The Fierce Reads Anthology(3)

“I swear by Triton’s trident.” He places three fingers on his Royal birthmark, the small image of a trident embedded into his skin just before stomach turns into fin. “I had to make sure you were mine.”

She uncrosses her arms. “You and I do not like each other.”

“Is that so? I didn’t realize.”

If Nalia narrows her eyes anymore, they’ll close. “You were mean to me when you came to my mother’s entombing ceremony.”

Beautiful, but dumb as a clam. Such a shame. Grom cocks his head at her. “Was that before or after you attacked me?” Attacked me, then bit me when I tried to restrain her. How convenient that she doesn’t remember. Their parents had found them wrapped up in each other, her in his best headlock, him trying to pry her vicious little teeth from his stomach. That’s when the ridiculous rumor had started that they had taken a liking to each other. Complete nonsense.

“You told me I killed my mother.”

“I didn’t say that. Not exactly.” Pretty close, though, he recalls. “We could start over, you know. Forget about the past.” Over my lifeless fin.

Nalia must notice that he’s making his way closer, because she presses herself against the tablet. Grom swears she swallows with the familiar vulnerability of an awestruck female. “Why would we do that?” she says.

He stops within a fin’s length of her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she says, her hand flitting to her throat. But he can tell by her face that it’s the same kind of reflex of alarm he’s feeling—and it has nothing to do with danger. Her eyes, too, are full of the same kind of whirlwind he feels tightening in his chest. And he doesn’t like it. Not at all.

Grom floats closer, growing more delighted as she allows him to devour the distance between them. Who’s the awestruck one now, idiot? “Like what?” he murmurs, his nose almost touching hers. He decides Nalia is the exact opposite of ugly. She has the same features as every other Syrena. Smooth olive skin, dark black hair, violet eyes. But hers are all arranged in just the right way to make her stunning.

Nalia gasps, licking her lips. She keeps her eyes locked on his. “Like…like…”

“Like I found what I was looking for?” he offers.

He’s answered with a sharp jab to his throat. “Like you’re looking to die,” she whispers, pressing whatever weapon she has into the soft flesh under his jawbone. “This is a lionfish spike. If you even flick your fin, I’ll inject its venom.”

His eyes lock on hers, a silent battle raging between them. “You won’t do it.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I want to. I do.” Right after I murder you.

She scoffs. “I’m going to leave now. You’re going to stay right here.” She whirls them around in one fluid motion and backs away from him, toward the entrance. A tantalizing smirk curves her lips. “You must have bumped your head on the way in,” she says, tucking the hook behind her, probably into her braid. “To think that would work on me.”

Grom never takes his eyes off her. “And what do you think will work, pray tell?”

She shrugs. “I don’t suppose it matters much.” Nalia glances back at the stone tablet she was reading. “Since I don’t have a choice one way or the other.” Then she speeds away with such force that a swish of water slaps at his face in her wake.

When the length of her elegant fin disappears behind a bend in the cave, he glides over to the tablet. He could go after her. He could even call her bluff on the lionfish venom—she wouldn’t keep such a deadly threat tucked against her bare flesh. Or, he could let her bask in this small victory. Let her think he’s weak.

His eyes scan the tablet, but his attention is still overwhelmed by the memory of her. If she didn’t find what she was looking for here, then it’s not likely that he will either. Their future course is set. One day, they will be mated. It’s a battle neither of them can win. He knows it. She knows it.

But today, Nalia started a new battle. One that he’s intent on winning.

The one for her heart.



Grom finds his mother in her private chamber, right in the middle of her usual routine of caring for her human relics. She uses her finger to gently swipe off a layer of silt from a tall clear cylinder, which she claims the humans use to contain fire for light. After it’s spotless, she moves on to a small white box, her favorite of them all. “I can’t touch this one anymore,” she says without looking up. She puckers, then blows a gentle stream through the delicate flowers carved on the lid. A slight cloud of black wafts up, just before the surrounding water absorbs it. “Last time I chipped one of the small green pieces, see?”

Grom swims forward and squints, more in a show of interest than in actual interest. “Are you sure it wasn’t already like that? You did recover this from a wreck, after all.”

She bites her lip. “I’m sure. I cried when I did it.”

“You and your human treasures,” he says, not unkindly.

“Oh, not you too,” she says, waving her hand. “Do I not get enough complaints from your father? Is it so wrong to want to preserve beauty, even if it’s made from human hands?”

“Of course not,” Grom smiles. “Otherwise, the Cave of Memories would be outlawed. Besides, I didn’t come here to complain.”