Spellbound by the Sea Lord

by Starla Night

  He did not know how to answer. “We can reenter and use the office phone.”

  “No. What’s the name of your car service?”

  “Dannika will know.”

  Her ears squeaked again.

  “Never mind. We found it. Is there a side exit to the building? No, never mind. I have it.”

  She rode the elevator to the ground floor, pulled him behind a potted plant, and peered out the windows.

  Balim’s hands clenched for his trident. Daggers. Their agreement with the American government restricted these weapons, and they were not effective in the air against human ranged weapons such as guns, but he would prefer guarding his bride with his blades.

  Bella clenched her purse in both hands and tucked it into her body. She leaned against him, her soft shoulders and hips brushing his.

  His body hardened with readiness.

  Never had he felt so much like a warrior.

  “There.” Bella focused on a yellow car parking outside and led Balim to the red-emblazoned emergency exit. She took a deep breath, noted the distant guards, and shoved the door open.

  Alarms klaxoned in their ears. It deafened and staggered him.

  She realized he wasn’t right behind her, doubled back, and pulled him down the concrete steps. “Hurry!”

  The building guards shouted behind them.

  But Bella’s focus riveted on a tall male in ordinary clothing near the front entrance. He dropped his bag and jogged toward them. A stony look set his face.

  She yanked open the back door of the car, shoved Balim in, and jumped in behind him. “Drive!”

  The driver stared at them with confusion. “But those security guards are—”

  “Now!” She pointed at the tall man. “He’s got a gun!”

  The driver faced forward, saw the man, and scrambled for the controls. Their car veered backward, away from the jogger, and fishtailed around the corner. Balim slid off the bench onto the floor and Bella fell on top of him. Horns blared and cars squealed. His chest ached and his ears throbbed.

  “Jeeshus,” the driver cried, swerving through traffic. “What business was that? Did he have a weapon? I didn’t see it. You calling the cops?”

  “I thought he had one.” Bella climbed off Balim and got into her seat, first checking the blossom still glinting in the depths, and then helping Balim up and fastening his seat belt with a click. “I’m so sorry if I made a mistake. I got mugged tonight, and I guess I’m seeing weapons whether or not they exist.”

  Balim’s chest clenched. Again, he needed his trident. The mugging made little sense, and he could not endanger his bride.

  Not while he guarded Bella.

  They arrived at the metropolitan hospital. His hackles rose. Bella peered through the windows.

  “You want me to drop you off at one ward?”

  “The emergency doors, please.” She whispered to Balim, “It will be less watched.”

  The driver coasted to the emergency drop-off. “This is it. You guys okay?”

  “Soon, I hope. Thanks so much for asking.” She pulled green bills from between her breasts and slipped them into his bucket. “For your clever evasive driving.”

  “Hey, yeah, you’re welcome.”

  She took one last careful look and then exited the car. Balim followed her into the main entrance. She walked through the doors and pivoted.

  One of the hospital security agents straightened and approached Balim.

  “I must not cross here, or the director would call the police,” he said.

  “Oh, really?” Her gaze picked out the guard right away. “Hmm. You could have mentioned it before we walked in.”

  She grabbed his hand. “Follow me.”

  Bella wove between patients, ducked down a private corridor, and pushed into a small tiled room with sinks and stalls. A bathroom. She counted to twenty. Her thighs pressed his, her chest too close, and her forehead tilted forward so her fine red hair tickled his chin.

  She opened the door, looked both ways, and led him into the elevators.

  They stood beside each other in the small space.

  The doors opened, and she pulled him through another long set of halls, turning corners with familiarity even after he was long lost. These human hospitals all looked the same. Twisty corridors, forced air, stagnant lights.

  She clenched the water bottle as a shining beacon. Then she slowed at a quiet door and released his hand. “This is a locker room. I’ll change and be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

  “Do not separate from me, Bella.”

  “I have to.” She opened the door wider. “The room’s empty. If anyone comes in, call out to let me know.”

  “Bella. I cannot guard you in places I cannot see.”

  “Jonah’s doctor is waiting for us. I’m jumping out of my skin to start, but I can infect him by skipping these steps. Please, Balim.”

  Even though every instinct warred against it, he released her and stepped back.

  “Thank you. I’ll be right back. I promise.”

  He stood rigid against the wall.

  She disappeared into the room.

  Medical professionals passed. He tracked the light of their souls in their chests, noting who was a friend of the sea. Humans passed by, their souls darkened with grief or lightened with tentative hope. Sometimes the human couples experienced opposite feelings from each other at the same time.

  Humans often married when their souls disconnected. They forced marriages. Forced joinings. Unwillingly created young fry.

  The mer could not.

  His soul aligned with Bella’s. The tightness in his cock, which had diminished during her absence, was proof.

  But did she understand?

  He would protect Bella with his life. She was so close to drinking the nectar. So close to becoming his queen.

  Bella peeked through the door crack, glanced both ways, and pushed out.

  Her outfit was new, and she did not take his hand. They entered a hall lined with hanging sheets of opaque plastic.

  “I’ll go in,” she said, carrying the water bottle with the dancing bloom in the crook of her arm. “They’ll start the transfusion. I’ll drink the nectar. You’ll wait outside.”

  “We must kiss.”

  She stared at him. “We already kissed. Twice.”

  “We must kiss again to activate the nectar.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Can it activate through two layers of plastic?”

  “No, Bella.” He turned her to face him, jiggling her wrists so she opened her eyes once more. “We must experience the full connection. Skin to skin. Soul to soul. Bride to warrior.”

  “Husband to wife,” she finished and shifted her weight onto her heels. “Okay. Okay. I’ll figure out something. Come—”

  A human male stepped into her path.

  Balim pulled her sideways, out of the path of the young man, and put his own shoulder between them to block.

  The male batted the water bottle out of Bella’s arms. It hit the floor on the edge and burst like a bomb.

  “Agh! Balim? No!”

  She screamed and sheltered the wet floor with her body.

  The male pushed her aside.

  She landed on her hip and skidded. “No! No—”

  Balim grabbed the male’s arms.

  The male slipped back, out of his coat, shedding it like an eel. He dove under Balim and reached for Bella again.

  No.

  Balim slammed a knee into the male’s shoulder.

  The male slid sideways.

  He wheeled up to a crouch and glared at Balim with animalistic hatred. “Your kind will die.”

  “Do not threaten my bride!”

  The man’s gaze jerked to the hall. Someone shouted, “Security? Security!” He snapped his gaze back to Balim, curled his lip, and bolted.

  Doctors raced toward them.

  He shoved one out of his way and kept going.

  Balim turned to Bella.


  He had failed her.

  Because he was not a real warrior. A real warrior would not have failed. No wonder Bella hesitated to become his bride. Rejected him as a husband.

  Why did a useless mer like him live when another, worthier prince fell?

  Little pieces of his heart curled away as she sobbed.

  Bella would never be his queen.

  She knelt in the middle of a small pool, cupping the mashed, shredded petals of the dead Life Tree blossom in her palms.

  Chapter Eight

  A week passed.

  Bella hunched over her dining room table, resting her feet on boxes still packed around her, and reviewed new hospitals.

  Causing a disturbance on Jonah’s fragile floor, smuggling in a trespassing merman, and coercing doctors to try a medically irresponsible procedure were prosecutable offenses.

  But the hospital director would not pursue criminal or civil charges if she took Jonah to a facility more accepting of her radical care.

  Her heart heaved like a paper boat on a storm-torn ocean.

  None were a good fit. None would let her continue to live in this building with her quiet neighbors and sweet bulldog of a landlord, Harv. But she had no choice.

  At least Balim had understood. He had forced himself to hold eye contact when she’d said it was better never to see each other again.

  This pain in her heart was normal. She’d held Jonah’s cure in her grasp. Probably. No, it would have worked. And his cure had been ripped away. Her entire world crushed in like a soda can in a trash compactor. Her disappointment and self-reproach explained everything.

  She would nail those Sons of Hercules jerks.

  Nail them to the wall.

  Her apartment call button buzzed. “Delivery.”

  Delivery?

  She trooped outside her apartment and down the stairs to the front entrance, signed the certified delivery slip, returned to her apartment, and tore open the package.

  A new cell phone. Not one she had ordered. She was still using the cell phone Starr had given to the street vendor to “sell” her outside the subway station.

  Gee, what a generous gift from a mysterious benefactor. Hmm. Gosh, golly. Who could the mystery man be?

  She pinged Starr and started her recording app.

  A moment later, the new cell phone rang.

  College students had no patience. As soon as Starr found them, Bella would ground these Sons of Hercules kids for life. What was that called? Oh, yes.

  Jail.

  “To what do I owe the displeasure?” she asked, keeping her tone pleasant as she seethed.

  “You went back on the deal,” the distorted feminine voice accused. “We told you to bring us a Life Tree flower, and you tried to use it on your sick kid.”

  “Shocking,” she said, flat. “I don’t know how I let myself get so distracted. Perhaps if you hadn’t attacked me in the hall, we could have both gotten what we’d wanted.”

  “Both gotten—wait, what does that mean?”

  “It means I had a plan, Herc. A plan to placate the merman, use the cure on my child, and also get you your flower.”

  “You never told us that was your plan.”

  “How should I have contacted you? I got mugged on the way to my date. They stole my phone along with your necklace.”

  “You should have told us anyway.”

  “How? Using smoke signals?”

  “Well, you should have followed our plan, not acted like you were betraying us.”

  “Oh, excuse me very much. Last I checked, I was the double agent, not you.”

  “You’re not the only one who’s put their life on the line. We need the flower or else.”

  “The situation is dynamic. Not only do the mermen sense cameras and recordings, but they can also tell when a person is lying.”

  “He can?”

  “He can see soul lights. They show him when you’re telling the truth.” She leaned back and crossed her ankles, stretching. “I was trying to fulfill our goals without tipping him off, and I almost succeeded. But you had to attack me and ruin everything. When just a few more hours—”

  “We can’t wait. You need to get us a replacement.”

  “A replacement of the only Life Tree blossom in existence on the surface. Mmm. Where shall I get this for you? The local florist?”

  “Since the monster likes you, you’re going to swim to Atlantis and take it off the Life Tree.”

  It was an option.

  She’d have to transform. Collect the blossom. And to activate the nectar, she and Balim would have to kiss.

  The memory of his lips—and their taste and heat—made her belly shiver.

  She examined her fingers. She’d taken the bandages off that night at home, and her skin had already healed. She rubbed her thumb over the smooth skin. No scabs or scars.

  Every touch healed her.

  Her every touch poisoned him.

  “I don’t have time.” She picked up her own cell phone again and scrolled through the hospitals. Perhaps out of state. She’d have to quit her job. No way could she stay in this apartment building. “Thanks to your shenanigans, I have to find a new hospital for my son.”

  “That’s not my problem.”

  “Correct. Just like your wish for a Life Tree blossom isn’t mine.”

  Starr printed a message on her phone. The signal is coming from the same cell tower.

  So, he was close. Honestly, he was probably the delivery kid with the messenger bag. She’d have to ask Harv for his security camera footage. Maybe they could get a picture.

  “You’re the merman’s bride, Bella. He’ll take you there.”

  “Balim can’t offer me a single thing that would tempt me to leave all this behind, and believe me, I wish he could. What makes you think you have more to offer?”

  “You need money.”

  “You can’t pay me enough.”

  He turned aggressive. “Do what we want, or you’ll regret it.”

  “I already regret it.” She sighed and scrolled to the next state. “I regret thinking you were mature enough to wait for an intact flower. I regret not mace-tasing you when you attacked me. I regret leaving you the petals instead of giving it to a lab with the ability to analyze its properties and make important discoveries for mankind.”

  “There’s nothing to discover about a moldy flower.”

  “Oh, I suppose you have a secret government lab at your disposal.”

  “Actually, we—” The line cut.

  Did they have a high-level lab? Government funding? A private, rich, malevolent head behind their group pulling strings?

  Or was this college kid bragging to sound bigger than he was?

  And what did he mean he needed the Life Tree flower because others had risked their lives?

  Mysteries upon mysteries, which the police would untangle when they arrested everyone.

  She reached for her recording device to shut it off and archive the conversation.

  The newly delivered phone rang again.

  She started a new recording and accepted the call. “So you have a secret lab full of high-level scientists at your disposal, they analyzed the petals, and you found nothing valuable at all?”

  “Bella Taylor.” The distorted tone changed rhythm as though another person was speaking. “You will return to the monster. You will accept his offer of marriage. You will go to his Life Tree, and you will bring us one of those flowers with the nectar inside, alive.”

  This call is not local, Starr messaged her. It’s from the Financial District downtown.

  “Mmm,” she said blandly. “Will I?”

  “Or else your son—”

  “Stop.” Her heart thudded in her throat. “You do not threaten my son.”

  “Now, you understand—”

  “You do not threaten him, or this ends.” She shot to her feet and paced between boxes in the small apartment. “I go to the police. I give them everything I have on you. Everything.”


  “You don’t have anything.”

  Starr had a lot, but Bella had something even more important. And the words flowed out of her mouth with fury.

  “I have your threat. I take that to work. Do you know where I work? Do you know what I do?”

  The caller fell silent.

  “I design high-level ad campaigns.” She lifted her fingers and ticked off her next steps. “I take your threat against my son, and I craft my masterwork. My mission is to end your organization. You portray yourselves as scrappy heroes fighting inhuman ‘monsters who steal women’ and a bunch of closed-minded, ignorant people give you a pass. But how many average people do you think will let it slide once you, in your own words, threaten a sick, helpless, adorable little human boy?”

  The caller’s tone was remarkably chastened. “I threatened nothing.”

  “Yes, I know. I would have hung up. Threats against me are stupid and shortsighted, but I will not entertain threats against my child. Not a breath, a hint, or a suggestion.”

  Silence met her rant.

  She took a deep breath and straightened. “How would you like to proceed, Herc? As friends? Or as enemies?”

  “Let’s go back to being friends,” the caller drawled, syllables elongated in the distortion. “How can I make you happy, Bella Taylor?”

  “I’m so glad you asked.” She returned to her seat with a huff. “You realize there’s only one thing in this world I want.”

  “A cure for your son?”

  “And you ripped it out of my hands with your violent attack.”

  “I won’t deny that staffing has been an issue, but the Sons of Hercules doesn’t have a cure for leukemia.”

  “I want the next best thing.” She drummed her fingers on the table.

  Bella wanted Jonah to see his eleventh birthday. Running. Outside. At a park, between the swings and the slides, with roses in his cheeks and a smile the size of Texas, and hair. Adorable ginger-colored hair. Like hers, only lighter. Thick handfuls on his head, growing wild because he’d been cancer-free for a year.

  There was one other possible cure.

  Chaz.

  When a human doesn’t respond to Sea Opals, I would rely on human medicine.

  “What is the next best thing?” Herc prompted.

  “A donation.”