Page 5 of Making Out With Mermaids (Haven Ever After #6)

CHAPTER FIVE

BETMAL

“P erfect, darling,” I tell the house as I light the final candles in the kitchen. She’s set the light low. It could almost be considered romantic, although I haven’t put out nearly enough candles for true romance. Tonight’s dinner with Amatheia is about convincing her to work with me on this project. Secondary to that, I’d like her to get to know me. And I’d like to get to know her.

A scent hasn’t intoxicated me like hers in more than a thousand years. Not even my mates’ scents.

That’s something. It means something. And I’ve learned over my long life to listen to my instinct.

Just then, the front doors swing wide. When I twitch an ear to listen, soft breathing reaches me.

She can’t be here yet. I was planning to meet her at the lake and fly her here. It’s a long walk, and it can’t possibly be comfortable with her leg.

Horrified, I stalk to the front of the house. And there she is, standing in the doorway, gripping the frame with a trembling hand. The muscles of her partial leg twitch and shudder, but she forces a bright smile.

“You’re early,” I manage, swooping to the door and resisting the urge to cradle her in my arms, carry her to the kitchen, and feed her grapes from my hand.

She blanches a little. “Thalassa below, I hope that’s okay. I wasn’t sure how long it would take me to walk.”

“Gods no,” I offer by way of apology. “I planned to pick you up shortly, there was no need to bring yourself.”

She waves my apology away, but she looks tense and tired at the same time.

I reach a hand out, opening my palm. “May I carry you into the kitchen?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine. Lead the way, please.”

Stepping aside, I offer my arm instead. “I must insist on you taking my arm, at the very least.”

She slides her hand around my elbow, resting it on my forearm. I rolled my sleeves up a little while ago, and the feel of her cool, textured skin on mine has my fangs throbbing.

Walking slowly to the kitchen, I give her a quick tour of the entryway and the formal dining room. She stares wide-eyed at everything, seeming enraptured by the house. The house herself shimmies and shakes with excitement, pushing a bar stool out for Amatheia when we reach the kitchen. I settle her onto it, then clasp my hands together.

“Can I get you a drink?”

She nods. “Surprise me? I don’t drink terribly often, but something tells me you know your way around a bar.”

Laughing, I agree. “I’m thousands of years old, ma siréne, I’ve made a drink or two.”

She winks at me. “You don’t look a day over forty-five.”

Ah, there’s a playful woman there under her initial reticence. Good. I love playful banter.

She stares for a moment longer. “What does ma siréne mean?”

I smile as I work up a gin and tonic.

“Mermaid, in French.” That’s not entirely true as it’s a possessive version of the word, but we don’t have to get into that now.

When I slide it over the concrete island, she takes it with an appreciative sniff. Does she know the wavy tips of her ears twitch and move when she bends to take a sip? I’m entranced, watching her delicate features as she samples the drink with a happy little sigh.

“It’s excellent,” she murmurs, dark aqua eyes flashing to me.

“Good.” I lean over the bar, well aware that I left my shirt open to the waist once again, hoping to draw her attention. On cue, she drops those fascinating eyes to my chest, her gaze roaming my upper body and down my arms.

Everything about the way I dressed tonight is designed to attract her without being overtly sexual. Before my mates and I grew apart, I was the romantic one. I was the one to spend days seducing them before we made love. I adore the long, playful tease and build of seduction. True seduction starts before you ever touch the other person.

She brings her focus back to my face, her pale cheeks blushing a darker shade of blue. “I work at the bar in the merkingdom, so I’ve made a fair few cocktails myself.”

I grin. “Oh? And do you make them differently?”

She takes another sip and tilts her head to one side, seeming to consider the answer. Finally, she levels me with a serious look. “I garnish mine with seaweed.”

Roaring out a laugh, I straighten and plant my palms on the countertop. “Naturally, Amatheia. Up here, lemon is more common.”

She returns the smile, though hers is softer. “I’ve managed to take a few cocktail recipe books from the historical society. It’s fascinating to me what twists surface dwellers put on the same drinks. Although, we’ve also got a host of wildly different drinks based on the plants we grow at home.”

I gesture to a saucepan on the stove. “Speaking of differences, since you mentioned being an adventurous eater, I started a chicken piccata with garlic mashed potatoes. Is that alright?”

Her smile grows broad, and she leans over the countertop, eyeing the bubbling pan on the stove. “Smells delicious. But…forgive me if this is a rude question. Don’t you, you know…” Her voice trails off, and she points to her neck.

“Drink blood?” My nostrils flare, and I round the island, putting a finger under her chin. I make a show of perusing her throat as if I’m looking for the perfect spot. She freezes, but her lips tip into a smile. She’s unafraid.

“Yes, ma siréne,” I murmur. “If that were on the table, I’d accept the gift of your blood. But given we’re here to discuss a business proposition, perhaps we’d better stick to business?”

The edges of her smile tip farther upward. “I wasn’t offering, Betmal.”

“Good.” I drop my hold on her chin and return to the pot. “Just as well. If the bloodletting begins, I will find it difficult to concentrate, and I’m anxious to discuss this project with you.”

She returns to her drink as I plate dinner and bring it to the already set dining table. Dozens of candles placed haphazardly down the center of its surface lend a romantic feel, but I left the overhead lights on low to keep it from feeling too over the top.

“Your home is beautiful,” she says softly, hobbling off the stool and joining me.

Smiling, I round the end and pull a chair out for her, offering my hand.

She takes it and grips my fingers carefully as she lowers into the seat. It’s easy to see she’s trying to do it gracefully, but her leg buckles, and she falls the last few inches, landing with a hard thud.

“Are you alright, ma siréne?” I grab a puffy pillow from the side table and drop to my knee, carefully grabbing her ankle to rest her foot on it. She stiffens when I touch her, but I’m making a wild guess that she’ll allow me to. And she does.

Her skin is cool to the touch, even by vampire standards. Just like before, she smells of the sea, of depthless wonders and inky blue deep. I resist the urge to bring her foot—and adorable toes—to my lips to nip and play.

Releasing her ankle, I rise and reach for a plate, setting it in front of her. “Please eat before it’s cold.” Pulling my chair close to the one she selected, I grab my fork and knife and lay my napkin over my lap. I don’t need food like this, but I can enjoy a well-cooked meal.

Amatheia picks up her utensils and cuts the chicken. She eats the first bite with gusto, an appreciative hum rumbling softly from her delicate throat.

“So,” I scoot my chair back enough to cross one leg over the other, “have you had occasion to see the Ever welcome packet? Or the welcome packet for any haven in our system?”

She shakes her head. “We moved here from outside the system, and I vaguely remember Abemet offering us packets when we arrived.” Her lips curve downward. “Unfortunately, they weren’t waterproof.”

I frown. “That’s unfortunate. I wondered why your uncle chose to bring your clan to Ever. Lake living isn’t typical for mer, in my experience.”

She sighs. “No, it’s not. We have to do a lot of things to the lake to make it livable like an ocean location would be. I was born in the sea, but the open ocean is a dangerous place, and my family…” her voice trails off. “We were attacked, and…”

I shift forward, on the edge of my seat.

She squirms in her chair, picking at her napkin. “Another clan attacked us while my mother and father were playing chase with me around our Sea Julienne fields. We escaped, but they wounded my parents, and a school of sharks…umm. Well, they didn’t survive, and I lost my fin, as you can see.”

Grief strikes me to the core for her loss. “I’m sorry to have asked,” I offer. “Are you an only child, then?”

She frowns. “Yes. Caralorn took me in when they died, so I’ve got six cousins. We’re all a year or so apart. After the attack, he brought us all here. It was Mother’s dying wish, despite merfolk not being all that suited to haven living. Caralorn found us just after the attack, and she begged him to take me somewhere safer. So, basically, he uprooted the entire clan for me.”

She sounds devastated .

I reach out to place my hand over hers. “I’ve heard he’s a bit prickly.”

A fake smile comes to her face. “He hates me for their deaths and having to spend my once substantial dowry to bring us here. But truthfully, he can’t hate me any more than I hate myself for wandering off and putting us in that position.” She hisses in a breath, dark eyes widening. “Thalassa below, that was an awful lot to unload during a business meeting. Right up front, too.”

She moves her hand from beneath mine, spearing a piece of chicken. It’s clear she wants to move on. But one day, we are going to revisit this topic of self-loathing because, while I understand it, it’s clear she doesn’t see herself as the victim in that story.

“Family can be a blessing.” I attempt to offer an understanding smile. “Or sometimes a curse, depending. I’m very close with my son and his mate, but gods know I ignore my extended family as much as possible.”

“So you don’t travel the world to visit them?” Her lips quirk upward into a soft smile.

“Not when I can avoid it,” I say with a laugh. “The benefit to being quite old is that I’m rarely expected to.” I glance at the table and the welcome packet sitting there. “Actually, that brings me back to the welcome packet. I have the advantage of centuries dealing with the haven system, but as the system grows, it’s become more common for monsters and humans from the outside world to become residents.”

I grab an envelope from the chair next to mine and slide it toward her. “Whenever a haven receives a new resident, it’s customary to give them a welcome packet that’s been approved by Hearth HQ. Each packet is customized to the haven and includes information on the layout and amenities, etcetera. For any non-monster residents, there’s a secondary version on monster traditions that can be useful if they’re new to our world.”

Amatheia takes the envelope and opens it, pulling out the loose sheets that make up a sample welcome packet for Ever.

Sighing, I gesture at the pages. “What you have there is both the monster and human version of the packets. To me, the packet is an opportunity to impress new residents, but our current offering is short and direct and often missing pages. For example,” I lean in a bit closer to her, “when my daughter-in-law received hers, nearly half the packet was forgotten, and it led to unnecessary confusion as she navigated a world she previously knew nothing about.” I smile at her. “And, as you mentioned, the packets are obviously not waterproof, which is something we should be considering.”

Amatheia flips through the pages, eyes eating up the small-print text. She frowns and glances at me. “The information seems useful, though, doesn’t it?”

I shrug. “Assuming you get it all. But, yes, the information contained therein has its uses, but it’s my intention to revamp the welcome packets into coffee table-style books. I’d like them to be beautiful, to highlight the unique charms of each haven. In short, I’d like them to be collectible, something new residents can be proud of.”

I glance at my plate, then back at my guest. “This is the type of project my former colleagues never prioritized. In their minds, other efforts had greater importance. But I believe there is only one chance for a first impression.”

Amatheia sets the pages down and takes another bite of chicken, chewing slowly. After a moment, she smiles over at me. “And how do I fit into this beautiful new collectible book idea?”

“Well,” I say, “I need art. A lot of art. Sketches and paintings, and they need to be cohesive throughout each book. Then I’ll need books for every haven, all fifty-something-plus of them.”

“Depths below,” she murmurs, looking thoughtful. “That sounds like quite the undertaking.”

I’m certain she’s thinking it sounds daunting, and I mean to reassure her.

Reaching over, I pat the back of her hand softly. “I’d like to start with Ever and gauge the project’s success. Hearth HQ never wanted to spend the time and money to do this, but I can’t imagine them objecting to me doing this on my own dime.”

She looks carefully at me. “And do you know these leaders? What happens if they don’t agree to pursue your project?”

I debate how much to get into this with her now, opting for the simplest version of the truth. “The vampire who leads Hearth HQ and her husband are my former mates.” I level Amatheia with a serious look. “We separated, but they will give me this, if I demand it. Which I plan to do.”

“Uh-huh.” She looks skeptical, taking another bite of her food. I want to reassure her that this project is happening because I will it to be so. But I sense she needs a moment to absorb what I shared.

After a moment, she looks up at me, the tips of her ears twitching slightly. “Is there a chance this project won’t see the light of day?”

“None at all,” I promise. “I have quite a few tricks up my sleeve to ensure they sign off on it. There is not a single doubt in my mind that it will be rubber-stamped when I request it.”

She takes another delicate bite of chicken, chewing slowly as her eyes rove over the pages laid out on the table. Setting her fork down, she gathers up the papers and tucks them back into the manila envelope. “I shouldn’t do this, but I’ll admit to being intrigued.”

I lean back in my chair, lifting my chin as I stare at her, wondering how long she’ll hold the gaze. She does for a moment, then looks away at the envelope, setting it carefully down in the center of the table.

I chuckle. “Sometimes, the worst ideas have the most pleasurable outcomes, Amatheia. Don’t you think?” I swirl my drink in the glass as she looks up at me, the aqua shade of her cheeks darkening.

“I wouldn’t know, Betmal. Why don’t you share a little more, and I’ll decide if your bad ideas have merit or not.” Her lips curl into a smile as she picks up the fork and spears another bite of green bean.

Laughing again, I take a sip of my drink.

She’s hooked. Good.