Page 58 of Sea of Evil and Desire (The Deep Saga #1)

Manannán

I lounged across the stone couch in my fortress beneath the waves, idly flicking my opalescent tail. The ocean’s hush surrounded me as I drifted through memories—of the past, the nothingness I once was, and how I had clawed my way into this new Mer form.

Taranis had tried to fight against my consumption of his being when Abalone was alive, but he was an easy target once King Neptūnus killed her. I laughed out loud at how it all worked out—it only took thousands of years.

I surveyed myself in the gilded mirror set into the stone wall. I liked what I saw: the high cheekbones, the sandy hair and dark features, and of course, the red irises. They were my touch.

I had to admit I missed Taranis. It had been fun being there with him when he made love to Abalone. It was desperate and passionate—the type of lovemaking that comes from knowing you can never be together.

He couldn’t block me out at the height of his passion, so I’d go along for the ride. I smirked at the memory. I used to run my hands through Abalone’s fuchsia hair and cup her green-tinged breasts alongside him. All the while, I thought of another . . . Siana.

Siana, it had always been you, and I’d had thousands of years to miss you. Now you were here again. I’d seen you at Samhain when the veils between worlds parted, and I could walk upon the land. I could feel you in her—the one they called Morgana.

My shadow latched onto Taranis when he visited a cave in Orkney. It was cut out of the cliff face, just under the sea. There, I had laid for centuries, a shadow of despair, barely a whisper. I had chosen those waters to mourn you because that’s where your people were from.

Taranis must have come there to learn about you, hoping to end the curse your death created by finding the rest of the prophecy. When he entered the cave, he was but a boy, dispatched on endless quests at the king’s behest. Forever fated to be a half-prince, never to ascend as king.

I made Taranis a man when he returned to the Kingdom of Neptūnus with my shadow. I sensed how he pined for Abalone, and I showed him how to woo her. Without me, without my ancient strength coursing through him, they might never have fallen in love.

I ran a hand through my pale hair and watched the muscles in my bicep bulge in the mirror. I had grown rather fond of the tattoo inscribed upon this body’s chest: Amor perdot nos. Love will destroy us. Fitting.

I moved away from the mirror, and the scales of my white tail glimmered in the glow of the blown-glass bulbs lighting the cavern.

There was a knock on the door, and a mumbled, “Dinner is ready, my lord.”

My lord, they call me—Lord of the Drowned.

I made my way down the hallway to the dining room, gilded paintings hung here and there as if trying to hide the trickling sediment drips that found their way down every wall in this fortress. They shimmered like obsidian under the lamps hanging at intervals in the passage. I had the Drowned start on this place when my necromancy returned.

As I passed, I straightened the edge of an opulent frame. Water lilies. A Monet. The Drowned had decked the castle out in all of their finest loot.

The glow from the dining hall leaked into the path before me, and that feeling overcame me—the one I always got in this grand room, at this huge table. Loneliness.

The table stretched before me, its dark wood gleaming under the flickering of five elaborate candle holders. Each one was crafted from gold, twisted into the shapes of sea serpents, their mouths open to hold the candles. The flames—a gift from the Neptūnus lightning powers I’d retained from Taranis—danced subtly, battling the ever-present current that swept through the cavern.

Behind the table, an enormous oil painting hung—Mer and sea beasts in a swirling ocean storm, waves crashing and lightning striking, frozen in time. The figures’ eyes seemed to follow my movement within the cave. Their presence afforded me some small comfort, making me feel less alone.

The Drowned cooks had outdone themselves as usual. Dishes had been carefully laid out—pots of urchin stew, plates of kelp salad, and a shell filled with carved fish slices. This body required sustenance, so I asked my staff to replicate the Mer’s diet.

I slid into the velvet-backed chair at the head of the table, my tail curling down and looping around one side. Plucking a goblet from among the golden utensils laid out for me, I brought it to my lips. Ah, the rum was so sweet . . . I’d missed this amber elixir. After all, I’d been the first to concoct this spiced fusion for my Drowned to savor.

I settled back into my chair, thinking of Taranis again, of the moment he had lost all his humanity and surrendered himself to me. He’d left the Kingdom of Neptūnus on the day of Abalone’s wedding to the king, taking my shadow with him. When we returned some fifty years later, Abalone met us in the gardens. She fell into our arms among the curated corals. They were spawning, and their colorful flakes danced around our bodies as we held one another.

But that insidious herald had followed us, hastening back to King Neptūnus, who stormed into the garden and found us in each other’s arms. Lightning fire filled his eyes, and he held Taranis behind a shield of pure heat, forcing him to watch as he slit Abalone’s throat. Her blood shimmered in the water around us, mingling with the colors of the coral spawn. Sex and death intertwined, as they often do. It was rather a pity . . . for I did enjoy fucking her.

To my great delight, King Neptūnus spared his brother’s life. He wished for him to endure the weight of his loss for all eternity. It was then that Taranis relinquished his humanity to me.

I toyed with my goblet. Yes . . . what luck. Now he was gone, but I had his body, his humanity.

After this, King Neptūnus weakened. He began descending into the madness I hear plagues him now. I laughed out loud. No one could handle death, the toll it took—no one but me.

Ah, the irony of it all: the gods created their worst enemy when they made me. They never foresaw my rise to such power, nor expected their beloved Siana to fall for me.

I stiffened, knocking my knife onto the stone floor with a clatter. Siana, had I just heard the soft echo of your voice?

I looked over my shoulder, but no one was there. I scanned the room, and it was empty. I was alone with my dinner. What was it about this place that consumed me with thoughts of you?

One of my Drowned-serving men bowed his head as he entered. “My Lord, can I get you anything?”

My hands were shaking, my heart—Taranis’s heart—hammering at my chest.

“Get out!” I roared the words, and the serving man hurried away.

I was alone again, with my trembling hands, that fucking monstrosity of a painting, and my memories—memories that I had pushed away for thousands of years.

Siana . . . They say it was you who shattered my storm wheel, who reduced my men to dust. A low chuckle escaped me. Perhaps now, you and I are not so different after all.

You made me a better man, but destruction was how I showed my passion. Only you knew that, didn’t you? You fell in love with death.

Darkness curled around me as I thought the words, and I threw back my head and laughed.