Bride of the Sea Monster - Eve Langlais Page 0,29

kind.

“Not helpful,” I muttered.

To my relief, not everyone we ran into was as fishy-looking as my kidnappers. Some of the folks looked utterly human, others were an obvious hybrid mix.

When I could, I brushed skin, looking for peeks of the future. A trick I’d learned when I realized I couldn’t see myself directly. I taught myself to see through the people and items around me.

Usually, it worked very well, but today—when it wasn’t taunting me with slow-roasting humans—it showed me water. Clear water. Dark water. Swirling. Still.

Not exactly a good sign, especially since I couldn’t tell how soon this water event would happen.

I had hours to ponder what it all meant in the tiny cell they put me in. And I mean miniscule. Not even wide enough to pace properly. Cold, too. Used to the constant heat in Hell, this damp, stone box chilled me right through.

Seated on the floor, I huddled, arms hugging my knees, doing my best to close off the images from the things I had to touch. It proved impossible to unsee some of the atrocities yet to come in this place. My power thought it entertaining to show me a few less than favorable futures involving me in the cell. At least it showed that I lived. Although, I found the one where I hung myself with my hair particularly disturbing, the woven braid of rope streaked with gray. Another possibility had me dying of starvation, forgotten. No surprise, many of the spurting visions ended on water flowing in from under the cell door. Rising. A frightening prospect when locked in a box.

Sleep came to me in fits and bursts, lively with nightmares, involving—you guessed it—even more ocean goodness.

I woke feeling less refreshed than before, and happy to see that my cell floor remained dry. A part of me wondered if the kraken still guarded the slit in the rock, tentacles waiting for an unwary fish man to emerge. He might wait a long time. It was but one of many entrances to the catacombs.

Perhaps Ian had returned to the ship. After all, his time as a man grew short. He’d want to say goodbye to his uncle. Eat one final meal. Would he even care about his accidental wife?

As if to taunt, the seeing offered me a quick snapshot of Ian standing on the ship, staring out at sea, his expression grave, his lips moving. Hold on, Sasha. I’m coming for you.

It warmed me with hope, even as I wished he wouldn’t give a damn. Because I hadn’t. I had ignored that letter begging for my help. I’d wasted a few extra days I could have had with him because of my selfishness. Precious hours where I could have truly gotten to know him and figured out sooner that I loved him.

Yes, loved.

Some might scoff. After all, I’d known him only days. However, I knew now that he was the one. My perfect other half. My mate. I could have kicked myself for not realizing it sooner.

About time. I swear, my seeing rolled the future in disdain.

“I love him.” Saying it aloud sounded weird. Mostly because I was alone. Ian wouldn’t magically appear in this cell for me to tell him to his face. I might already be too late because he had precious little time left on this plane as a man.

“I have to get out of here.” I pounded on the door. Useless, I should add. All it did was make me realize that I had to pee and had no actual toilet, only a hole in the corner, covered by a grate. And no paper.

I should have gone in the ocean when the fish men were dragging me. Would they have even noticed a warm spot?

I did my business as quickly as I could then returned to huddle for body warmth. I dozed off and only woke when my door rattled. Scrambling to my feet, I pressed against the wall, nervous.

You should be.

I was so done with my smartass power.

A pair of new guards entered my cell, female ones with no-nonsense expressions and quick to jab with a spear. They prodded me down a hall and forced me under a tiny waterfall that turned out to be freshwater. The temperature wasn’t exactly piping hot, but there was soap. Seawater might leave Ian tasting salty and good, but I just felt grimy.

The robe that replaced my clothes proved soft. A light blue tunic, belted at the waist, over triangle scraps that tied