Page 34 of Shiver Me Satyr

“No,” I reply with a sigh. “The purple barbs bend in the most delightful way—”

My companions cheer and giggle. I let them carry on while I swallow one of the smaller fish whole. “And they bend when they’re white too,” I add to make them cackle like hens.

“Now, we must be serious,” I say, waving my hands downward to quiet their laughter. “We went from a bit of fun to trying to nooze me. He says the dreaded L-word on every climax, but not in any other moment.”

“That’s wonderful, right?” Catty asks.

“I’d say that’s a lifetime of Christmases. A man with a barbed cock who’s in creampot love and wants to make your arrangement honest is more than most women can hope for,” Gretta adds with her eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“It goes with why we’re quiffing everywhere but my bed,” I say with anxiety pushing my meal up my gob. “He says beds are for working girls and wives.”

“Well, he’s not calling you a whore, so what’s the problem?”

“I think he’s implying that if Betts invites him to her bed, she’s proposing marriage,” Catty answers Gretta.

“He’s also pushing his seed back inside me after we—”

“He wants a pregnancy to tie you to him,” Gretta adds with wide eyes.

I shrug as I struggle to rip the largest fish in half with my human fingers.

“Oh. Hell. No. You tell that Kill Devil to let his seed run where it may. If he’s so obsessed with getting you up the spout, then he can carry the burden for the ten months. Betts, you don’twant this. I’m married to my soulmate, about to hold my baby in my arms before the next full moon, and I can tell you that you don’t want this,” Catty says, rubbing her ginormous belly.

“Who knows? Maybe she will lay eggs,” Ilya whispers. “I laid an egg once. It was unfertilized, so it was more tragic than anything.”

“I won’t lay eggs since I fully converted from Kraken shifter to human…thanks to Pastor Richard,” I say with a sigh. I pick at the scales on the larger fish. “I think that was half of his allure. He ran the orphanage for the island, and boats seemed to drop off children daily. If I married him, I would inherit a house full of children. Oh, how I miss playing with them in the surf! Funny, I miss the family more than the man.”

“Is that why you don’t stop Flint from pushing you up the spout?” Gretta asks with an eyebrow wiggle.

“Probably because there is no harm in it,” I say, holding back my tears. “Don’t tell him…or anyone…but…only the man who takes my soulbeak can get me pregnant. Unfortunately, I gave that honor to Richard. Flint’s antics will have no consequences. It’s time I told him, too. He might not be as keen after he finds I’m barren.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ilya whispers as she pats my hand.

“I volunteer as tribute,” Gretta says with her hand over her heart. “I’ll bang Flint, and you can have the baby.”

“Buss my cheeks! Not on your life!” I yell, throwing my napkin at her.

“You should let her and teach her a lesson. A child is a blessing. Pregnancy is a curse. It’s the shitting through your teeth leading to backaches, to exhaustion, to the pimples. So. Many. Pimples. Chub’s skin is perfect from head to toe, whileI’m a pimply monster. What if he hates our baby because it’s a pimply monster?” Catty pauses from her tirade to fetch a fish knife from across the kitchen.

“Your baby won’t be a pimply monster,” says Gretta.

“You don’t know that! I found a pimple…between my thighs…”

“Did Chub make you a fireship, Catty?” I ask with concern. Birthing a baby is dangerous enough without a doctor onboard. If she has a disease of the marriage box, I don’t know what to do.

“Good Lord in the heavens! It’s the pregnancy pimples on the pins themselves—not the box between. I tell you, Betts. If you love that little body of yours as much as your man seems to, you will rinse that spunk out of you the moment his musketoon fires. Soulbeak curse or none!”

“If I agree, will you stop waving that knife at me?” I ask with a giggle.

“There’s my sunrise,” Flint says as he sweeps into the room. Thank goodness we switched conversation topics from manly barbs to baby pimples. He kisses my forehead on his way to the crew’s communal bowl of hardtack. Gretta folds her hands under her chin to swoon while Catty waves a warning finger at me.

“Hey,” I say, raising my grog to my lips so he doesn’t kiss my fishy mouth. I take a hefty gulp until he’s out of arm’s reach. “I was just grabbing dinner, but I’m finished now. Are you busy?”

“No,” he says, biting his lower lip. That one word holds a cannon of naughty promise, and he’s waiting for me to light the fuse. “Eze relieved me at the helm because some nutmeg yelledland hofrom the ratlines. He wants to be at the helm when the sun rises so he can steer us in. I think he should have left my arse there and got some sleep first, but his choice.”

“He’s very driven to go home,” Catty says, giving me a knowing nod.

“I wonder what her name is,” Gretta adds.

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