Page 33 of The Noble's Merman

A deep rumbling festered in Mo’s chest. Swirling, swirling, swirling. Pressure pulsed, in and out, in and out.

If Mo were to eliminate Harris, that would free up the space…

The magic moved up his lungs and tightened around his neck. A sensation of water filled his throat, expanding, expanding, expanding. His throat felt too tight; he reached both hands to clasp around his neck, an ill attempt to lessen the painful pressure building.

—Release it. You know what you have to do?—

It’d been over a moon since he’d last used his Song. What better time to use it than now? If he killed Harris, who would that benefit? Himself, the crew members, and especially, Kent.

If Kent took his place as surgeon, then we could…

Mo heard footsteps on the planks above reaching the small boat, and he ducked his head underwater to avoid being seen. The boat bobbed from the weight of the man climbing aboard, down and up, and Mo waited patiently for it to begin moving. Each moment that passed tugged harder at his chest, harder at his throat.

Slowly, the boat drifted away from the docks. Wooden paddles dipped into the water, over and over, pushing it along above him in the blue expanse. Mo wasn’t sure how far out Harris was planning to row it, but if he were planning to go fishing, he’d need to go out far enough for a proper spot. Mo could see for himself that not many fish congregated in the waters near land.

His heart banged restlessly as he trailed the craft, further into open waters. This would be a first. He’d never sung the Song to a singular person before—only to large ships with crews of dozens of people. But this was for the best. He was manipulating how he used the Song, for how he saw fit. This was exactly what he wanted.

He wanted control.

Once the boat was quite a distance out, the movement stopped. The oars were pulled back inside, and the craft rocked gently over Mo’s head. Should he breach the surface again? It was tempting, with how every beat of his heart pumped the magic through his veins. The boat bobbed once more, boards creaking, waves swaying, fish swimming around scattering.

Thump, thump, thump.

His hands ached, claws extracted, like knives tearing through his fingertips.

What am I waiting for?

Mo creeped around the edge of the craft, finding the backside of it, and slowly rose his head, only his eyes peeping out of the water. Harris didn’t notice him yet, thankfully, and Mo looked around. They really were quite a ways away—land was merely a distant strip laying against the water, ships at the docks small like starfish.

This was good.

He rose gently above the surface, water lapping around his chest.

The human had his back to him, messing with something inside a box, whispering curses as he fumbled around with his hands.

“Harris.”

It was the first time he ever addressed one of the Song’s audience by name.

“What? Who goes there?”

Harris frantically turned his head, left and right, shaking the boat, his brown hair flailing behind him in a queue. He dropped whatever was in his hands, hitting the edge of the box with a thwack. “Who the devil would be out here?” he shouted. “I swear I heard something?—”

“You did. Over here, Harris.”

The human turned in his seat.

Meeting Mo eye to eye.

“Ahoy there.”

“Who the hell are you?!” Harris’s brows were furrowed, mouth agape. “Am I imagining things? I came out here all by myself. How are you in the water? Did you get shipwrecked?”

Mo simply shrugged. “I’m a rather good swimmer.”

“Rather good, huh? But—how in the world do you know my name?”

“That’s not important.” The magic of the Song filled his throat, coating it, soaking it. “Nothing will matter anymore.”

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