Beneath the shimmering surface of the sea, Rafayel watched as you drifted atop a large, iridescent seashell, lifting a spiral conch shell to your lips. As you played, a dissonant sound rippled through the water, sending schools of fish into rigid stillness and agitating nearby sea creatures into turbulent motion.
He surfaced at the familiar cacophony, his head tilting in amused recognition. He lingered for a moment, listening, a soft chuckle escaping as he watched your face scrunch in focused effort. Adorable. You still sound terrible.
With the grace of deep water royalty, the Sea God cut through the currents, pearlescent scales catching what little light filtered from above. A few powerful strokes of his tail brought him to your side.
“It’s a simple melody, yet you still haven’t learned it properly,” he chided, though his twitching tail betrayed his amusement. Propping his head on one hand against the shell’s mantle, droplets glistening on his skin, he extended the other hand expectantly. “Listen carefully. This is the last time I’ll teach you.”
The sea breeze carried the notes of his melody, one that sounded like a farewell—each note steeped in a whisper of love, sorrow, and memory, knowing that this would be the last time he summoned the sea’s voice for you. The tune swelled, haunting and beautiful, dissolving into the waves like a promise reluctantly kept.
When he handed the weathered conch back to you, his fingers lingered for a beat too long. The quirk on his lips faded. His eyes flickered with solemnity.
The air between you stretched taut like a bowstring. A heavy ache welled in his chest, his throat constricting with words unbidden, clawing its way up from the pit of his stomach. But nothing came out. What else was there to say? Sorry for promising you eternity when I can’t even promise you tonight?
His voice broke the silence, calm and rehearsed. “The sea inevitably returns to where it belongs, and separates from the land.”
Gods, if only there was a modicum of truth to it. Because the truth is that he’d endure centuries of maelstorm if they led him back to you. His fingers tightened on the mantle, knuckles white, shoulders tense. Every instinct screamed at him to stay, to defy fate, to sever the chains of doubt. A man at war with himself.
There’s barely a pause before he’s surging forward, pressing his lips to yours with the urgency of a crashing tide. His hands tangled in your hair, cradling the back of your head as if to wash away the reality of a dreadful farewell. The momentum of the kiss pulled you both into the water, embracing your descent into the darkness of night.
In a few seconds he’s breaching the surface with you in his arms, gasping for breath. He was quiet at first, his gaze sweeping over you like a tidal current, relishing in your expression—sweet and acquiescent. You were never a statue to be displayed; he’ll hoard you for his consumption alone, a secret indulgence of the senses.
Then he surged forward again, brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, savoring the warmth of your saltwater-kissed skin bleeding into his. A sigh escaped him, noting how his gills expanded. No longer did he struggle to breathe under your gift of forbidden paradise, mapping a familiar terrain yet wanting more.
He tilted his neck to the side, lips gliding along the dip beneath your jaw. His breath is just as hot as the air of this godforsaken night, and the heat of it burns when he mouthed the sensitive skin just above your pulse.
He pulled back, finding your gaze. As your hand grazed his cheek, he caught it gently, pressing his lips to your wrist. Unbridled yearning swirled in your gaze like pearls under the pale moonlight.
He knew that look.
To a Lemurian, a pearl in the ocean signified that a tear had been shed. And tonight, the sea would gain a thousand of them.
His voice came out quiet but firm, luminescent eyes unyielding. “You want to say something else?”