A Mermaid s Kiss

by Joey W. Hill

  His hand slid up, his thumb finding her nipple and making her moan softly. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to focus. Goddess, it was as if he hadn't sated his lust in eons. What was it about her? Rationally, he knew it could be something the witch had done. But his heart knew differently, for an angel's heart knew truth.

  "I'm off balance, because despite all that, I'm enthralled by the way your hair lies on your shoulders, how anger flashes in your eyes like heat lightning. The flush of your cheeks, the way your nipples have hardened against that thin shirt just from my barest touch." He folded his hand around her throat and cheek, tucked her head under his chin, and let sensuality give way to comfort.

  When Anna let out a resigned sigh, coiled her arms around his upper body, he felt that curious relief again. "I'm angry, because in the midst of all these things, I want you. So I strike out at your desire for me, so new and clean. It's beautiful, Anna, a miraculous gift to any male you choose to bestow it upon." Though Jonah was damn glad it was him, for he couldn't tolerate the thought of anyone else. "I have become a coldhearted bastard, if I'll strike out at something that is pure goodness."

  Picking up one of her hands, he ran his thumb over her fair skin, where bruises from his fingerprints were starting to show. "Perhaps my soul is more of their blood now than my own," he said quietly. When she made a startled noise of protest, he pressed his jaw down on her head, kept her where she was. "It doesn't matter, little one. I'd rather go down with them than watch my soul disintegrate a piece at a time. Faith, the first time I've felt anything in so long is in your arms."

  She was silent a moment, and then, amazingly gratified, he felt her arm tighten around him in reassurance. "I'm far from perfect, my lord. I have a bad temper. You might have noticed."

  "I'm sure I haven't." He bit back a smile, tipped her chin again, gave her an even look. "Now, hear me. I'm used to commanding thousands of angels. I answer only to Michael and the Lady Herself. I'm a little bit out of my element, and these clothes chafe. Given all that, do you think, little general, that you could give me one night in your enchanted cottage to think this all through and let me make the decision of whether this journey should be taken?"

  When she bit her lip, he shook his head. "It is my right to choose my destiny." As an afterthought, he added, "She's very resourceful, your witch. I'm sure she'll be fine."

  Anna closed her eyes. "Don't be kind right now. You know you don't care about her."

  "Maybe. But the fact that you do matters."

  When she laid her head back down on his chest and nodded her acceptance of that, of all of it, Jonah sighed. It had been decades, maybe longer, since anyone had defied him over anything. And yet in barely a blink of time, less than a day, she'd developed a habit of it. It goaded something in him, arousing him, igniting him. Making things feel alive that he'd forgotten. Things that made him bend his head, kiss the side of her vulnerable neck. As he felt the little shiver go through her body, he ran his hand possessively down her back, feeling the shape of her.

  "Show me your cottage," he commanded quietly.

  Eight

  EACH generation of the daughters of Arianne added touches that made the cottage her own. For that reason, Anna waited just inside the door, feeling nervous as Jonah stood in the center of the living area and turned slowly, examining everything.

  It was not large. Sea creatures were not indoor dwellers. Her needs were small. A simple, quiet space to help her blend when she was human, give her privacy and the sense of something that belonged to her. Neptune could not offer her what her heart most desired, what would nurture her soul, but his was the greatest kindness that had ever been done for her by her own people.

  She'd been here less than a few days ago, so the latest wildflowers she'd collected inland on the roadside were still blooming. From her very first forays into the human world, she'd been enchanted with the many shapes and colors in which they came. Purple, white, gold, red. Shades of lavender, light pink, dark pink . . . An unbroken trio of dandelions, their soft white spheres waiting for the touch of the wind to make more of them.

  The flowers had comforted her, this obvious connection between her two worlds. So many varieties of underwater flowers lived among meadows of sea grass, stroked to life by the currents. And they had a mirror in the earth element, where flowers grew wild among long golden grass caressed by the wind.

  Eventually she would take the dandelions to the door, purse her lips and gently blow, releasing them. When she stepped into this cottage, it was stasis, a fixed point in the universe. Stepping out, life in all its cycles, below the sea or upon the land, resumed again.

  Because the hodgepodge of things she found in shipwrecks had likewise always fascinated her, perhaps it was natural that the myriad vases in which the wildflowers were placed had come from her intrigued prowlings of yard sales and junk shops. Things were quieter there, and people easier to be around, gliding like relaxed fish among a coral reef of unlikely treasures. In some of the vases, among the flowers, she'd inserted utensils she'd found. Everything from ornate scrollwork to flat, simple beaten spoons.

  She didn't know the names of the styles. She could have gotten a book, studied them, but she was sated by simple absorption with the human need to create.

  "This place is protected," Jonah noted at last, telling her that at least some of his magical training and abilities had not been affected by his transformation.

  She nodded. "King Neptune reinforced it with cloaking spells and protections so that no one can approach unnoticed or penetrate the field with harm in mind. He's also woven an invisibility spell, so that those who detect magic won't detect anything out of the ordinary about the cottage unless they're inside the house itself. Which means they have to be let in, and therefore can't be anyone intending harm."

  "Complicated. Not easy to do."

  "No." She shook her head, moved to stand behind the sofa. The small living area in which he stood was open to the kitchen. A stairwell led to a balcony and a loft bedroom with a circular skylight so she could watch the stars. She could see the ocean out of the front panel of windows, and there was a small deck, a fountain into which she put her feet while sitting out there. That had been one of her improvements, so she could feel the water on her skin even though the ocean lay only about fifty yards away at high tide.

  Regardless of what other improvements each daughter of Arianne made, each one also added to the artwork along the unbroken back wall underneath the balcony. Like the men's clothing, there were so many traditions about the cottage hard to explain to anyone. Odd tributes to Arianne, things done because the women had no other family traditions, no permanent ties into any community. Their tenuous link to one another, mother to daughter through the generations, was therefore vitally important.

  But as his gaze traveled the wall, noting the pictures, Anna felt the need to try to explain. Maybe because she wanted to tell someone who might just want to listen.

  "Each daughter chooses a picture for the wall, something she feels belongs there. No other specification, just that indefinable feeling."

  It had been started by the first inhabitant of the cottage, the true daughter of Arianne. A postcard, set in a large frame against a white matting, a small picture in a blank void. It was a snapshot, the stone statue of her mother, gazing with suffering, blank eyes toward the port that had held her dream.

  "One person's tragedy and heartbreak becomes another's tourist attraction," he murmured. Jonah's gaze shifted down the row, past several other contributions, and then stopped on the picture Anna's mother had left.

  A black box on a stale gray background. Defined, never changing. A prison. Anna hated looking at it. She'd often wished the compulsions that dictated so much of what happened or was done in this cottage were not so strong in her, so she could find the courage to pull it off the wall, throw it into the sea.

  Then his attention shifted to the final picture. She'd found it in the back of a dusty antique shop, a painting don
e by an artist who'd never found fame, but had adapted a Romanticist style to come up with a different interpretation of the Little Mermaid's story. The mermaid was still in stone, but her prince had come. He stood in the water up to his thighs, his white horse just behind him. He was touching her face, and as he did so, the stone was melting. The picture showed the gray granite of her arm melting away as the pale white flesh and fingers lifted, reaching for him.

  Jonah had moved closer and now he turned, his fingers on the bottom of the frame. "If these are in order, this one is yours. Is this your heart's desire, Anna?"

  Perceptive as he was, she shouldn't be surprised he understood more about the pictures than he should. One to remind them of the consequences of love. One recommending that hope for love--for anything--be abandoned. One refusing to do so. She looked at the picture, but more than that, she looked at his hand, the curve of his fingers, the bones of his wrist, the light covering of dark hair on his forearms, calling to mind instantly the way it felt to be in the span of his arms, the firm biceps pressing into her back.

  His initial anger over his human transformation seemed to have ebbed, for now. Still, she knew she should be cautious with him. Unfortunately, that didn't seem possible for her. Mortal, he did not have the otherworldly beauty he had as an angel, but he was still a breathtaking male figure. The energy of him reached to all corners of the room, washing over her, making her want to close her eyes and just absorb him, take him in through all her senses, even as she wanted to keep looking. Those jeans . . . while she wouldn't say they were an improvement over the brevity of the battle skirt, which revealed so much of him, they were still not hard on the eyes, the way they fit. His dark hair lay on his shoulders, so black that it could not blend with the dark T-shirt.

  She'd never been governed by lust. Perhaps it was because he'd broken down the door where it dwelled within her by taking her innocence, but she couldn't seem to stop her body's vibrating response to him.

  "I want to see you fly again," she said softly. She wanted to see him soar, everything beauty and power should be, the way she was sure he flew when he didn't have an injured wing, or an injured heart. If she could help in some small way to make that happen, and was given the privilege of living long enough to see it, as she had seen the Windwalkers, then that would be enough.

  One moment of perfect happiness could satisfy the soul forever, couldn't it? Particularly when that soul had always known such a thing to be a miracle beyond reach.

  She wondered why she'd thought she wanted to tell him any of this, for now all she wanted was for him to do something so she wouldn't have to think about it anymore. So she took a step back, then another, moving to the first stair to the loft. His eyes watched her closely as she took the hem of her thin shirt and pulled it over her face, her hair lifting to funnel out the opening when she removed the garment.

  "Stop."

  She stopped, the gauzy fabric pressed against her lips, eyes and lashes. She could see him, a hazy, cloudy outline tinted in soft blue green dye as he came toward her. Her arms were tangled in the straps of the shirt, and he placed his hands just below her raised elbows, holding her that way as he bent, his breath caressing her. When his lips touched her mouth through the fabric, her own lips parted, moistening the threads. Her body swayed toward him, and he gathered handfuls of her hair, helping to remove the shirt so now she stood bare breasted before him. Untying the string holding the skirt, he loosened it, and she was naked, her clothes in a pool at his feet. Cupping her face, the side of her neck, he caressed the line of her throat. So slow, so sensual, a man fully aware of the power of his touch on a woman's skin, that vulnerable column.

  As he gazed at her, the light of the setting sun turned the room gold, then rose, bathing them and their surroundings in rich color. He removed his shirt, tossed it to the side. Holding her breath, Anna watched as his chin tipped up, his eyes closing and hands tightening on her as his body rippled, the muscles quivering. Rose and gold became a wash of amber light, and the wings stretched behind him, the one spreading out, the other tentative, but able to join it partway, filling the small room with magic.

  Slowly, his eyes opened and his chin came back down so his eyes could focus on her again with those dark, unreadable depths. He hadn't stopped touching her throughout, and now the energy that he'd had as a mere mortal had expanded exponentially. She was glad for the warding around the cottage, for otherwise surely there would be shards of it sparking outside the structure.

  "Come here, little one."

  When she took a step down the stairs, he surprised her by catching her under her back and legs and lifting her in his arms, moving forward to take the steps to the balcony loft. He folded his wings carefully along his back, their points trailing him like a prince's cloak as he walked up the stairs, his eyes never leaving her face. "I would lie with you in the bed where you dream."

  She couldn't think of anything she wanted more.

  As he carried her up the stairs, Anna slid her arms around his shoulders, her fingertips buried in the arch of his wings. She wanted him to carry her forever. This weightlessness was . . . Oh, it felt so good to be carried, held close. It merged with the sweet anticipation in her stomach, the tiny fish that seemed to be darting everywhere, the restless press of her thighs, so aware of the grip of his hand there.

  In addition to a bathroom, the two main things in the loft were her bed and the Jacuzzi pool she'd designed like a walled pond. He went directly for the bed, making those fish leap. Looking like a stretch of soft sand with its quilted brown coverlet, it was simple, wide and fortuitously long, taking up half the space. Shells she'd collected off the beach, pieces of dried coral and more flowers in vases were on the side tables and the ledge over it. Things to help keep her connected. A tiny watercolor of a mermaid she'd picked up at a traveling fair one night was there, too.

  There was no lamp, for she preferred to stare out through the glass at night, watching the moonlit foam of the ocean sweep across the sand, hearing the muted rush of sound. Now he laid her down, bending over her. Her fingers curled around his upper arms, and she didn't let go. Putting one knee on the bed, he stretched out next to her, his hand settling on her bare waist, thumb idly tracing her stomach, her navel, making her thighs tremble.

  "You've made yourself a nest here," he observed. "Tell me, little one. Why are you the only one left? Why are you so alone in the world?"

  She reached up toward his face, but he caught her wrist, bent and kissed her palm, nuzzling her. "I want to be inside you again, Anna. Stretching your soft lips, feeling the hungry clutch of your body desiring mine. But you will tell me this first."

  She closed her eyes. "That's bribery, my lord."

  "So it is." The trace of a smile did not eradicate the seriousness from his face. "I won't harm you with the knowledge, I promise."

  He understood. It twisted inside of her, a sweet pain. In the same breath that she'd felt the desire to tell him, she'd experienced the fear of having him react as so many others had, as those who'd known the story for centuries.

  "The original seawitch, Mina's great-great-grandmother, gave my ancestor Arianne the spell of legs to win her heart's desire, the love of a prince."

  When Jonah nodded, indicating his familiarity with that part, Anna was glad she didn't have to go back over the details. "Arianne failed and was turned to stone, as the legend and the reality go. But Neptune made a deal with the seawitch. He wouldn't kill her painfully, and she would turn Arianne back into a mermaid." Anna's lips twisted. "But something went wrong, and the seawitch couldn't lift the shapeshifting spell. Nor could Arianne control it. Throughout her life, she'd still shift unexpectedly from mermaid to human, and so had to live close to the land, else she would have drowned. Each time she shifted to human legs, she also experienced excruciating pain, as if stepping on razor blades when she walked. Even so, she danced on the beaches at night, remembering her prince. She left her daughter a letter that said the way he'd looked at her wh
en she danced made the pain worth it to her."

  "So who was the father of her child?"

  Anna shook her head, curled her lip. "The prince, for all that he gave his love to another, had no problem lying with Arianne before he decided to leave her for his human bride. Arianne was carrying his child when she turned to stone. No one expected the child to live, but she did. It's been the pattern ever since. No daughter of Arianne has ever found the happiness of enduring love, but she always finds herself with child at some point. But each child, while inheriting the ability to become human, also had different unique . . . abilities. Curses."

  Jonah frowned. "Why curses?"

  Anna let her gaze drift toward the nightstand, to a pink flower among the others there. Delicate petals, fragile existence. But it lived, pushed up through the ground. Endured. If only for a short time, it was perfect.

  "Because the abilities were involuntary and caused harm to themselves or those they loved. The first daughter, if she got excited in any way--too happy, too sad--she would violently disrupt the waters around her. Tidal waves, tsunamis, waterspouts. That was why Neptune built the cottage for her. As long as she wasn't in a large body of water, that wouldn't happen. But before that, she wrecked ships, created storms that took lives. She rescued one man from her devastation, and was able to love him long enough to get with child before he discovered her nature and couldn't accept it.

  "Her daughter couldn't speak except in song. The sound of her singing voice would put whoever heard it into a deep sleep from which they wouldn't wake for days. Sometimes months. So she remained mute most of her life, desperately wishing to communicate, but only able to do so a moment or two before those to whom she wanted to talk so desperately were lost in slumber." Anna tried a smile, failed. "And so it goes.

  "Neptune suspected it was a cruel irony orchestrated by the seawitch, because the deal between them included a blood oath that neither she nor her descendants would ever directly cause harm to Arianne or those descended from her again. But Mina told me the stone spell was never meant to be reversed and the magic simply took on an unpredictable life of its own."