Chapter 5

I wait in my cabin until well into the dead of night, my curiosity growing with each hour that passes. Knowing the embed tank is being prepared for the merman’s transfer mollifies me, even if I can’t oversee the preparations myself. There are plenty of people milling around on deck, so watching wouldn’t go against my “agreement” with Stan. But I can’t face the crew just yet. By publicly questioning him, I embarrassed him, and he made sure to humiliate me in front of my peers.

Usually, I have a pretty good relationship with Will and the others. It’s us against Stan. After class, we go out for beers and margaritas and shit talk about Stan for hours. It doesn’t change anything, but it helps us get through the day. Out here on the open sea, far from the University’s rules and regulations, and so close to academic stardom, Stan has gotten bolder, crueler, all to achieve his goals—no matter what they are. I’m under no delusion that I’m special. I’m one of only a few women in my degree program and the only one on this trip. Stan is a pig to all of us. None of us were exactly surprised when Stan first tried to make a move almost immediately after setting sail.

For the most part, I’ve been able to ignore and deflect his advances. But finding the merman has ignited something inside him that wasn’t there before. It’s almost as if he’s proved something to himself. If he pushes hard enough, he can get everything he ever wanted, no matter how far-fetched. I can’t help but feel as if I’ve inadvertently contributed to that somehow by not being stronger.

I don’t expect Will or the others to come to my defense. After all, they can’t even stand up to Stan themselves. Knowing we’re all in the same boat doesn’t do much to make me feel any less alone or embarrassed. So, I stay inside with my cabin door locked, monitoring the tank preparations through the spotty app connected to the cameras posted around the deck.

For all intents, the embed tank is a mid-size pool set into the boat’s rear deck. It’s equipped with a viewing station and an oxygenator to keep air circulating through the water when necessary. Operating it is costly and a hassle, but it’s a far better alternative to the biobox. It’s not perfect, but it will do.

I watch as the team fills the tank with seawater, then sets about the arduous task of hauling the massive form of the unconscious merman from one tank to another. After a hard day’s work, the team retreats below deck to the cafeteria to blow off steam, and still I wait until the boisterous sounds of levity and excitement finally die down. When I’m sure I’m the only one left awake on the ship, I go to him.

Slipping silently through the corridors, I make my way to the rear deck. The storm has calmed, leaving a gentle drizzle in its wake. The night air is cool and fresh, the sky a deep, inky black dotted with stars. I approach the embed tank, my heart pounding with anticipation and fear.

I find the merman awake, quietly floating in the water tank, his dark eyes meeting mine as if he’s been waiting for me all along. There’s something about his gaze that draws me in, a mix of curiosity and depth that’s both unsettling and mesmerizing. I swallow hard, feeling fear and unease gnaw at me, but I gather my courage and approach.

As I get closer, I notice a red tinge to the water, coming from a nasty looking wound in his arm. I gasp.

The flesh is torn and jagged, with deep gashes running along the length of his forearm. The wound is raw and bloody, the edges swollen and inflamed, and I can see where sharp teeth must have clamped down and ripped through the skin. It looks like the result of a shark attack, the bite marks unmistakable. How no one else has noticed, I don’t know.

My heart aches for him, and I can’t stand the thought of leaving him in pain. Taking a deep breath, I decide to treat the wound. I open the lid of the water tank slowly, my fingers trembling.

I take a step toward the tank and he moves with me, surging to one side, eyeing me warily.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “I’m here to help you.”

The merman's upper body emerges from the tank, water streaming off his shimmering scales, reflecting the soft glow of the deck lights. His hair, dark and tangled like seaweed, clings to his shoulders. His eyes, fathomless, lock onto mine, and I freeze, shocked by how handsome and wild he looks by moonlight. His features are striking—sharp jawline, high cheekbones, long dark hair, and pillowy lips that part slightly as if to speak, though no words come out. The air around us is thick with the scent of saltwater and the distant rumble of waves against the hull.

I step back, but my foot slips on the wet deck, and I lose my balance. Before I can catch myself, the merman's hand shoots out and grabs my leg. His grip is firm but not painful, and he moves with a predatory grace, crawling towards me with purpose. My heart races, panic surging through me as I lash out with a hand, searching for and finding one of the nearby tranquilizer guns, ready to defend myself if necessary.

He stops below my abdomen, his gaze piercing and intense. I feel a chill run down my spine as I realize he's looking at me like fresh prey. His eyes, black as the deepest ocean, seem to hold a primal hunger, and I struggle to keep my breathing steady. The sound of the waves and the creaking of the ship's hull blend with the rapid thudding of my heartbeat.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I’m here to help you.”

He doesn’t move, his eyes still locked onto mine, unblinking. The world narrows down to just the two of us, the storm outside a distant memory. The deck feels colder under my hands, the dampness seeping through my clothes. The night is silent, save for the occasional distant call of a seabird and the soft lapping of water against the boat.

The look in his eye is unnervingly recognizable. The thought sends a chill down my spine, and I struggle to keep my breathing steady. It’s the way Stan looks at me, as if he owns me – as if he wants to fuck me.

Only, instead of repulsion, all I feel is…intrigued.