Page 16 of Surfaces
Then Watkins sighed, and the sound was soft. Defeated. “Do you know why I’m against the monarchy?”
“Because my mother was evil,” I answered immediately. “Because her reign was full of pitch-black terror and puppetry.”
He nodded. “That. But also because I want more for us. I want self-determination. I want more than guilds and trades passed from generation to generation. I want shark shifters to have a chance to integrate more fully with the other races. Do you know how shark shifters have been treated? Most of them have to make their living as beasts of burden, shifted for the sake of hauling shit, or soldiers. My father was told he had to join the army ranks, told he had to fight, not as a man, but always as a shark.”
This was news to me because while I’d tried to study the histories of Okeanos, they’d mostly been written by sirens concerned with trade. “You think that I want the same?”
“I think it will all be more of the same so long as there’s a queen. I think … no matter your intentions … you’ll be just as seduced by power as the last monarch. And all your pretty promises will pop like bubbles.”
“So, you’re saying that no one’s minds will change? These attacks will continue? That I’m at war?”
His eyes grew hard as flint. “I already told you, don’t associate me with those madmen attacking people. I’m not one of them.”
“Sure.”Liar.
“See that? Right there? You’ve already made up your mind about me.”
“Well, you made yours up about me before you even met me! At least I gave you an opportunity to be different.”
“You ambushed me and set me in your tournament as a plaything!”
“I gave you the opportunity to speak your piece—”
“For all of five seconds!”
“If you hadn’t been gloating—”
“If you hadn’t flown into a rage—”
I shoved up against him, my entire body vibrating in anger. I had no thoughts, only this hot pulse of hatred.
Without warning, Watkins kissed me.
Immediately, it was like a coiled spring let loose. The anger that had compressed us with each interaction found an outlet, a physical one.
Watkins’s teeth were still serrated, but the edge of danger only excited me, heightening when he plunged his tongue into my mouth.
My teeth found his lower lip and bit down while my wings fluttered drawing my legs up against his waist. One of his huge, meaty hands grabbed my ass and yanked me closer. His fingers dug into my skin roughly, kneading and squeezing so hard I thought I might bruise. I relished his rough touch, reaching up to yank at his black hair, surprised to discover his white streak had an entirely different texture, coarser and thicker than the rest. I pulled, hard, holding nothing back, letting my fingernails scrape against his scalp as I sucked on his tongue.
He kissed me back just as fiercely, his free hand coming to my head and roughly gripping the back of my neck and squeezing lightly with just enough hint of a threat that a thrill shot down my spine.
For a moment, the clash of mouths and the press of his chest, the spicy scent of him, surrounded me and I couldn’t feel or see anything beyond that. Watkins was everything.
Until he pulled his head back and his hands both dropped me suddenly.
If it weren’t for my betta fish fins fluttering reflexively, I would have tumbled to my knees. Instead, they pulled me back from him gently as my chest heaved and I tried to catch my breath.
I could feel the start of a bruise forming on my ass and on my lips as I blinked slowly, recovering my senses.
When I glanced back up at him, Watkins dropped his own eyes.
“That didn’t happen,” he mumbled, as if trying to convince himself as he ran a hand through his rumpled hair.
“Of course it didn’t. Because if you say it didn’t happen, Iabsolutely believe you,” I cut back before I whirled and grabbed the door.
It slammed shut behind me as I left the man who had my heart in his chest to steep in his own lies.
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