Page 43 of The Rusalka and Mr. Right

“No, I’m not, but—”

“Do other men resist you? That Minegold guy? What about the friend you mentioned, Calder?”

“Yes, but—”

“Science time! Your seductiveness can be resisted or turned off, whatever. There is evidence. Two instances of proof. I’m sure there are more. We passed a dozen dudes in the orchard, and none of them followed you around with their tongues hanging out like some lovestruck cartoon. I know this Big K messed with your mind and taught you that you’re just a sex symbol—sex toy, even, but I would be with you even if I was blind.”

My mouth pops open to protest—and closes in shock. “Wait, youwould?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Seeing you doesn’t change how I feel about you. Oh, it’s a big bonus, baby, but it’s not the only thing I like. In fact,” Kev scratches his slightly stubbled chin, “it’s actually pretty far down on the list. It was the first thing I noticed, but not theonlything.”

Well. This is new. My assumptions are dented, and I like it. I look up at him from the water’s edge. “What do you like?”

Kev sighs and rolls to his stomach, elbows in the grass. “Your voice. The way you smile at me when we meet up. The way you fit in my arms.”

Ah. Still physical things.

“The way you talk about all the places you’ve been. Quick with your comebacks. The way you treat me. That badass streak you’ve got—and the way you can take a guy out, but you still curl up on me like I... like I can help.” Kev’s hand reaches into the water, softness in his eyes.

I take his hand and lay my cheek in his palm. So many times before Gregor, this is where I’d end my game, my seduction of a lone fisherman in his boat, my night-long seduction of a sailor on watch. When a man proffered his hand to pull me aboard, I’d pull him into my watery bed, his icy grave, instead. “You don’t believe me when I say that I’m a monster, my love,” I whisper, looking up at him. I bare my teeth, running the sharp edges across one of his fingers before I suck it into my mouth, long tongue made to scoop out a soul sliding in tight circles down the length of his hand.

He’ll see it now, he must.

Kev shudders at the sensation of my tongue, then lets his eyes fall closed. “What kind of monster? The rusalka thing you mentioned?”

“Yes. Bad mermaids,” I whisper, releasing him.

“You don’t have a tail,” he chuckles.

“I don’t need one.”

“No, you don’t.” He slides into my arms, legs on the bank, shirt getting soaked, some symbol of a man straddling two worlds and he doesn’t even know it.

“Why can’t you see it?” I whisper, my lips almost brushing his.

Kev sighs. “Because I’m too busy looking atyou.” He taps his chest, then his temple. “I don’t care what people call you, or what you ‘are.’ To me, you’re my queen, and I love you. Now, shut up and kiss me?”

I should argue. Try harder. But I don’t.

WHILE MARINA’S DOINGstuff for work, I grab a spare shirt out of the gym bag in the back of my car. Walking back to her, I pull out my phone and search “rusalka.”

Folklore, cryptid, myth, whatever you want to call it, Google has info about it. Rusalka are beautiful, deadly creatures. They live in the water and lure men to their deaths. I figure this Koshchei bastard must’ve called his trafficked women by this name, shaming them, selling them, using them to hurt his rivals, maybe. I’ve watched late-night crime dramas. I know humans can be crazy evil. Hell, I didn’t have to watch television to know that. All I have to do is look back at history (one reason it’s not my favorite subject) to know that monsters are real.

And most of ‘em are human.

Little pieces of information start to swarm my brain like the wasps around the overripe fallen apples I pass.

Her body. The way it’s different. The textures. The “pocket” that reminds me of a perfect circle of suction—like the sucker on a tentacle, maybe. That tongue. If I close my eyes and concentrate hard, I can separate the overwhelming feeling of pleasure into actual concrete sensations.

Her tongue wrapped around my cock. From tip. To base. That’s not something a human tongue can do. Not a normal human tongue.

The word “mutant” starts to tease me.

Monster starts to make sense.

I don’t know what kind of unethical, unlicensed shit Big K got up to. I’d already considered some kind of surgery, but now I’m wondering about genetic alterations.

Marina... Marina could be some kind of altered human. She could be what some would call a monster or a mutant.

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