Divine Scales

by Jennifer Blackstream

  A fallen warrior.

  Heavy wood groaning above the roar of the wind. Impact. A moment of horror as roiling waves rushed to swallow giant white wings. Cloying fear, razor-sharp panic stabbing at her as she dove into the spray of chaos, desperation driving her to find the angel amidst the debris the storm had ripped from the ship. Bone-numbing relief when she’d found him, managed to drag his heavy form to the surface. She’d saved his life, pulled him through the water and dragged him onto the beach.

  A kiss.

  She shifted, focusing behind him. There, not far from the spot she was sitting in now, she’d curled her body around his massive frame and dipped her head to taste him. Metal mixed with the sweetness of sea air. He’d kissed her back, a seemingly natural need to dominate driving him to deepen the kiss, a breath-stealing possession that had left her feeling softer and more feminine than she had in a long time.

  Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face. The air between them sizzled, thickening like the air before a storm. He stared at her with those sharp blue eyes and she swore he could see inside her, see right down to the sinful thoughts sweeping her away in a cloud of heat. Slowly, he knelt in the water, sinking to his knees. She was so caught up in the hunger of that moment, the blissful oblivion of the memory, that she nearly missed the change in his expression. The way the heat in his eyes cooled like lava pouring into the sea and the skin around his eyes tightened.

  “Are you all right now?”

  His voice was hard enough to shatter the teeth of a bull shark and Marcela frowned. Another memory tugged at her. The kiss rose in her memory again, but this time her mind showed her the aftermath. Gaspar. Dead. Blue eyes icy with detachment. Her words of…gratitude?

  Rejection.

  “You killed Gaspar.”

  Patricio didn’t flinch, his sculpted features remaining as warm as stone. “Yes.”

  She searched his expression, trying to find some speck of regret, of sympathy, of discomfort. Nothing. The angel regarded her as if she’d asked for the time and he, having given it, thought his part was through.

  “I…thanked you.” Saying the words out loud made something roll in her stomach, a wave of nausea coating the back of her throat with the bitter taste of bile.

  Something flickered in his eyes. “And now?”

  She put a hand to her stomach, trying to keep the nausea at bay. “And now? And now what?”

  “Are you grateful to me for killing your brother?”

  Her mouth fell open, the last remnant of the heat he’d inspired in her dying a swift, painful death. “Am I…grateful?”

  Patricio leaned down, searching her gaze. “You aren’t?”

  Anger, white-hot and welcome, surged through her veins like a hurricane. “No, I’m not grateful to you for murdering my brother.” She remembered the last time she’d seen Gaspar, how she’d been suspicious of his treasures. She’d been angry with him and now he was gone. “He may have been a criminal, but he deserved a trial. A trial in our world, in front of our people—our king. He was not your responsibility.”

  “He most certainly was.” Patricio flexed his fingers, making and unmaking a fist. “He was killing my subjects, robbing them too. Do you want to know what sort of man your brother was? He preyed on ships in distress. In the middle of horrible storms, he would grab hold of sailors—men who were terrified for their lives. He would demand money and jewelry, anything of value the man was unlucky enough to have on him. If the sailor refused, or if he didn’t have enough, your brother would drag him beneath the waves over and over again until he either gave them up or died.”

  Flexing her fingers even farther into the sand as if that would help her hold on to her temper, Marcela glared at him. “My people have a justice system. My brother was our responsibility. He should have been forced to pay by our laws.”

  Patricio crossed his arms. “I was ordained by Zeus to be his executioner among mortals. I don’t just bring death to the wicked, I bring them salvation as well. If they die by my hand, they leave this world with a clean soul. Can your people offer that same promise?”

  “You arrogant…” Marcela trailed off. “He was my brother.”

  “I know what he did. I don’t argue his crimes. But he was still my brother, my blood. I knew him before he was that person, before he committed those heinous acts. I loved him, and you mocked my tears as I mourned him.”

  The words floated back to Marcela and she paused, trying to remember who’d spoken them.

  “The witch.”

  Patricio’s muscles went rigid, drawing her attention.

  “The curse.”

  Patricio’s face went blank and he leaned back. Marcela’s stomach churned, rolling like the tide. She searched her memory, parsing through the hazy images and words that all seemed like leftovers from a dream. Frustration singed her as her brain refused to produce the information she needed.

  “The curse the witch put on you, the one you said I’m a victim of.” She stared into his eyes as if she could see the truth for herself. “What does it do?”

  Patricio eyed her warily as though she were some creature he’d never seen until now. For a moment she thought he’d refuse to answer. The tension singing off him was palpable.

  “Tell me.” She’d meant it to come out as a command, but the breathy quality of her voice made it sound like a plea. Yet another blow to her pride that she had to fortify herself against and another change she had to ignore. Her eyes tried to drop to the water, to the gruesome evidence of how far things had gone, but she gritted her teeth, kept her gaze on the angel.

  “The witch laid a curse on me so that the family of people I exacted justice on would not mourn them once they’d laid eyes on me.” The angel’s shoulders sagged and he shifted uncomfortably from side to side. “Instead, they would praise me for their loved one’s death, see me as a hero. It’s a sort of glamour that has thus far proven unbreakable. Until you.”

  There was something in his eyes as the last words left his lips, some interest, curiosity…hope? Marcela ignored it, pushed it away as one blindingly clear thought screamed to life in her mind.

  “You…you knew.” Rage tried to steal what was left of her voice as it rose, a hot, pounding weight in her head.

  “Knew what?”

  She trembled, half-expecting the water around her to boil. “After I started telling you how wonderful you were, behaving like a…dazed sirena. You asked me about my brother, you knew I’d been affected by the curse.”

  Patricio looked for all the world like a seal scanning the water, searching for signs of an orca, paranoid, searching.

  “You knew that and you left me. You didn’t say a word, not one word of warning. You left me like that knowing my judgment was impaired, that I might do something stupid while under your curse.”

  Patricio parted his lips as if to defend himself, but Marcela’s temper boiled over first. She leapt forward, the miserable legs hanging from her body scrambling to find purchase in the sand as she hurled herself at the angel. She half tackled, half fell against him, driving her fists into his chest with all her might.

  “You arrogant bastardo! How dare you judge me, call me names? You knew, you could have stopped this!”

  Patricio grunted as he fell backward, obviously unprepared for the attack. His wings beat around him, but the tips dragged in the waves, enough to send him off balance. They both tumbled into the water in a tangle of arms and legs and wings.

  “You monster,” Marcela sobbed. “You killed my brother. You made me thank you for it!” She screamed, her heart crying out in pain. “You left me behind knowing what your curse had done to me. Did you stop to think for one moment what might happen? What your victims go through after you turn your back and leave them to your curse?”

  Patricio snatched her arms, his head dunking under the water as he tried to lift her off of him and get his wings out from under their combined weight. Marcela dug her knees into his wings as viciously as she co
uld. His words pounded into her head, mocking her, insulting her. Whatever curse, whatever magic had turned her into…into a dazed nymph, it was gone now and she was left with the humiliation of everything she’d said and done. The memories of how she’d flirted with him, mooned after him, would be etched into her memory forever right beside the recollection of his derision and insults. He’d brought his curse down on her head and had the nerve to blame her for the results. He would pay for his part in what had been done to her.

  His legs swung up, slamming into Marcela’s back. She had just enough time to suck in a breath, then she was thrown ass over elbows into the water, bucked off the angel’s body. He followed her until their positions were reversed, but instead of shoving her underwater, he grasped her arms and yanked her upright. She choked and sputtered as her head broke the surface, hands scrabbling against the thick wall of his chest. His arms came around her, offering warm, solid support as she regained her bearings.

  “It was the witch’s curse that did this to you,” he rasped. “Not me. Never has the curse affected someone the way it affected you. I had no way of knowing that you would do…this. I would have told you if I’d thought something like this could happen.”

  Marcela struggled to sit up, her legs thrashing in the water like useless lumps of driftwood. The sensation of the hinged movements, awkward joints where she’d once had the seamless movement of her tail battered against the wall in her mind holding back the worst of the nightmare. It shattered under the weight and the full memory of how those legs had come to be exploded in her mind’s eye.

  “You’ll have your legs—horrible, stumpy things that they are. I’ll enjoy watching you fumble around on land, trying to get the prince’s attention. Who knows, perhaps you’ll be able to catch his eye enough for him to take you to bed.”

  “Speak as you like, but sing at your own risk. The sound will no longer be the haunting melody of your kin, but rather the gasping squawk of a sea bird.”

  “Humans are fickle, Marcela. And they are not to be trusted. Not with something as important as your heart.”

  “I would start swimming for the surface. Humans don’t have gills.”

  Marcela let her head drop, overwhelmed by the fresh tide of memories and the echo of the searing pain that had split her tail into two human appendages. Melusine’s laughter echoed in her ears.

  She shattered, every piece of her sanity falling to dust. She went boneless in the water, only half aware of the angel’s arms closing around her, keeping her face above water. Like a dam that had finally burst, the entirety of what had happened to her crashed down, pounding her defenses into pulp. She didn’t fight it this time. What was the point? The past was what it was, and ignoring it only sapped her of strength she didn’t have to spare.

  After it was over, exhaustion crushed her as if the entire ocean had been poured over her at once. She collapsed against Patricio’s chest. He tensed as if bracing himself for another attack, but after a moment awkwardly patted her back. His self-conscious offering of comfort stung Marcela’s pride, but she couldn’t wrest up the energy to care. Let him fake belated kindness. What did it matter to her?

  Hot tears trickled down her cheeks, the remnants of her pride. “I am not clingy.” She slapped at the water, hating it as much as she needed it right now.

  Patricio twitched. “Marcela—”

  “No. You don’t speak. You listen. I’m tired of your judgments, of how little you know me.”

  The words crawled out of their own accord, as if some part of Marcela’s soul needed them to be said. She let them flow, too tired to fight it for the sake of her pride.

  “I’m sensible, I’m responsible. I don’t make foolish decisions.” Her croaking voice mocked her and she closed her eyes, sending another heated wave of tears down her face. “I’m not dazed or dazzled. I realize how I must have seemed under the effects of your curse, but you know your curse and you know what it does to people. You should have known that that wasn’t me.”

  Patricio’s chest rose and fell under her cheek. He shifted in the water, sliding her body around so he could hold her, her clinging to his body like algae on a rock. After a few moments, his hand stroked her hair, hesitantly at first, then with more calm.

  “I’m sorry.” His deep voice reverberated under her ear. “The things I said… I shouldn’t have said them. It’s just…” He rubbed his temple. “What a mess.”

  “Yes, what a mess. Poor Patricio, whatever will you do with the bedraggled mermaid thrust into your care?”

  “I am trying, Marcela.” He straightened his spine, shuffling her around a little in his grasp.

  Marcela closed her eyes. The angel was so full of self-serving pity it was disgusting. No wonder the witch had cursed him. It was only a wonder that he didn’t revel in the worship of those around him. Perhaps there was nothing that would make him happy.

  “What a mess.”

  Another wave of hysteria threatened to wash over her as his words echoed in her mind, but this time Marcela gritted her teeth, hardened her heart. Reaching down into the darkest depths of her being, she fumbled for the strength she needed. She was not a mess. She had never been a mess, she wouldn’t allow it. Messes were for other people, messes were what they called Marcela in to clean up. It’s what she did, why her father respected her so. She would not give up and lie here like some damsel in distress.

  “I will need your help getting into the village. I need to speak with a friend and then I need to visit the witch again.”

  “What? Why? She offered you no help the last—”

  “She offered you no help,” Marcela corrected him. “She showed me kindness. Perhaps she would show me more if you were not there to sour her mood.”

  Patricio growled. “I’ve done nothing to deserve—”

  Marcela tuned him out, not in the mood to listen to his defensiveness. She had so few options, so little information that wasn’t filtered through the self-serving lens Patricio offered. If she wanted to get home, she needed a magic-user, and right now the witch was all she had. There was no way for her to contact Melusine without putting a messenger in danger. Unless Benita could point her in the direction of an alternative, the witch would have to do for a plan A.

  Marcela couldn’t help looking out at the sea. She wished she could see through the water, down to her people’s kingdom. They must be so worried about her. She would have to find a way to get word to them.

  “We’ll get word to your father,” Patricio said, as if reading her mind.

  The offer surprised Marcela. It was a remarkably observant offer from someone as self-centered as the angel. “No. No, I need more time. I don’t want to tell them now, not when I don’t know if I’ll be able to fix what was done to me. A day or so won’t hurt.” She rubbed her throat, a weight pressing against her chest as she looked away from the sea back toward the palace.

  “You are of course welcome to stay with me until we can find a way to return you home,” Patricio assured her quickly.

  “Thank you.” She shifted uncomfortably. Patricio’s body was warm, and she had to fight not to close her eyes and lay her head on his solid chest. She firmed her resolve and offered him a weak smile. “I suppose we should go back inside.”

  Patricio settled down into the water a little more. “I don’t sleep much. We can stay here as long as you like.”

  Marcela raised her eyebrows. She started to ask why he was suddenly feeling so helpful, but she bit back the words. It didn’t matter. He probably wanted to shut her up, stop her from telling him what an ass he was. Still, it was a tempting offer. Part of Marcela desperately wanted to accept, to stay here in the sea, even if she couldn’t go home. “No. As much as I want to… I’m tired,” she admitted, giving up yet another piece of her pride. If she was going to figure out how to get back home, she needed rest and a clear head.

  Patricio gently pressed against her back, urging her closer. “We can stay.” He settled his arms around her more firmly, co
axing her to relax. “I will hold you.”

  Fresh tears welled up in Marcela’s eyes, some confusion, some gratitude. She was grateful he couldn’t see her face.

  Chapter Eight

  Patricio sneezed. Pressure rolled from his ears up through his head and exploded with enough force that he put a hand over his eyes to make sure his eyeballs hadn’t popped out. Zeus, strike me down now.

  “Salud,” Marcela offered. There was a short pause. “You didn’t have to sit in the sea all night, you know.”

  Patricio dropped his hand from his head and offered a half smile, then promptly wrinkled his nose, trying to ward off another sneeze. “I’m fine,” he assured her. Nothing a brisk beheading won’t fix.

  The former sea maiden held his gaze for a moment, her hands stilling on the skirt she’d been smoothing into place. Looking into those sea-green eyes, the wretched chill clinging to his skin faded away, vanishing under the hot roar of blood in his veins. Part of him waited for the gushing of gratitude that hadn’t come this morning after the woman had woken in his arms, shocked to find he had indeed held her all night while she slept in the sea. After a few interesting moments of flabbergasted silence, Marcela had straightened her spine, thanked him stiffly, and remained stoically silent while he’d flown her back to the palace.