Page 3 of Making Out With Mermaids (Haven Ever After #6)

CHAPTER THREE

BETMAL

L ater that night, my dear friend Catherine slides a cocktail across her small kitchen island toward me. “How are you finding Ever, Betmal? Have you had a chance to see Abe and Morgan?”

“The day I arrived, yes.” I take the cocktail and sip happily, looking at my lovely friend. “Morgan cooked for us, and I’ve been busy unpacking and getting to know the house. You must come by for dinner soon; the home is absolutely lovely. Abe outdid himself.”

Catherine grins, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. She glances up, looking around the Annabelle Inn, her home and Ever’s only bed and breakfast. “Ah, I remember what it’s like when you find a home that feels like the home to end all homes. That’s what I found when I came here and moved to the Annabelle. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

We share understanding looks as I nod. “Hearth HQ was certainly not the homiest of places to raise a child, or to remain after that child was long grown.” I drum my fingers on the countertop, considering the reason I came here and knocked on Catherine’s door tonight, apart from a general desire to catch up. “Tell me what you know of a mermaid called Amatheia. I met her earlier today at the coffee shop.”

Catherine sighs. “Ah, that’s a bit of a sad story, to tell you the truth. I’ve known Amatheia since her clan relocated to Ever from the sea. She’s a lovely, lovely woman…an artist like you.”

I sip quietly at the cocktail as she continues.

“As I understand it, she and her parents were in some sort of accident. That’s how she lost her fin. Her uncle, King Caralorn, moved them here afterward, but he’s…well, I’ve only met him once at their welcome ceremony. He’s extremely prickly, and as you know, merfolk societal structure is quite rigid.”

“What else?” I rise without meaning to, concern brewing in my stomach at the idea of such a delicate-seeming being under the thumb of a prickly, shut-in king.

“Well…” Catherine pauses, gray brows furrowing as she sips her martini. “The merfolk mostly keep to the lake, but Amatheia likes to visit Higher Grounds almost daily. I don’t think she means to be a troublemaker, but I do think she likes escaping up here, honestly. Well, as much as she’s able to, given her royal duties. And, of course, there was the recent attack, too.”

The blood freezes in my veins, and I grab the stem of my glass so hard, it cracks. “The what now?”

Catherine nods, glancing at the cracked glass. “She was the victim of an attack by a revenant. It’s quite a long story, but suffice to say she was rendered catatonic. Unharmed otherwise, but she did not wake until the revenant was released by Lou, the Hector triplets’ aunt. She’s a blue witch…have you met Lou yet? Or the other two triplets? Surely you heard about her from Evenia, or perhaps Aberen.”

I shake my head. “No, I haven’t. Of the Hectors, I’ve only met Morgan. So… when was this?”

Catherine purses her pink-painted lips. “Oh, about a month ago? It’s fairly recent. I haven’t seen Amatheia as much since then. I suspect she was shaken up by what happened. Or perhaps Caralorn finally took issue with her daily visits to Higher Grounds. Truly, the merfolk very, very rarely leave the lake. I’ve always assumed that was Caralorn’s doing.”

I fall silent, lost to the idea that anyone could attack such an exquisite soul.

“On a happier note,” Catherine says. “She did some paintings for me last year, and they are stunning. Would you like to see?” She stands with her drink in hand and turns for the formal sitting room next to the inn’s entrance.

I follow, still musing over how it’s possible for Amatheia to become a victim like that. I can’t imagine how terrified she must have been. Did she try to run? Was she unable to get away? Is her leg perhaps the reason she didn’t escape? My heart halts and stutters in my chest at the idea of her being afraid.

Catherine slips one hand through my arm, resting it along my forearm. “See that painting there? The rose garden in the back? Amatheia did it.”

My mouth drops open. The painting is whimsical and chaotic and inspired. It’s easy to see it’s a rose garden, but the way she splashed the color across the canvas gives the garden a sort of modern fairytale vibe.

Catherine points at the painting next to it, which appears done in the same style. “I commissioned this entire wall of paintings from her after seeing her paint on the lakeshore one day. She was hiding from Caralorn after some fight, and I thought perhaps I could offer her a reprieve.” Catherine’s expression grows sorrowful. “It took a while; it was hard for her to leave the lake for long periods of time. But she’d come here and paint, and she told me quite a bit more about her life in the merkingdom. Eventually, Caralorn found out she was painting for me and put a stop to it. Now I see her at Higher Grounds on occasion, but that’s it.”

“What a sad story,” I murmur, staring at the wall of incredible paintings. The mermaid has talent, the kind that can’t be taught. She’s a natural.

Thinking back to the welcome packet Arkan gave me, an idea begins to brew in my mind. I took a look at it, and it was atrociously done.

Catherine turns and plants a hand on her hip. “Betmal, what is that look on your face? I’ve known you for a long time, and you’re planning something. Why are you asking about Amatheia?”

I turn to find Catherine’s blue eyes narrowed playfully as she gives me a saucy, expectant look.

“Well.” I clear my throat. “I think we both know I’m not the type to formally retire. But I did leave behind a job I enjoyed when I separated from Evenia and Aberen. I need to do something with my time. I can’t spend it all with Abemet and Morgan.”

She winks at me. “Not planning to attend any of their parties, I suppose?”

I laugh at that. Vampires are famous for our orgies.

“No, I don’t think so,” I manage. “Between you and me, I haven’t attended an orgy in centuries.”

Catherine huffs out a wry laugh, tossing beautiful gray waves over her shoulder. “Sounds like we’re both out of dating practice.”

But there’s something different about her that I’ve been noticing tonight. An extra sensuality I haven’t seen from my succubus friend in decades.

“Oh.” I laugh and point an accusatory finger in her direction. “You’ve identified a partner, haven’t you? You’re exuding pheromones, Catherine.”

Her lips pull into a devious smile. “Perhaps I have, after all this time.”

“And?” I cross my arms, fully expecting to be told the entire story about this new development. “Who’s the lucky bastard?”

She beams. “The last monster on earth you’d think. I’ve just started my pursuit, but I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes.” She clinks her cocktail glass gently against mine. “To new adventures, Betmal.” Her expression goes wry. “You didn’t answer my question, by the way.”

“Santé,” I say pleasantly, falling into the French mother tongue. Of all the languages I’ve learned to speak over the thousands of years I’ve been alive, French is my favorite. “Another time, old friend.”

She cocks her head sideways and smirks, but takes another sip and does not press the issue.

Eventually I take leave of Catherine and walk, lost in thought, back to my new house. When I arrive, she swings the front doors wide, revealing candles lit all the way through the main hall toward the kitchen in the back.

“Lovely girl, thank you.” I stride through, setting my bag down on the kitchen countertop. “So,” I begin, withdrawing my notebook. “I’ve got quite a few ideas for the workshop out back. Shall we look through them together? I’d like your opinion.”

A loud groan of the pipes overhead tells me yes.

“Most excellent.” With a smile, I walk to the fridge and withdraw one of the blood bags Abemet so thoughtfully imported for me. Slicing the top open, I pour the donated blood into a crystal goblet. That done, I return to the island and take a seat, bringing the cup to my nose. I swirl it in the glass.

Ah, minotaur blood. A male, based on the pheromone-rich tang that underlays the scent. Minotaurs are regular givers of blood. The money’s good, and they’re so big, they can give more than many smaller monsters. Minotaur blood is my dinner at least three or four nights out of the week. Not that I need to even eat that regularly, at my age, but I enjoy it. And I figure if I’ve denied myself bedroom play with a partner for as long as I have, I deserve good food.

Still, donated blood doesn’t hold a candle to the intense and all-consuming pleasure of drinking directly from a willing partner.

Amatheia’s face flashes into my mind, those wide, beautiful eyes. Her plump lips. I’d like to taste them, to nibble my way playfully down her neck and make her squirm. Then I’d strike and bring her ecstasy while drinking from her vein. I’ll bet she tastes of the sea, pure, blissful inky water and tangy salt. My second eyelid flashes over my eyes, coating the world in a whitewashed haze as my lust runs high.

I card my hands through my hair, brushing back the stray strand that loves to fall out of place. I haven’t been interested in a monster romantically in a very long time. This is new for me. Unbidden and unexpected, but delicious.

Am I thinking of pursuing something for the first time in thousands of years? Will she even be interested, given everything that’s gone on in her life of late? Will she even consider me, given what Catherine shared about the merfolk?

I’ll need to tread carefully because the circumstances surrounding her are going to present a challenge. But she’s the right person for the job I’m considering creating, and if she accepts, it’ll give me a chance to get to know her a little better. I’ve known other merfolk in the past, and they haven’t all been as unpleasant as Caralorn sounds.

The house creaks and groans, expressing her displeasure that we haven’t gotten started. With a quick apology, I take a sip of my dinner and open the notebook to the first page. Immediately, the house lets out a hideous clank of the pipes below my feet.

“Okay, that’s a no,” I murmur, grabbing my pencil to slash across the drawing.

Ten minutes later, we’ve been through the entire notebook, and it’s clear my home has distinct preferences. Of everything I drew, her favorite options are a secondary cottage in the backyard with a loft for my office, and a backyard that’s just one giant pool.

Obviously, I need a workspace, though, so I resolve to expand on the backyard cottage idea.

Next, I lift the watch at my wrist, directing it to call Abemet. He answers immediately, “Father, is everything alright?”

I wave away his worry even though he can’t see me. “Fine, darling. I’ve got an idea I want to work on, but I thought I’d get your take on it.” I take a few minutes to outline the project that formed in my mind over the last few hours—reworking the haven welcome packets.

By the time I’m done explaining what I’d like to do, Abemet is fully on board.

Morgan chimes in, having apparently overheard our conversation. “Yes, please, Betmal! The welcome packets are so dry, and when we came here, it turned out we were missing like, half of the pages. Being human and discovering a hidden monster town for the first time, it was…hard. I mean, it was helpful, but there’s room for improvement, to be sure.”

“Exactly!” Her excitement tells me I’m on the right path. “I’d like to hire a painter to do some haven-specific artwork and then bind everything into a beautiful coffee table-style book. Almost a collectible, if you will. Something to truly highlight each haven’s beauty and characteristics. They’re each so different.”

“Don’t I know it,” Morgan mutters. “That sounds like quite the project. You’re an artist yourself, aren’t you?”

Oh, I am. But when it comes to the artwork for my new project, I know exactly who I want to hire.