Page 100 of Storm and Sea

“Against me? Not us?”

Atreus’s jaw set, and Nyel had his answer. Despite growing close, the words Atreus growled into his ear all those weeks ago were as true today as they were then. If Nyel were to get caught, Atreus wouldn’t come to his rescue. Wouldn’t risk his dwindling way of life.

Nyel dropped his chin to his chest. “Right. I’m on my own.”

“Don’t pin this on me,” Atreus said, rising to his feet again, his face growing red.

“And who am I supposed to pin it on?” Nyel retaliated, voice rising.

“I don’t care. But don’t go blaming me because I won’t follow you off a cliff. You’re telling me to jump with no wings, and I’m not buying it.”

“I’m telling you to trust me!” Nyel yelled.

The sound of a closing door in the hall startled them both.

Nyel stepped off the bed, stopping only inches from Atreus. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper.

“I’m telling you to trust in the way these people care about you.”

Atreus’s nostrils flared, his curls flopping as he shook his head. “You’re delusional.”

“And you’re scared.”

They held each other’s stare, neither willing to break the connection first. Nyel was sure he could hear Atreus’s teeth grinding together as the muscles in his jaw bulged.

“We’re done here.”

Atreus stomped from the room without another word.

Nyel flopped onto his bed, slapping a pillow over his face and yelling.

“Atreus, you freakin idiot!” He pounded his fists on the mattress, wishing he were hitting some sense into Atreus’s thick head.

Why can’t you see it? Why can’t you see the way everyone else sees you?

Even as the words rang in his mind, a new kind of heat surged to his face—one that had nothing to do with his frustration. Coupled with the feeling of wiggling fishtails in his chest, Nyel didn’t know what to make of it—only that these feelings were growing steadier and steadier by the day.

“You’re a dummy,” Nyel whined into his feather pillow. Those angry green eyes would keep him awake for hours.

Atreus fought the urge to slam the door to his room. If he threw the wooden door as hard as he wanted, he’d topple the entire damn pescheria.

Where does he get these ideas? Mer and humans? Me?

Atreus couldn’t sit still and kept running his hands through his tangle of curls. At this rate, he wouldn’t have any hair left. Nyel was…

“Gah!” he cried out, hitting his toe on the bed frame.

“As if you have any value to begin with.”

Atreus snarled. He had nothing to say to the disembodied call in his mind. The single thread connecting him to the madness Nephi spoke of. The Skraith. Atreus didn’t fight it this time.

Because he believed it.

The moment the humans saw what he was, it wouldn’t matter that they knew him. Wouldn’t matter that they’d broken bread with him, that he’d watched their children grow and weathered storms by their side. All of that would wash away like footprints on the sand the moment his scales appeared.

They won’t allow it.

It was too much for him to comprehend, let alone accept. He thought of Giovanni. Would his face twist in disgust? Flare with rage? The idea made Atreus want to lean over his bed and vomit on the floor. That is what he stood to lose—everything.