ended his life. Similar, though far more complicated. There were curves and pointed edges, waves and harsh slashes. It was a language Sam did not know how to read and made his eyes itch if he stared for too long.

Eric lay out on one of the stone slabs and shut his eyes when told to do so. A mound covered with a white sheet occupied the other. Even before Vi spoke, the runes warmed red. Sam reached to his side, finding his merman’s hand to clasp. Roan squeezed his fingers and leaned in to murmur a reassuring, “All will be well.” It lasted seconds. One moment Eric’s face was slack, and the next, it was screwed up in pain. His hands shot to his hair to pull, and a broken sob tore free of his chest.

Ivan rushed to his side.

Eric cried into Ivan’s arms, and Roan, upon seeing Eric upset, refused to let Sam go next. Not until after his dad. It was hard to describe the emotions that crossed his dad’s face when he opened his eyes after Vi finished her last spell. Sam went to him, holding his arm even as two nurses crowded the other, calling to him softly and whispering spells that had Oisín’s eyes drowsy, and Sam’s too, until he tuned them out.

“He’s older, and his heart is weary. Better for him to sleep and let his mind catch up,” Vi reassured Sam as his dad was led away.

Eric sat further down the path, head in his hands. Ivan crouched with him, holding him tightly. He petted Eric’s head and murmured soft words into his ear. Words Sam knew would be filled with love, words that would bring relief to his brother in a way Sam didn’t know how, yet the sharp-eyed Ivan always seemed to manage with ease.

“He is alright,” Vi reassured. “It is the shock of everything returning at once. You are a strong family. A strong line. Not many can walk away from a ghoul with their personality intact, never mind maintain any semblance of goodwill.” She placed a hand on Sam’s arm. “There is strength in your family’s kindness, Sam. And it will prevail now as well.”

Sam allowed himself to be led toward the empty slab. He didn’t look at the sheet covering the dead ghoul but caught a whiff of sickening strong flower-scents that masked the smell of a thawing-out corpse. He lay out as Eric and Oisín had and looked for Roan as Vi took up her position between the slabs. A hand at the head of each stone connected them. Eric moved to stand next to Roan, Ivan supporting his arm. Pale-faced and sweaty, Eric offered a nod of encouragement to Sam.

“Do you know,” Vi spoke softly as she leaned over Sam and painted her symbols onto his bare skin. “That Eric did not have one single memory of you stolen from him? The ghoul tried to take you from Eric, and he could not. They are horrible, mean creatures. It took your memories of Eric so it could take you from him that way. It brings me great happiness that I can return him to you. And you to him.” A tear ran down Vi’s cheek and fell from her chin to Sam’s forearm. Sam pulled his gaze from Eric to her; in her eyes was sadness and pride both. “Belle loved Goldilocks with the same fierceness.”

Sam blinked, and tears blurred his vision. Before he could speak a word past his tightening throat, Vi stepped back, the drawings complete.

She raised her hands, and she whispered words of power.

In a swift heartbeat, Sam’s memories of his brother returned.

***

Eric would bring him out to the hills next to their house to watch the newborn lambs in spring as they baaed and frolicked, entertaining Sam for hours at a time as Eric waited, patient and very bored. Eric would do arts and crafts with him. He would bring him to the beaches and build towers out of sand and rock and hard work. He would cook for Sam. Though he was only a teenager, he looked up recipes and made sure Sam was always fed. Always had snacks. Always had a drink.

He used to read to Sam too, until the ghoul snatched away his ability to read. Used to tuck him in at night. Wake him up in the mornings. Smiled and laughed and joked and tickled. And he told Sam how much he loved him. Constantly. And Sam, a happy child – because why wouldn’t he be perfectly happy with Eric making sure he had everything he could ever want – had sung it back.

Other memories returned.

Memories of another green-eyed brother that read to Sam, usually after he’d hit him enough that Sam was either half conscious or too afraid of another blow to move. It used to wait for Sam to come home. It used to haul him into the attic to hang out. Which – and nobody had told him this before they burned the house down – he had fashioned into a room for himself. He would read Sam his school books, chattering in that garbled voice Sam could barely decipher.

Sam remembered how it got angrier and angrier the less Sam came home.

And every plan Sam made – hundreds of them – to escape with his dad had been stolen right out of his head. His ghoulish brother had no interest in Oisín; but he knew that by keeping him alive and in the house, Sam would always have to come back eventually. And if he kept hold of Sam, eventually he would get Eric too. To kill or torment, Sam didn’t know.

Sam slowly became aware of his body. He was sitting on the garden path with his knees pulled to his chest. Warm hands rubbed his legs, and Eric’s soft voice murmured soothing words like ‘You’re okay’ and ‘Just breathe’.

Sam sucked in a shuddering breath. Tears fell. There was no stopping them. The memory that pressed against his eyes wasn’t one that he had lost. It was from months ago at his aunt’s birthday party, when Eric had come back to see Sam, and Sam didn’t know him. All that love, and Sam had shrugged like Eric meant absolutely nothing to him.

“We never even fought,” Sam whispered, his throat tight. “You always just gave in right away.”

Eric’s laugh was choked. “You were too cute. And you were so well-behaved, even when you were being a brat, that I could never get mad at you.”

“I remember you. I love you, Eric.”

“I love you too.”

“You’re such a softie,” Sam murmured. The memories were too much to see, all at once, and Sam would need time to get through them all, but the immense feeling was there.

“Is your head bad?”

“Like it’s splitting open,” Sam said. “This had better be the last headache I ever have because of a ghoul.”

“Here. Ivan’s got some of his painkillers.”

***

Sam woke in Roan’s huge bed with the merman’s arms wrapped around his midsection. Grogginess from Ivan’s painkillers kept his mind dulled and half asleep as he roused. The mattress was soft, the sheets silky light against his body and the warm breeze drifting in through the open veranda doors was heaven. The sound of waves lapping against the side of the building soothed him, the cry of birds calling for their dinner a familiar song to Sam’s ears.

Roan ran a warm hand up his side, fingers skimming his ribs in a feather-light, ticklish touch. “Sleep longer,” Roan murmured against Sam’s neck. “Your mind needs rest.”

“I could rest forever in a bed this comfortable,” Sam said, groggy. He expended all his energy to twist in Roan’s arms and tuck his face against the merman’s throat. If Sam’s hair bothered Roan’s gills, he didn’t complain about it. Sam moved his leg, resting it over Roan’s tail, the golden scales soft enough that there was no grating edge to irritate. The texture was nice and interesting against his skin. Sam rubbed Roan’s waist, half asleep as he caressed scale and skin. “Everyone okay?” Sam checked.

“They recover, the same as you,” Roan reassured. “Are you glad to have your memories restored?”

“Yes.” The question woke Sam more. “Yes, of course. Eric was so good to me, Roan. So, so good.” He sighed. “I’ll need time to get my head around it. I thought I was alone for the longest time, and all along that thing …It just makes me so angry to think about all the time he robbed from us. I could have grown up with Eric by my side. I didn’t have to feel so alone. Though I guess I shouldn’t think about it like that. Because of the ghoul, Eric left and met Ivan. And if Eric never left, I doubt I would have been working on the boat still. I wouldn’t have met you.”

Roan released a disgruntled huff. “I would have found you, regardless. But, you have a point. Had there been no ghoul in my life, Vi would not have had the skill to restore your memories, nor would we have fashioned a weapon capable of defeating one on land.”

Sam stilled. He shouldn’t have been fantasising about what-ifs and ghouls when Roan lost his sister to one. Sam dug his face hard into Roan’s throat, breathing roughly. “I’m so sorry you lost her. But I’m glad she saved you.” He owed her more than he could put into words.

Roan hummed. “Sleep, I feel your pain.”

When Sam woke again, Roan was running a hand down his spine. Sam thought he might have been sleep-talking because Roan was speaking as if they were in the middle of a conversation. “I told you that I was first attracted to your art and your skill. But I do not think I have told you how I admire your kindness and your strength. You are a fine mate. You please me simply by being yourself, and I wish for you to set your worries aside and be confident.”

Despite Roan’s otherness, Sam needed to keep in mind that Roan paid very close attention. And all of his reassurances and praises didn’t come from nowhere; Roan must have seen from the start that Sam lacked self-esteem and confidence and that the verbal reassurances eased worries on his mind.

“Do you know how it felt to have a merman come onto my boat and start telling me how nice he was for not bringing up my terrible nest?” Sam smiled. “Do you know how long it had been since I’d felt anything so strongly? It was joy.” A kind of delight Sam hadn’t felt in years.

“You were aggravated,” Roan pointed out.

“It was good for me to be aggravated. I spent a lot of time in my head, overthinking. And then you came along and you made me pay attention to the now. I like being in the now with you, Roan. And I want to start living there too. With you. With my family.”

Roan released a pleased rumble. “Good.”

“A good start,” Sam continued, knowing that this would delight Roan even though it filled Sam with complicated feelings, “is officially leaving that college course.” A plethora of memories on the topic had returned; Mary was right to call him out weeks ago. He hadn’t attended half his classes, and he was doomed to fail this semester. That didn’t mean he couldn’t do make-up exams. But why would he?

Roan’s rumble became a full-on purr. “You will cease your course and pursue your art?”

“Essentially,” Sam said. He had been obsessed with getting through the course and proving his worth, but proving his worth to who exactly? Sam knew he wasn’t stupid. He didn’t need a sheet of paper to tell him that. And there was nobody that the sheet of paper would impress that he cared to impress. Aunts and uncles that he saw once a year? They didn’t care beyond comparing him to their own children. His old teachers and classmates who looked down on him? They didn’t give a hoot what he was doing!

Roan’s thrilled purring continued. He rubbed his cheek against Sam’s hair. “I told you I would gain your trust, did I not? You shall want for nothing. I am a good mate.”

Sam smiled against Roan’s skin. He hadn’t meant to imply he was just going to let Roan provide for him, but he sounded so happy that Sam didn’t want to correct him. “And what should I do so I am a good mate for you?”

“I told you that you are a fine mate already,” Roan replied, without a moment of hesitation. “You need not alter yourself in any way. In fact, I insist you do not. I like you as you are. Especially now that you have begun to trust me.” He purred. “I will have your siren found in short order, and we will go and befriend him. This will please you?” Roan pulled back far enough that he could rub his nose to Sam’s and then press a kiss to his waiting lips.

Your siren .

Sam frowned. Austin. Austin’s promise and his trembling fear as he’d asked to be friends. Austin approaching Sam in the pub made sense to him now, why Austin had said they were friends and why Sam questioning that had shut him down. He’d found a card in his car with Austin’s number written on it last week, and now he remembered how it got there.

“Did I tell you about him?”

“You spoke in your dreams,” Roan said. “He passed through The Tear weeks ago, and I did not care to keep track of his travels since then. But I will find him for you.”

“Thank you,” Sam said. He would explain what happened to Austin. And Austin’s explanation of Gary—

Sam drew in a sharp breath. Gary . At the house, to burn it down because he thought it would make Austin happy. Gary, compelled to act because of Austin’s influence. Gary, dead.

Was Austin responsible? It hadn’t been on purpose. Sam knew it hadn’t, but was he free of all blame? And what about himself? He had tried to get him away, hadn’t he? He’d attempted to stop him going into the house. Did that attempt erase that he’d failed? That they’d covered it up?

Fionn had told Sam in a low voice without meeting his eyes that he’d looked through the rest of Gary’s phone. According to his texts, he had no friends, no family. The last texts between him and his mom had been a one-sided barrage of hate when she wouldn’t send him money, and months ago his relationship with someone called ‘Dickhead’ had ended similarly. His internet history was a peek into a mind set on violence. And further down in the photos was Sam. Sam’s house. Sam’s boat. In the notes was Sam’s weekly schedule, from his classes to his hours on the boat. The rest of his plan to frame Sam for sinking Fionn’s yacht was there too, and with that erased, the anonymous report of Sam messing with Fionn’s yacht had come to nothing.

Sam didn’t know what to think. Guilt loomed. Not guilt because Gary had died, but rather because Sam was relieved that he had no family ties and no friends to come looking for him. Guilt because Sam wanted to forget all about him. No matter what motivated him, Gary had been set on violence. He had come to the house with gasoline and who knows if he would have set it alight with his dad still inside?

Another kernel of a memory shook loose. As Sam lay flat on his back in the garden and Gary loomed over him, the ghoul had come. The ghoul hadn’t tried to feed on Gary. Hadn’t tried to restrain him. He’d grabbed him and broken his neck. Killed him. And then, while Sam’s head was swimming because he’d cracked it open on the rock, the ghoul had fussed. The very last thing he felt before it all went dark were fingers, achingly careful, prodding at his injured head.

“Sam?” Roan cupped his cheek.

Sam pulled his thoughts from it all. It wasn’t something he could change, and he’d rather focus on things that he could do. He would find Austin, explain why he never called or text him, and go from there. “Thank you,” Sam said. “You’re too good to me.” He leaned in, and he kissed his mate on the mouth as Roan’s chest rumbled with a pleased purr. “You’re doing so much for me, and for my family.”

Roan hummed, chasing after Sam’s mouth as he relaxed back into the pillows. “I told you I would provide,” he said, all sweetness.

Sam didn’t know how Roan managed to offer so much, and for Sam not to feel pressured into accepting. For him to take what was offered without an itch under his skin or a voice in his head telling him that it was pity. He was an inconvenience. People were sick of him.

Sam tugged at Roan’s hip, feeling the slide against his thigh as Roan’s cock emerged.

“Vi said you need rest.” Roan caught Sam’s wrist.

Sam leaned into his embrace, humming. He kissed Roan’s throat, careful to avoid his healing gills, and travelled his mouth down chiselled chest, warm skin, soft scales, until his mouth was where scales parted and Roan’s cock prodded out, slick and hot.

Roan’s hold on Sam’s wrist tightened.

Sam grasped Roan’s shaft with his free hand and peeked up at Roan, gauging his level of restraint. His eyes glimmered, and there was a tensed muscle in his jaw. “I said rest,” Roan said. His cock slid out further, and Sam tilted his head so it prodded him in the cheek, resting against skin.

“I’m not saying you should mount me.” Sam pumped his hand base to tip, and back again. “But I should take care of this, shouldn’t I? I’m your mate, after all.”

Roan purred. Stopped. Purred. His brows knit together and Sam, without breaking eye contact, nuzzled his tip. Let his tongue slip out to taste warm brine. These creatures really were the ocean embodied. Calm. Ethereal. Capable of savagery, yet all the more wonderful for it.

“I’ll be restful,” Sam promised. The clear want in Roan’s eyes was a particular thrill Sam didn’t think would ever get old.

“Restful,” Roan repeated.

“Restful,” Sam agreed solemnly.

By the time Roan realised he’d lied, it was too late; Sam already had the merman where he wanted him.