Page 13

CALLIE

T he rain starts as a drizzle, a gentle patter that turns the air misty and gray. I’m scooping up a pile of rubber ducks, my sneakers sinking into the wet sand of the pond’s edge, when Ryder’s voice slices through the damp breeze.

“We need to move.”

I straighten, squinting. “Yeah, it’s raining. But they’re called raincoats for a reason, right?”

His expression stays flat. “This isn’t a rainstorm. It’s a monsoon.”

As if on cue, thunder rumbles in the distance, low and ominous. Shadows spill across the pond’s surface, the water turning the silvery color of storm clouds churning overhead.

I scrub through my hair, frizz already forming at my temples. “Great. My first disaster of the day and it’s got special effects.”

Ryder snorts, but it’s not amused. It’s edgy. Tense. His eyes dart toward the water, then back to me. “Shelter. Now.”

He doesn’t wait for me to agree or argue. Just grabs me by the wrist and starts hauling us toward a crooked little hut halfway up the beach, its wooden sign that once read “BOAT SHACK” now half-rubbed away by wind and time.

Lightning splits the sky, the sudden flash of white illuminating the pond, turning the beach bone-pale. The wind howls through the pines at our backs, spraying needles like confetti.

I glance over my shoulder, but the pond is already blurred behind a curtain of rain or something else, something thicker, grayer, like mist with teeth.

When we reach the boat shack, Ryder shoves the door open so hard it skitters against its rusty hinges, and practically flings me inside.

Then he slams the door shut just as the storm hits its first real blast and not a second too soon, because the rain comes down in sheets so thick and heavy they could drown a fish.

The air inside the shack is musty, but warm and surprisingly dry. I lean against the doorway, brushing rainwater from my arms and hair, the shivers already starting.

Ryder mutters under his breath, rummaging in a dusty corner and tossing me a slightly moth-eaten blanket. “Here. You’re soaked.”

I catch it, the fabric scratchy against my chilled skin. “So are you.”

He shoots me a dry look. “Fish don’t get cold.”

“But don’t you get, like, mad scales when you dry out?” I say, wrapping the blanket around me with a shiver. My hair is plastered to my forehead, frizz starting to bloom like a cloud of red thunder above my eyes.

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t take the bait. “Merfolk don’t dry out. We’re not actual fish.”

I do appreciate biology lessons. But right now, with the storm swirling outside and the air inside the shack getting thicker by the second, I’m more focused on the way his silver eyes are lingering and how my heart skips, just a little, because he hasn’t looked away yet.

“I think this is the first time you’ve ever been nice to me,” I blurt.

He inclines his head, brow arching. “Taking shelter isn’t nice. It’s logical.”

“Oh, you have logic now?”

“I always did.” He leans against the wall, watching me as I peel my wet shirt away from my skin uncomfortably. “You’ve just been too busy breaking my rules to notice.”

“Right. Because your rules are so important,” I shoot back, reflexively defensive. The banter covers up the tension, the charge in the air. “More important than keeping campers alive,” I add sarcastically.

His expression darkens, and he straightens, the muscles in his bare arms tightening. “They are.”

The admission hangs between us for a beat, pregnant with something heavy. Then, quietly:

“They have to be.”

He’s closer now. Too close. My heart pounds against my ribcage, wild and traitorous, as I tilt my chin to meet his gaze. “Or what? The sky falls?”

His fingers brush against my cheek, startling in its tenderness. “Yeah. Or that.”

The world narrows to the space between us, heat simmering as he leans in, slow and measured, giving me time to pull away.

I don’t.

His mouth finds mine, tentative at first, a feather-light brush of lips that sends electricity skittering down my spine.

I gasp, surging forward, pulling him closer by his shirt and he responds in kind, one hand tangling in my hair, the other splayed against my back, pressing me into him so hard the air leaves my lungs.

The kiss deepens, tongues tangling, all the tension and banter between us igniting at once. His skin is slick and hot under my fingers.

I tug at his shirt, and it’s gone, tossed aside like an afterthought, his lean torso all taut muscle and smooth scales that gleam even in the dim light of the shack.

“Callie,” he murmurs against my mouth, voice low and rough.

My fingers trail down his chest, tracing a line to his waistband, where the human skin fades entirely into scales.

“Ryder” I start, but he cuts me off with another searing kiss, hands roaming my body like he’s mapping me, learning every dip and curve.

The storm is raging louder now, wind howling against the walls of the shack, but all I can hear is the quickening of his breath, the rustle of fabric as things shirts, jeans give way to heat and skin.

The air in the boat shack is electric, charged with the intensity of the storm and our sudden, desperate need for each other.

Ryder's hands are firm on my hips as he hoists me up against the rough wooden wall, his lips never leaving mine.

His kiss is both punishing and tender, as if he's trying to erase all our arguments and tension with a single, searing connection.

I wrap my legs around his waist, and he moves his hips against mine, his cock pressing against my opening. I gasp into his mouth, my pulses racing so fast I can barely breathe. His fingers dig into my ass cheeks, holding me steady as he enters me with a low, feral growl.

"Ryder" I manage to get out between kisses, "this is"

But I can't form a coherent thought, not when his mouth is on my neck, trailing hot, wet kisses along my collarbone.

His fingers find the hem of my shirt, tugging it over my head, leaving me bare from the waist up.

A sliver of cold air hits me, but he doesn't give me a chance to shiver; his hands are already exploring every inch of my exposed skin as he drives into me.

His mouth is on my breast, his tongue flicking over my nipple until I cry out in pleasure.

"Ryder!" My fingers tangle in his dark, wet hair, pulling him closer. He responds with a sharp nip, a playful bite that sends fireworks shooting through me. "Fuck, Ryder, deeper. Now."

I feel him smirk against my skin, and he pulls back just enough to lock eyes with me. Even though the shack is dim, his silver eyes are sharp and bright, locking onto me with a possessiveness that makes heat pool between my legs.

He pulls out slowly, keeping eye contact, teasing me until I let out a childish huff of impatience.

He smirks, and in one fluid motion slams back into me, his bare body flush against mine.

I can feel him, all of him, rock-hard and driving relentlessly into my pussy.

He reaches down, his fingers brushing my slit, finding me slick and aching.

He teases for just a second, and I squirm, trying to get him to move faster, to take me harder.

"Ryder," I pant, "stop play"

But he cuts me off by thrusting into me deeper, filling me completely in one smooth motion. I cry out, the sharp pleasure-pain of him overwhelming everything else. My back arches, and he pulls almost all the way out again before slamming back in with a groan.

"Damn it, Callie," he growls into my neck, his pace brutal and relentless. "You were always too much. Too loud, too reckless, too fucking perfect."

I claw my nails down his back, meeting his thrusts with every ounce of strength I have.

The wood groans behind us as he fucks me against the wall, my toes barely grazing the floor.

The storm outside is a cacophony of thunder and rain, but my world is narrowed to his body and the way he's driving into me with punishing force, hitting all the right spots over and over again.

I can feel it building, a swirling, pulsing heat inside me, ready to burst. I clutch him tighter, digging my fingers into his shoulders, and Ryder leans back just enough to look at me, his dark hair falling into his silver eyes.

"Come for me, Callie," he demands, his voice ragged. "I want to feel you fall apart."

And like that, I do, shattering into a thousand pieces as pleasure rips through me in unstoppable waves.

My body convulses around him, and he follows seconds after, his arms tightening around me with an almost bruising force as he buries himself deep inside me, his groan of release muffled in my hair.

For a moment, we stay like that, pressed together, breathing hard and listening to the storm rage outside. I can feel his heartbeat against mine, erratic and wild, and I wonder how we got here, why it feels like my world just realigned itself around him.

But then the moment shatters as abruptly as it began, and reality comes crashing back. We’ve broken all the rules, my rules, his rules, the rules of the camp, and probably a dozen other unwritten laws between humans and merfolk. And no amount of excuses or banter is going to save us now.