Page 137 of The Sea Witch's Son

My eyes drop to the line of his tattoo, the dark ink flexing with the muscles running along his forearm.

The anchor burying itself deep in the sand.

“You choose to stay.” I swallow thickly, “You choose to stay with your mother.”

Marlin lifts up the shirt and tilts his head, studying the creases from every angle.

“There are two types of people in this world, little saint. Those who are easy to love and those who are not.”

He grimaces, touching a crease before putting it back on the ironing board, “Those who fall into the latter category can either accept their fate or fight it, uselessly holding on to the hope that one day someone will return the favour.”

I watch him re-fold the dress shirt, painstakingly stroking the iron so the creases are nothing short of perfection.

“The Sea Witch is many things, but she is not a fool. She knew this life was the inevitable outcome.”

The rows of expensive suits hang silently around us, echoing the hollowness of his words.

“Did you?” A ball lodges in my throat, “Did you know this would be the outcome?”

Silence stretches out between us. Marlin sets the iron down and unplugs it, finally satisfied his shirt is up to standard.

I watch the most feared man in Wolf Hollow lay out his clothes for the day ahead, carefully picking out a pair of dress pants and matching shoes as if he was choosing which weapons to take into battle.

The cold press of his ring suddenly digs into my skin. I freeze, feeling the sharp edge scrape a line from my bicep to my wrist before he takes my hand.

“I think,” Marlin flicks out a tiny razor blade, “You already know the answer to that question.”

My heart is in my throat when he shimmies the blade under my fingernail. I can’t look away from the tentacles tearing through the face of a skull, the silhouette of his family crest shifting with each twist of the ring.

A spec of dirt gets pried free, the residue of his grave still lingering on my body. Marlin extracts the blade slowly, being careful not to draw a single drop of blood.

Guilt swarms my system as our eyes meet, mistrusting violet meeting apologetic blue.

My throat tightens, “Marlin, I’m sorry. I found the report by accident and-

“Don’t go searching for a sob story, little saint. I am the monster you have always found me to be.”

The mistrust hardens into something cold and ugly as the gates to Marlin’s past shutter close. He takes a step back, staring at me as if I was the one who took a blade to his skin.

As if I was the one who wasn’t careful enough not to draw blood.

I swallow hard, refusing to break his penetrating stare, “I’ve never called you a monster.”

“No.” A cruel, mocking smile hits his lips, “You’ve called me much worse.”

“Marlin, I-

“Every assumption you’ve made about me is true.” His eyes darken as they flick down my dress, “I am abadman, little saint. One that you should fear.”

The air gets vacuumed from the room when Marlin reaches out and slides the strap of my dress over my shoulder.

“I’m not scared of you.” It’s a weak, breathless response.

Another strap glides down my shoulder, loosening the material around my boobs. My skin flairs to life as Marlin leans down and brushes his lips across my exposed collarbone.

“You should be.” Pressing his nose against my neck, he breathes me in, “You should be scared of how often you plague my mind. How many times I wake up thinking about ways to see your face.”

My breathing is thick and heavy, my chest heaving with each ragged breath.

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