Page 51 of The Sea Witch's Son

Water.

“Is it true?” I look at Calista, desperate for some clarity, “Marlin is afraid of water?”

She shrugs, “The man who feeds on fear forces himself to face his own. Sounds believable to me.”

“But... why?”

The whistle blows and the swimmers mount the blocks. I watch as Marlin rolls his shoulders before bending down, the dark smudge of his tattoo visible from here.

“Why does he swim or why does he spread rumours about his childhood?”

Ice trickles through my veins as I watch his back flex under the harsh lighting.

“Why does he do that to himself?”

Calista doesn’t say anything for a long time. She studies her childhood acquaintance quietly, watching him brace himself against the block.

“Wolf Hollow isn’t just a place, Melody. It’s a disease that festers on your soul, and after a while you stop trying to find an antidote.” She casts a glance in my direction, “The question you should be asking is why would a man allow his greatest weakness to become public knowledge?”

I stare back at her, “So nobody can use it against him.”

“And?”

The weight in my chest unfolds as I turn and look at the man about to dive headfirst into his own nightmare.

“He’s sending a message.” I swallow thickly, “By mastering his only fear, he makes himself untouchable.”

Calista smiles, “Take away a man’s fear, you take away his weakness.”

It’s genius in the most manipulative way possible.

Any notion of sympathy vanishes as I watch Marlin position himself on the block. He’s in the fastest heat and the fastest lane, making a point to everyone who’s watching.

I hope he fucking loses.

Chapter 17

MARLIN

I watch a drop of water fall into the pool.

It shatters the surface, sending ripples in every direction. Such a tiny drop yet such a powerful impact.

Quite philosophical when you think about it.

I suck the air back into my lungs and let it out slowly. Someone shouts my name from the crowd, some sort of cheer that gets muddled in the commotion on deck.

Sebastian swings his arms next to me, trying to keep the blood flowing. He’s a natural sprinter, the bulk of his frame far too heavy to successfully compete in the longer races. I already know he will be the first off the blocks with an explosive start, but by the second length, his technique will start to flail and sheer power will take over.

All of the guys lined up next to me are formidable opponents. We’ve been competing together for the last couple of years,so I’ve gotten to know every one of their strengths and weaknesses based on event and distance.

That is to say, all the men in this heat are talented swimmers.

But I’m better.

The whistle blows and we mount the blocks. I climb onto the narrow platform, a ridiculous size for a man of my height, and adjust my stance to maximize the efficiency. Basic track starts are recommended, though how a swimmer approaches them varies from person to person.

I roll my shoulders one last time and grab onto the front edge. Flexibility is the one thing most athletes skip out on, but I’ve never been one to take the leisure route.

---