of the sea …
She wondered if that was why she felt this way—touching him was the same as touching the sea. She ran her thumb over his knuckles. His skin was no different from hers. Now, at least. The thought of him shifting into something else, something not-human, was almost enough to make her let go again. Almost.
“I won’t hurt you, Alana.” He was speaking then, murmuring words in a rhythmic way that was so very not-human.
She shivered. Her name had never sounded so beautiful. “People don’t use names with every sentence.”
He nodded, but his expression was guarded, carefully empty. “Would you prefer that I don’t? I like your name, but I could—”
“Never mind. Just … I don’t know …. I don’t like this.” She gestured at their hands, at him, and back at herself, but she held on to him as they left the coffee shop. She was so tired, so confused, and the only moment of peace she’d felt was when she’d touched his skin.
Once they were outside, she shifted topics again. “Where will you stay?”
“With you?”
She laughed before she could help herself. “Um, I don’t think so.”
“I can’t be too far from you now, Alana. Think of it as a leash. My reach only extends so far. I can sleep outside.” He shrugged. “We don’t exactly stay in houses most of the time. My mother does, but she’s … like you. I stay with her some. It’s softer, but it’s not necessary.”
Alana thought about it. She knew her mother wouldn’t care: Susanne was utterly without what she liked to call “hang-ups,” but it felt like admitting defeat to let him crash on her sofa. So I tell him to sleep outside like an animal? He is an animal, though, isn’t he? She paused; he stopped walking too.
What am I thinking to even consider letting him in my home? He wasn’t human, but an animal. Who knew what sort of rules he lived by—or if he even had rules or laws. She was no different from her mother: swayed by empty words, letting strange men into her haven. But he’d trapped her. And he wasn’t the only one who’d tried. Something odd was happening, and she didn’t like it. She let go of his hand and moved away from him.
“Who was the guy at the bonfire trying to give me his skin? Why were both of you … He said you were worse and …” She looked at him, at his face. “And why me?”
Murrin couldn’t speak, couldn’t process anything beyond the fact that his brother had tried to lure away his intended mate. He knew as soon as it happened that Veikko had taken Murrin’s Other-Skin and laid it where Alana had found it, but he hadn’t thought Veikko had approached her too. Why did he? Veikko still had rare bursts of pique over Zoë’s leaving, but they’d talked about it. He said he understood … so why was he speaking with my Alana?
Murrin wondered if he ought to assure Veikko that Alana would be safe, that she was not like Zoë, that she would not be lost in a potentially fatal depression. Perhaps he was trying to protect Alana? And me? That would make more sense to Murrin, but for the almost certain fact that Veikko had been responsible for putting Murrin’s Other-Skin in Alana’s path. No other selchies had been on the shore.
None of this makes sense … nor is it something to share now.
It was far more complicated than Alana needed to deal with on top of everything else, so Murrin quashed his confusion and suspicions and said, “Veikko is my brother.”
“Your brother?”
Murrin nodded.
“He scared me.” She blushed when she said it, as if fear were something to be ashamed of, but the open admission was only a blink. Alana was still angry. Her posture was tense: hands clenched, spine straight, eyes narrowed. “He said you were worse, and that he’d be back. He—”
“Veikko—Vic—is a bit outdated in his interactions with … humans.” Murrin hated having to use the word, but it was unavoidable. He was not what she was, would never be what she was. It was something they needed to acknowledge. Murrin stepped closer. Despite her anger, she was in need of comfort.
“Why did he say you were worse?”
“Because I wanted to get to know you before I told you what I was. None of this was intentional. My Other-Skin was …” He paused, considered telling her that he suspected that Veikko had entrapped her, and decided against it. There were many years in which Alana and Veikko would be forced to be near each other: with a simple omission, the strife of her resenting him was avoidable. “It was not to be there. You were not to be there. I was coming to meet you, to try to date you as humans do.”
“Oh.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “But …”
“Vic thinks I am ‘worse’ than others in my family because I am going against tradition … or was hoping to.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “He thinks it is worse that I would try to court you and then reveal myself. Not that it matters now ….”
“How is that worse?”
“I’ve been asking that question for years.” He held out his hand. “It is not what I will teach my children … one day when I become a father. It is not what I wanted, but we are together now. We’ll work it out.”
She took his outstretched hand in hers. “We don’t have to stay together.”
He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer for a moment. Then he said, “I’m sorry.”
“Me too. I don’t do relationships, Murrin.” Her fingertips stroked his hand absently.
“I didn’t mean to trap you, but I’m not eager to let go, either.” He expected her to argue, to grow angry, but like the sea, her moods weren’t quite what he anticipated.
She smiled then, not like she was unhappy, but like she was dangerous. “So I guess I need to convince you then.”
She really is perfect for me.
Over the next three weeks, little by little, Alana’s doubts were replaced by a tentative friendship. It doesn’t hurt to be nice to him. It’s not his fault. She started telling herself that they could be friends. Even if she couldn’t get rid of him, she didn’t necessarily need to date him, and she definitely didn’t need to marry him.
One night, she woke with a start in the middle of the night, shivering and thinking of Murrin. They were friends. Okay, he was crashing on her sofa, and he did share her meals, but that wasn’t a commitment. It was practicality. He had nowhere to go. He couldn’t sleep on the beach. And he bought the groceries, so he wasn’t mooching. He was just … a good friend who was always there.
And he makes me happy.
She went into the living room. Murrin was standing in front of the window, eyes closed, face upturned. The expression on his face was one of pain. She was beside him before she’d thought twice about it.
“Murrin?”
He turned and looked at her. The longing in his eyes was heart-stoppingly awful, but he blinked and it was gone. “Are you ill?”
“No.”
