I hadn't had a thing in the last 24 hours. My stomach growled loud enough to echo off the kitchen walls, so I decided to make something, anything, when a knock echoed from the back door.
I froze.
The hairs on my arms stood on edge. For a split second, panic surged through me.
I scrambled for Vicky's gun, still tucked behind the shelf where I'd hidden it, and inched toward the door with my heart pounding.
Through the dusty pane of the sliding glass, I saw him.
Delmar.
Standing just outside, soaked from head to toe, water dripping down his sculpted chest and glistening across the deep ridges of his abs. His hair clung to his temples in dark waves, droplets sliding down the sharp line of his jaw.
In his hand, he held a glinting swordfish, its long snout arched toward the floor.
"You came back?" I asked as I slowly opened the door.
His gaze flicked to the gun in my hand, but he didn't flinch. There wasn't a trace of fear in his eyes, just calm, quiet observation. Then, almost as an afterthought, he raised the fish a little higher, offering it like a gift.
"You caught that?" I asked, incredulous.
He turned his face away, just slightly, like he was shy. The motion was so human it twisted something sharp and unexpected in my chest.
"Did you bring that for me?" I asked gently.
He nodded.
Then, without a word, he stepped inside, bent down, and set the fish carefully on the floor. He grabbed the clothes he had left behind earlier, crumbled up beside the bed, and slipped them on.
It was oddly considerate, as if he somehow knew that his nakedness unsettled me.
Not that it stopped me from admiring him.
My eyes lingered too long on the tight curve of his ass before I forced myself to look away.
"Well… thank you. You didn't have to," I mumbled, staring at the fish. It was massive, sleek, muscular, and gleaming. Catching something like that couldn't have been easy.
Delmar pointed to the stove, then to the fish.
Before I could process it, he stepped into my space.
Close. Too close.
The few inches of air between us crackled with heat. His body radiated warmth from the sea, his scent, musky, wild, like salt and something older, coiled into my senses and made me shiver low in my gut.
"Kash," he whispered.
The way he said my name, deep, gravelly, barely formed, made every hair on my body stand upright.
My eyes dropped to his lips, wet and parted, and I watched as he swallowed thickly.
His fingers brushed my face, featherlight, trailing to the edge of my mouth.
His eyes burned into mine, intense, hooded with something I didn't understand. Something sensual. Something primal.
I pulled away, breathless. "Fine. I'll cook it."
I needed space. I needed to get my head on straight.
He was a sea creature for fuck's sake.
Dad had loved the sea, had spent years teaching me how to fish, how to clean and cook wild catch. Those memories surfaced now like muscle memory. I took the fish's tail, peeled back the skin, and filleted it with ease. The blade moved cleanly, like I'd done this a hundred times, which I had, long ago.
The freshness of the fish told me it would taste amazing.
As I brought the slices to the stove, something caught my eye. I turned just in time to see Delmar crouched beside the discarded remains.
He held the bones steady with his hands, and with appendages.
Tentacles unfurled from his back, slender and slick, holding the fish in place while he bit into the raw flesh.
I stared, horrified. He chewed delicately, carefully avoiding the inedible bits. When he caught me watching, the tentacles snapped back into his body as if ashamed.
"It's okay," I said quickly. "You caught it, after all. I'm going to cook the rest. If you want some raw pieces, nod."
He shook his head and pointed again to the stove.
"You want me to cook it?"
He nodded once.
A small smile curled at his lips, almost boyish, almost smug.
I turned away, trying to focus on the fish sizzling in the pan. The aroma was mouthwatering. I kept myself busy, trying to ignore the feel of his eyes on my back.
But his presence was like gravity.
Every molecule in the room shifted around him.
"You know… you need to stop looking at me," I snapped, gripping the spatula too tightly. My eyes stayed fixed on the pan. I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze.
A clicking noise followed, low, gentle.
I looked up to see him standing far across the room.
"Sorry," he rasped out.
The word was barely formed, but it was there. Rough, choked, strained through unfamiliar muscles, but there.
He knew what he was saying.
He turned slowly, looking away from me.
I stood there, stunned.
He understood everything. Every word. Every emotion.
He was more human than I had allowed myself to believe.
And I, I was a goddamn mess.
I should've said apologised for being rude, should've said something. Anything.
But I didn't.
He flustered me. He made me feel too much. I didn't know how to handle it.
Dinner was the best I'd had since coming to the island.
The fish was sweet and buttery, the texture tender and perfect. I ate like a starving man, barely pausing to breathe.
Delmar didn't touch his plate.
He just watched me. Silently.
Whenever I glanced up, he'd quickly avert his gaze. But I could feel his eyes on me the entire time.
When I finally put my fork down, stomach full and nerves fried, I got up and began packing my things. The email I had send, went through and they had replied they were coming to pick me up. It was only a matter of time now.
Delmar stayed outside on the porch, unmoving, silhouetted in the fading blue of the sea and sky.
Watching me with an expression I couldn't name.
If I was being honest with myself, a rarity these days, I was beginning to realize that this man, this creature from the sea, had a thing for me. It wasn't just the way he looked at me, though that alone could melt steel. It was in the way he saved me, not once but twice, without hesitation. In the way he brought me a fish like a provider, like someone who wanted to give rather than take. It was there, in the smallest gestures, in the tilt of his head, in the way he said my name like he was sacred. But allowing myself to entertain such a notion felt like slipping into madness. It was absurd. We didn't belong together. Hell, I didn't belong with anyone. Not when I was still figuring out how to belong to myself. Not when every time someone looked too closely, I felt like a glass pane about to shatter under scrutiny.
As thrilling as it was, being wanted without judgement, being seen without shame, I had to be the logical one here. He belonged to the ocean, wild and unknowable, and I was just a broken boy made of land and walls and rules. We were not written in the same language.
I walked up to him, heart knocking against my ribs like a warning drum. "Where have you come from?" I asked softly, even though I didn't expect an answer. "You have to go back, you know. It's not safe out here. There are people, bad people, trying to capture your kind, hurt you, exploit you. You need to stay far away from us. From humans." I spoke slowly, carefully, like I was talking to a child. Not because I thought he was one, but because I didn't know how else to protect something I didn't understand. Something so rare, so dangerous, and so heartbreakingly real.
His eyes darkened. A flicker of defiance crossed his face, and his jaw clenched in response. We stood in a thick silence, locked in a battle of stares neither of us knew how to win. It was me who looked away first. I turned toward my bag, toward the safety of something I could control, zippers and compartments and folded clothes.
But then I felt him.
Behind me.
His arms brushed along mine, his chest pressing gently to my back, the heat of his skin wrapping around me like sunlight after weeks of storm. His breath fell against my neck, warm, slow, and deliberate. I stopped breathing altogether.
"Don't leave," he growled, his voice rough and guttural against my ear.
And just like that, my knees almost gave out.
It was terrifying how easily he could undo me with two simple words. I turned slowly, forcing myself to look at him, to meet those deep, storm-colored eyes that threatened to swallow me whole.
"I have to go home," I said, quieter now. "And you… you need to hide. Hide somewhere they'll never find you. Because if they do, they'll tear you apart. They'll make you into a lab rat. You can't let that happen."
My voice cracked a little, betraying the war inside me. Because I wanted to stay. Every fiber in my body screamed for me to stay, to run into his arms and forget the rest of the world. But I couldn't. I had clear proof now that my father didn't die of natural causes. Those videos could help me start an investigation, maybe even expose the people behind it.
Delmar's lips parted slightly as if he was going to speak, but nothing came out. Just the echo of something unspoken sitting heavy in the space between us. His eyes said more than his mouth could, longing, sorrow, confusion. Maybe even love, in whatever way his kind understood it.
He didn't move. Neither did I.
And it was too much.
I stepped back, needing space to breathe. "Go," I whispered.
It was a single word, but it ripped something out of me.
His face fell like a curtain, eyes dimming, expression crumpling in silence. And then he turned around without protest, walking out of the room and back into the sea where he belonged.
I stood there watching his silhouette vanish into the horizon, the waves swallowing him like he had never existed. And that, that, was when I truly understood why people died of heartbreak.
Because in that moment, I wanted to call him back.
I wanted to pack him in my suitcase and take him with me.
But I didn't.
And I wasn't sure if I'd ever forgive myself for it.
I couldn't sleep the entire night. I lay on the floor, eyes wide open, pulse roaring in my ears, thoughts circling around Dad, Delmar, and the mess I had just left behind.
At exactly 4 a.m., the distant hum of a motor reached my ears. I stood, numb with dread. A rescue boat pulled up to the shore, cutting through the thick morning fog.
"What happened to you? You said you'd stay here for a couple of months," the man who had dropped me off called out as he hopped down from the boat.
"I got bored," I lied, hauling my bags toward him faster than my feet wanted to move. The quicker I left, the less chance I had to break apart entirely. The ache in my chest hadn't dulled, not since Delmar dove into the ocean. I couldn't stop picturing him vanishing into the waves, or worse, Dad's voice, his face in those videos, his final words etched into my ribs like a knife.
"You're alone?" the man asked, glancing toward the house.
My fingers clenched tightly around the straps of my backpack. "Yeah, why?"
His eyes scanned the place again. "Someone said they dropped a guy off here. Name was Vicky."
My heart pounded like a war drum. "Who said?"
"A friend."
I forced a laugh that sounded more like a cough. "No, no one came here." I had thrown out most of Vicky's luggage, tried my best to hide what had happened. Murder cover-up wasn't exactly in my wheelhouse, but I couldn't let anyone find out what Delmar had done. If humanity's first official impression of his species started with bloodshed, we'd doom them all.
"Alright," the man shrugged, unconvinced. "Might be a mistake."
We boarded his motorboat in silence. The air was thick with tension, the salt burning my throat. I sat still, trying not to tremble as the boat carved its way through the open water.
We must have been an hour or two into the trip when a sleek white yacht emerged from the morning mist, approaching fast. It looked too polished, too clean. My gut twisted. Something wasn't right.
The man beside me cut the motor.
"What's going on?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
He smiled, but it wasn't friendly. "Just want to say hello to some friends."
He climbed onto the yacht like he belonged there. When he turned back to me, I didn't move.
"No, I'm good," I muttered. Every instinct screamed at me to stay on the damn boat.
One of the men aboard raised a gun and pointed it at my head. "It's not a request, boy."
Panic clawed up my throat. I looked at the vast ocean around me, cold, endless, indifferent. If they killed me here, no one would find my body. No one would even look.
I climbed up slowly, my hands raised.
The moment my feet hit the deck, they grabbed me, tied my wrists and ankles like I was a sack of meat.
"Where is Vicky?" one of the men barked.
"I don't know," I said, shutting my eyes tightly.
A heavy boot slammed into my stomach. I folded in half, breath knocked out of me. The sky spun. My lungs burned.
"Did you release the thing like your father did?" the voice snarled as rough fingers grabbed my face, tilting my head back. I blinked up at a bearded man, his features blurred by the ache pounding in my skull.
"I... I..." I tried to speak, but my tongue felt too thick, my jaw unhinged from the pain.
"What the fuck did you do with Vicky?" he roared.
"I didn't do anything!" I choked out, clawing at his hand, but he didn't budge.
"You're going to pay," he hissed, his breath reeking of tobacco and malice.
He took my hair and dragged me across the deck. My skin scraped against the hard floor, salt and wood stinging the open wounds blooming across my side. I couldn't fight. I couldn't even lift my head.
"We can't risk the police poking their noses in," another voice sneered.
"Holy shit! Look at that," someone yelled.
There was awe in his voice. And something darker.
I rolled onto my side, blinking through the haze just in time to see Delmar.
He was trying to climb onto the yacht.
"No…" I rasped, panic crashing into me like a tidal wave.
His fins were still visible, not yet separated into legs. He thrashed as anchor ropes tangled around him and dragged him up like a prize catch.
"Pull him up!" someone shouted, ecstatic.
"Stop!" I tried to scream, but only a hoarse whisper came out.
A fist slammed into my head, and I was thrown into a dark cabin. I hit something hard. The world tilted. Blood trickled down my temple.
From the floor, I heard them laughing. Heard Delmar snarling.
Gunshots split the air like thunderclaps. Then screams.
So many screams.
Wet, animal cries, rage and agony all twisted together.
And then, nothing.
Darkness swallowed me whole.