a minute or so—met his eyes for barely seconds. Even if it had been anger in his gaze, that didn’t make him human. Animals got angry, too. Maybe he didn’t mind being in the tank as much as she thought. If Ralph—who’d worked with sea mammals for over a decade—was sure the merman had the sensibility of a fish, then who was she to say differently?
In fact, maybe it was even a good thing that they’d caught him, so Ralph could tend to the wound on his shoulder. Perhaps the merman would have died if they hadn’t captured him.
She looked over at her father, lying there so pale and thin. So sick with his damaged heart. She thought of the years, the decades, he’d been on his search. All he’d given up to pursue it. If she hadn’t had faith in him before, wouldn’t now be a good time to start?
Her father met her gaze, entreaty and pride combined in his own. “Don’t you understand, Bethie? This find will restore my reputation, my standing in the scientific community. You want that, don’t you?”
Tears prickled behind her eyelids. Did he really need to ask? “Of course I do.”
The tension eased from his body. With a sigh, he shut his eyes.
Weariness washed over Beth as well. Suddenly conscious of her wet clothes, she turned to leave. “I’d better go change.”
She reached for the doorknob, and Ralph immediately stepped forward to open it for her. Perhaps he saw the trouble on her face, because he suggested, “Why don’t you come and watch us work with the merman tomorrow, Elizabeth? It will give you a chance to learn a thing or two about the creatures.”
“I don’t think so,” she said quietly as she slipped past. “I already know enough as it is.”
Down in the hold, the merman circled the tank, flashes of rage still surging through him. The saltwater whipped along his skin, stung his open wound, but still he kept going. Ignoring the increasing pain in his torn shoulder, he let each powerful motion of his arms and tail flow fluidly into the next.
Such a deceitfully sweet face his captor had. Such false distress in her sea-colored eyes.
He churned the water harder—faster. Yet even its loud grumbling in his ears could not drown out the thoughts of the little female tumbling through his mind.
Her voice had been soft yet lilting, like water murmuring merrily over sea stones. She’d stared at him as if she knew him—yet feigned surprise at the sight of his tail.
He passed the place where she’d stood. Then passed it again. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a mark on the tank’s clear wall. He faltered, destroying his rhythm. Jerking to a halt, he stared at the circle she’d made with her small hand, her image surfacing in his mind once again.
Slim arched brows. A delicate nose and winsome red mouth. Smooth skin that glowed like a pearl. She wore her thick brown hair long, like the females of his people. Streaked with the mellow gold of ancient doubloons, it cascaded down her back, the ends frothing in playful curls.
Glancing away with a silent curse, he surged upward, exploding out of the water in a violent burst of energy. Flinging back his hair, he stared measuringly at the low platform hanging over the water.
If he were but mer, like his sisters, escaping would be no problem. But he was meremer, one of the cursed ones. For him, there was no transforming back and forth from mer to human between land and sea.
He glanced at the high porthole then turned to study the door at the top of the twisting staircase. A low growl rumbled in his throat.
Like a princess she had descended, wrinkling her nose, holding her skirt high. Stepping over the small puddles on the floor with dainty precision.
His eyes narrowed with grim satisfaction at the memory of how she had left, fleeing from this pit with water streaming down her hair and dress. A minor revenge, but he’d enjoyed the sweet taste of it nonetheless. It fed his hunger for more.
He began swimming again, relentlessly working his arm lest the wound in his shoulder should become tight and stiff. He was not worried that he might have startled her away for good. He’d seen the fear in her blue-green eyes…but he’d seen the curiosity, as well.
It was the same ill-fated curiosity that had drawn him to her when she’d stood on the bow of her ship.
His jaw tightened, his strokes grew faster. Aye, she would be back. Like the turning of the tide beneath the full moon, her return was inevitable.
And so was his escape.
Chapter Three
Yep, if anyone knew about mermaids she did, Beth reflected the next day as she sat in the shadows at the top of the staircase in the hold. Everything from the Disney classic to ancient texts of mermaid lore. In fact, due to her father’s obsession, she’d probably be considered an expert on the subject.
As a child she’d listened for hours as—minute detail by detail—he’d recited the descriptions of the sea people documented by the Roman historian Pliny the Elder. Or reviewed aloud the eyewitness account given by the esteemed Bishop Pontoppidan of Norway, who vouched for a mermaid netted at Hordaland in Bergen Fjord.
She knew that a Greek named Alexander had been the first to describe a mermaid complete with a fish tail—reportedly a lovely creature who burst into tears when a curious crowd examined her, then dived back into the water, yelling unintelligible curses as she swam off. And as a teenager Beth had practically memorized the stories about the fifty beautiful daughters of Nereus, a god of the sea. Apparently, they rode the waves on the backs of dolphins, and had many fantastic adventures.
Yes, she’d heard them all—fables of sea sirens who saved ships or foretold the future or lured sailors to a watery grave. Stories of mermaids with green hair, or feathers, or scales they could remove when they wanted to live on land but had to wear when they returned to the water. She knew legends of potent mariners who’d married mermaids and went on to found dynasties of great navigators because, after all, who would know the sea better than the creatures who lived there?
How fiercely she’d longed as a little girl to actually see one of the lovely, mystical beings. And how she’d wished, even more desperately in recent years, for some proof that her father wasn’t completely delusional.
Well, now she had it—both her wishes granted in the form of one restless bundle of male energy trapped in the tank below. Be careful what you wish for, she thought wryly.
She stifled a sigh. As she shifted to ease the numbness in her bottom caused by sitting so long on the metal step, her hand brushed a sticky patch on the railing by her side. Making a face at the machine oil on her fingers, she bent over to try to wipe it off on the metal step at her feet. She probably had it all over her jeans and red silk shirt, she thought in disgust. The light was so shadowy at the top of these stairs.
She’d lurked in the dimness for over two hours now, unnoticed by the men below. Which was exactly what she wanted. She didn’t plan to interfere—or even make her presence known. She hadn’t even intended to come watch. Her instincts kept telling her to get as far from the merman as she possibly could yet, at the same time, she hadn’t been able to stay away.
A fearful curiosity was part of what drew her back, she admitted silently to herself. The same kind of feeling that caused people to slow down and gawk at the scene of a car accident. Or pick up the
