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Each morning, he dives into the water, sinking himself low enough to find the crustaceans who live there. Each morning, he catches two lobsters with his bare hands. Today, like each day before, two lobsters swim forward to meet him and accept their fate.
I have vowed not to follow him. I have promised myself I would not allow this strange obsession to go any further. I have convinced myself that watching him like this is enough.
He could be human or supernatural. He could be evil or kind. I do not know anything about him other than the fact that I am drawn to him in a way I’ve never felt before.
Today, though, I cannot simply watch as he swims to the surface and walks out of the sea. As he steps onto the shore and shakes some water from his glistening hair, my iridescent tail makes the choice I cannot and pushes me forward.
I know this is a bad idea. I know that I need to turn back toward the open water, but my body seems to have other ideas.
As the sand rises to meet the open air, my tail shifts into legs, and I follow him out of the ocean.
The hot sand burns the soles of my feet in seconds, and an unexpected squeak of discomfort slips from between my lips. He glances behind him, and I quickly jump behind a large bush, hoping it can hide me. A moment later, I peek above the bush and watch the muscles in his body bunch and contract as he turns each way, looking for the source of the noise…looking for me…
By some miracle, he doesn’t see me. He turns back toward the path carved into a forested area full of olive, eucalyptus, and fruit trees.
I slip between the trees, carving my own path. I regret it instantly as the branches scratch against my bare skin and open shallow wounds. I ignore them as I try to keep up with him.
His feet glide silently over the forest floor, easily avoiding the branches and twigs. When added to the graceful way he carries himself and his respect for nature, that makes me think that hehasto be supernatural.
He can’t be a sea nymph unless he has incredible control of his shifting. He’s not a vampire because he’s out in the sun, his olive skin glistening like a Greek god. Could he be some kind of shifter?
As I wonder, he veers off the trail toward a rock face. I halt my steps, unsure how he plans on climbing the thirty foot rock wall while carrying the two lobsters when I see him pull back a curtain of vines and slip inside a crevice.
I give him a few moments before tiptoeing up to the same place and slowly peeling back the vines to peek inside. There is a pathway through the rocks that is maybe only two feet wide. As I step in, I breathe a sigh of relief at the change in temperature. The beach is scorching hot, and the humidity of the forest was oppressive. Here, the cool rocks give off the perfect temperature.
I walk for what feels like forever through the stone, the only sound coming from the drip of water somewhere deep within the cave. When I see a sliver of sunlight, I slow my pace before cautiously approaching the opening. My body hugs the sides of the cave, and I tuck my aquamarine hair to the side as I peek through, catching a glimpse of a small village hidden within the forest.
The modest-sized huts are built out of wood with thatch roofs. I see men, women, and children wandering the area, going about their day. Some carry baskets filled with clothes or food. A flash of pink steals my attention, and my eyes follow my mystery man as he greets each person he passes with a wave, a smile, or a ruffle of hair for the children.
I’m just about to make my move when a large owl hoots and lands in front of him, shifting into a man in the blink of an eye. An owl shifter? I’ll bet he’s beautiful. I close my eyes and imagine a beautiful brown owl with bright yellow eyes peering straight into my soul.
I linger there, watching the interactions until he is out of my sight. Something about this village, the way the people interact with one another, reminds me of my own village. The one that was lost so long ago when the hunters came.
There were once hundreds of us, spread out along coastal villages throughout the world. Each community was hidden but known well to those who call them home. Now, we find ourselves scattered. I’ve found some of my people and led them into the safety of Supernatural Island.
Some wanted to call it Westwood Island, others Moon Island. The options became endless as each supernatural faction wanted to lay claim to the patch of dirt we now call home. Ultimately, though, we decided it was safest to table that decision for now.
For me and my family, we couldn't care less about what they name the island. We are just happy to have a place to call home.
When Breanne ”popped out”—her own charming phrase—their first child, Nora, a glimmer of hope spread throughout the island. She wasn’t protected during the first attack from the vengeful goddess, so it should’ve been impossible for her to conceive and give birth.
Somehow, Artemis, the sneaky goddess who has adopted the island as her own, was able to work around it. According to Bree, Artemis invited her mother, Demeter, the goddess of fertility—among other things—to the island. Demeter gave her blessing to Breanne, allowing her to carry not only Nora but, a few short years later, Erik as well. There were crowds of women who weren’t present during the attack hoping to be blessed, but Demeter warned them that it would not be a regular occurrence. She owed Artemis, and Artie chose Breanne to receive the honor.
However, Artemiswasable to convince Demeter to add her magic to the barrier protecting the island. If I know Artemis—which I’d like to think I do since the meddling goddess makes regular appearances now—it was for more than just protection.
I’m sure she’s hoping that Demeter’s magic will somehow convince her granddaughter, Rayne, to have a child, or even make it happen by accident. I shiver at that thought. As much as I love Rayne—and I do—the thought of a little Drake or Rayne running around is alarming.
I know that I cannot slip into this village of shifters without being caught, so I make my way back to the beach, vowing that one day I will gather my courage and speak to him.
I glance back one last time before the village’s light disappears, feeling like I’m leaving a piece of myself behind. The feeling makes me wonder if he could be my mate. Sea nymphs, like shifters, can recognize our mates instantly. Before that, though, we often feel a pull toward them—like the tides pulling us near.
As I jump back into the water, I shift effortlessly into my aquatic form. My tail camouflages neatly with the blue, green, and turquoise colors of the Mediterranean Sea
I swim effortlessly through the sea into the colder waters with a single question in my mind.
Am I ready to meet my mate?
“Pearl,” Mizu, my cousin, calls out, halting my trek back to the island for my weekly check-in. “Pearl, we found more.”
