Page 57 of The Hunted

Her jaw fell slack.

Eryx simply smiled.

All it took after that was a wave of his hand, and the woman made herself scarce. Thankfully, she did manage to close the door behind her, allowing Eryx privacy to continue pouring all his attention into the map spread across the surface of the desk.

Frankly, the map was only one reason Eryx wanted to be left to his own devices. A few moments after the door had closed, he waited for the sounds of the house to quiet. The quiet meant that with the prince no longer needing their attendance, the servants headed to the smaller house on the east side of the property where they spent their evenings.

Far away from him. And his secrets.

One of which made this particular house very useful for him. The estate, named for the fields of grain one had to travel across to reach the main house’s spot close to the sea and the grain mills not far away, wasn’t Eryx’s favorite. It served his purposes. Especially when all he had to do was glance up from the very desk he sat behind to find the thing that seemed to have taken over his thoughts lately.

He had a perfect view of the glass doors beyond the row of marble pillars, which were separated about ten feet apart and dominated the center of the room. Iron candelabras jutted up from shined stone floors on either side of the thirty or so steps it would take him to cross to those doors. Far enough away that the rows upon rows of books on wall-to-wall shelves wouldn’t be in danger of the flickering flames when the candles were lit at night.

But none of that really interested him about the house. Every estate he took residence over the years had beautiful rooms and plenty of things to keep his mind busy. It was those doors he liked, and what waited behind them. Leading out onto marble steps where he enjoyed taking breakfast, he could walk right down into the sea. The water lapped at the steps, and even now, he could hear the gentle waves touching the house.

Inviting.

Teasing.

Promising.

But what it promised, he couldn’t quite say. Still, it did it. Singing in his veins with every beat of his heart and screaming through his mind day in and day out. How he ever managed to behave normally, when inside he seemed to be constantly waging a war, well, he didn’t know.

For more nights than he cared to admit—seven passing of the two moons—he’d walked down those very steps, too. Slipped off his clothes, dropped the cloak or scarf that was now always tightened around his neck to hide the gills that were open and flexing with breaths, and slipped into the water.

Because it called for him.

And he called for her.

It wasn’t that Eryx wanted to, but when the skies became dark and the smell of the sea hit him … well, he didn’t seem to have much of a choice. An invisible force dragged him toward those doors, made him open them wide, breathe in the sea, and wish for her.

He hated it.

Craved it.

He didn’t know what the red-headed mermaid had done to him that night on the island, but it was something. Long after the cuts had healed, and his gills remained open; when the bruises faded, and the scrapes didn’t sting as much, he swore he could still feel that woman.

Inside.

All through him.

Infecting him.

This obsession was getting worse.

Eryx needed the mermaid to die.

Or Gods above … she would kill him.

• • •

The next morning, Eryx took his breakfast on the marble steps just because he could. And there was something to be said about the salt in the air mixing with the flavors of the food on his plate. Standing just a few feet away from his small table, the same servant from the night before waited for him to acknowledge her.

He figured, might as well put her out of her misery.

He certainly wasn’t good company on his better days, but lately, he was even worse. Not that anyone dared to tell him that. He might still be shamed and shunned from his father’s court, but he was also the only heir to the land.

Still a prince.