Page 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

BLAIR OPENED his eyes and blinked. Staring up at the ceiling, he yawned. Lying out by the pool sapped him more than he thought. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he sat up. Man, he’d slept hard. He glanced out the window of his room at the ocean. The first glimpse of the water snapped him awake… water.

Ocean.

Shit.

And somewhere out there was a merman who considered him his mate. If that didn’t get the old blood pumping, he didn’t know what would. He sat in bed staring out at the beautiful blue water replaying yet again everything Brett told him. He found Marcus endlessly fascinating, and there was no doubt he was attracted. Very much so.

But…

Yeah, but. From what Brett told him, this was no fling. No vacation spent fucking a hot guy. According to Brett, Marcus considered him his mate. And after listening to what Brett explained a mate was, Blair didn’t know what to do.

He’d never thought about settling down, but to be fair, that was mostly because he worried more about being used for his money than most people did. Of course, in this instance, that didn’t seem to be a concern. What was concerning was, physically speaking, he’d be changed if he pursued this.

He didn’t know what those changes were yet, but from what Brett said, he would no longer be human. It made sense once he thought about it. Brett’s mate belonged to the water, so he needed a way to be able to do that… like ability to breathe underwater.

The longer he sat there, and the more he thought about that, the more fascinated he became. How cool would it be to have the ability to breathe underwater? To explore the ocean? Did it scare him? He picked at the sheet covering him. Of course it did. That was part of the thrill.

That was why he spent years in Africa, why he paraglided in Interlaken, Switzerland. Why he waded in Devil’s Pool at Victoria Falls in Livingstone, Africa. Why he hiked the Most Dangerous Trail in the World on Mount Huashan, China. He was an adrenaline junkie, plus he had the money to indulge his need. Now he had the opportunity to literally ride the tide.

He glanced back at the ocean beyond his window. Which was cool and all, but what did he really know about these people? Brett warned him mating was a serious deal. And pretty final, too. Did he want to be mated?

Brett described it as a marriage, only more. He had the distinct impression that meant no divorce. What if after the lust burnt off they couldn’t stand each other? Were they stuck? He didn’t see them being okay with him leaving once he became part of their group, or like them… or whatever the hell the correct word was.

Could the mers force him to stay? He was pretty sure that jaguar shifter intended to do that. But somehow, he didn’t see Marcus doing something similar. He didn’t give off that kind of vibe. But what did he know? Nothing.

That was the point.

Blair bit his lip. Even though he was rich, he wasn’t well known. If he disappeared who would care? His parents were gone, and he didn’t have siblings. Wasn’t there an old saying about how the ocean didn’t give up its dead?

For the first time since he met Marcus the adrenaline pumping through his body left his stomach twisting uneasily and his heart pounding in an obnoxious way. Oh God, what if Marcus forced him? A cold chill raced over his body, and he shuddered.

What if Marcus changed him without asking? He hadn’t thought of that. How strong were they anyhow? Shit, shit, shit. Suddenly he was hot… burning up. A headache came out of nowhere and slammed into his left temple. Great. Helplessly, he rubbed the spot.

Was he totally overreacting?

He could run. Would they try to stop him? He could leave all his shit here, walk out of the resort, and be on a plane in next to no time. Brett had money—a hell of a lot more than he did, most likely—but Blair was by no means poor.

Fight or flight? Run or stay? Shit or get off the pot? The last one made him snort hysterically, but it was appropriate. Did he trust his gut—which was saying Marcus was not a threat? Or his head—which was screaming bloody murder at him to leave.

He didn’t know, and that was part of the problem. The logical side of his brain said talk to Marcus. He hadn’t done anything to deserve the things Blair was contributing to him—things he hadn’t even done yet and might never do.

Besides that, Marcus did help him last night. He didn’t have to do that, and Blair was sure the attack wasn’t a setup. But then again he had wondered if that guy was playing him in an effort to get his billfold.

What if the whole damn deal was a scam? Something done so Marcus could get a hold of him? And there was no way to know for certain he wasn’t being played or that the mers didn’t have humans helping them. Brett was human at one time.

“Oh, fuck me.” Elbows resting on his knees, he buried his head in his hands. “What do I do?”

He checked his cell phone. There were still a couple of hours before they were supposed to meet. His stomach rolled uneasily. He needed to think about this, seriously think about this. Holy shit, this would change everything he knew, everything he was. This was beyond serious and, dare he say it, life-changing… and he couldn’t think here.

Chaotic thoughts bounced around in his head. He felt safe, but he didn’t. He didn’t think anything bad would happen to him, but he wasn’t sure. Marcus hadn’t threatened him in any way, and honestly, neither had Brett… but still.

What did he really know besides what they told him? He could Google Brett but what he found on the Internet would only be the basics. It wouldn’t give him insight into the man. They both seemed nice, but some the most prolific killers in history were charismatic too. And Jesus, wasn’t that a lovely thought on top of everything else?

He needed to think about this. He glanced around his nice hotel room… a room which belonged to Brett. The owner of the resort. The very same person who made it very clear he considered these people his family.

“Shit.” The struggle not to panic finally was lost.

Brett hopped off the bed, grabbed a pair of khaki shorts, and pulled them on. He yanked a shirt out of the closet, not really paying attention to what it was, and threw it on. He pushed his feet into his sandals, picked his billfold off the counter, and crammed his cell phone into his pocket.

Fuck, he was panting. A quick glance in the mirror showed that he was flush and sweaty. He looked panicky or like someone who was up to no good. He took a deep breath, then another one. Running a hand through his hair, he rushed into the bathroom. Quickly he brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face. He needed to get out of there, but he needed to calm his ass down, too.

Five minutes later, he left his room. Not long after that he was walking out of resort. He did his dead level best to appear normal as possible, but that was asking a lot considering he couldn’t grab onto one thought longer than a few seconds.

Thank all that was holy he didn’t run into Brett. Part of him urged him to run, push people out of the way, and grab the first taxi he saw. Another part was shrieking that he was making a huge mistake.

He hailed a cab, got in, and asked to be taken to the airport.

A COUPLE hours later, he sat in a comfortable leather chair staring out a window. The ocean was picturesque, a beautiful sight he normally would’ve enjoyed as the jet steadily climbed higher. Not this time, though.

He sighed. Money talked, as he saw yet again. Once he had arrived at the airport, a few discreet inquiries, along with verification he had money, managed to net him a privately-owned jet to fly him out of there. It hadn’t taken long, all things considered.

But he still was on pins and needles until he finally strapped in and they took off. Only… now that he was on his way home, he assumed the crushing weight in his chest would ease up. It hadn’t.

Panic still flitted through his system, and he wasn’t sure why. He was safe. No one—or no thing —had tried to stop him. Guards hadn’t rushed him at the airport, whistles hadn’t blown shrilly, no one had asked him to step into a sequestered back room.

No muss, no fuss. He didn’t know what he had expected, but simply walking out the resort, getting on a plane, and leaving hadn’t been it. Never would he have dreamed it would be quite that easy. He rubbed his chest aimlessly.

Did that mean he overreacted? He glanced back out the window. Now all he could see was clouds. Thank goodness the small crew attached to the privately owned jet didn’t bother him. Which was fine. He wanted to be alone.

The last thing he wanted was to talk to people. Wasn’t that why he ran? So he could think? Well, considering how long it took to get from the Seychelle islands to where he was going, he’d have plenty of time to do nothing but fucking think.

He debated returning to his beachside home in California, but decided not to. Frankly, the ocean was a little too close for his peace of mind right now, so he went in the opposite direction. He owned an apartment in New York City—nothing grand, but nice.

He planned to stay there until he got his head on straight. Whenever that came about. Closing his eyes, he leaned the chair back. He was fidgety but also exhausted. As he drifted off to sleep yet again he remembered the conversation with Brett. Was it just earlier that day?

Hadn’t he been the one to reassure Brett he wasn’t going to have a meltdown? Wasn’t he the one who said he wasn’t going to run around screaming and hollering, freaking out? No, all he’d done was get on a plane and hightail it out of there.

So much for not panicking.