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🌊𝕭𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝕿𝖎𝖙𝖑𝖊: The Mermaid's Desired Mate
🌊𝕭𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Everleigh Miles
“Emily,” Jasper’s hair was no longer carefully and rebelliously combed forward but clung to his face in unruly curls. “Run.”
“Jasper,” she went to her knees and put her arms around him. The chains rasped through the ring pinning them to the wall as he held her against him and pressed his face into her neck with a sob of breath. “You are alive.”
“For now,” he said. “You must run, Emily. Run, and don’t look back. There are vampires here, and god knows what else. It isn’t safe.”
“She knows,” Elijah leaned against the door frame holding a bottle of champagne and two glasses negligently in one hand. “She is one of us. Come on Emily,” he turned. “We’ll play with him after our bath.”
🔎BXG | Werewolf | Romance | Vampire
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1.
Wuthering winds was what the books called it. Emily leaned against the edge of the swimming pool and watched the sea and wind meet in a battle of wills that resulted in white froth and seething blue.
Her ancestors would have sung to the ocean, to the mermen within the turmoil of those seas, seeking to calm its fury. On nights like this, she could image a sea-swept lover reaching towards her, his night-dark hair pulled back by the waves, and the moonlight catching on his scales. There was an appeal to being carried away from reality, to dive into another life, where the responsibilities of the one before did not linger.
It was not even seven and the wild weather meant that she was trapped within the walls of the house. Being stuck in her family home was a better situation than most in the area had, and she knew she should not resent it. She swam in the heated indoor pool watching the storm through glass, whilst the waters she floated in were untouched by the violence outside, but she craved the freedom beyond the walls of her home, as if a wildness had set in within her, a craving for something... Something she could not put a name to.
Emily had concluded her secondary schooling three weeks before and had returned home to have her season and be married. At eighteen, she stood on the cusp of her future, knowing that it was limited by a picket fence and a wedding ring.
The Beaufort’s finances had been ebbing away. They needed Emily to make an advantageous marriage in order to renew the family coffers and retain the social position that they were accustomed to holding. Being rich was expensive. There were servants and bills to pay.
The most eligible family in town were the Jamisons, and so it was to them that Emily was offered, like a prized mare. For less than, Emily suspected, the Beaufort’s prized mare would be sold, their daughter had been bartered.
In her youth, her parents would never would have paid the Jamisons any mind as they were not one the founding families of the area, but the Jamisons were persistent, and now they had the social and financial wherefore to afford a Beaufort bride for their Jamison son.
At the start of season ball, Emily would officially begin being courted by Damion Jamison, although the outcome of that courtship was already determined, the deal finalised before Emily even graduated school.
Her childhood had been full of moments with Damion. His family had come to live in the seaside town of Winthrow not long after her birth, and like all residents of Winthrow, their Summers had been spent wild on the beach or exploring the town.
Damion was seven years her senior, and as such had always had the glamour of seniority, never quite involved in the same games as she was, but always peripherally there with the older children, and often intervening when childhood games crossed the line into trouble.
He had prevented her from being caught by the property manager at the long empty Lancaster family home, known locally as the Big House, when she had been dared to ring the doorbell. He had been there to convince Sergeant Harrod to view it as a harmless childhood prank when she, Claudia Jones, Tara Wainscott and Jolene Smyth had been caught stealing candy from the corner store.
But, most significantly, he had been there when, swimming with childhood friends, she had been caught in the rip tide that cut through the ever treacherous ocean. She remembered sinking into the water, watching the light dwindle into the distance, and a moment of peaceful surrender... And then Damion Jamison had appeared above her, his hand out held.
She had taken it and he had pulled her to the surface. He had held her in his arms as she had coughed and vomited water onto the sand.
“I have you,” he had told her. “You are mine.”
The thought of seeing him again surged within her, the promise that had lain between them in their youth unfulfilled, as adults meant so much more. “I have you. You are mine.” She would be, by the end of the Summer season, and the thought was equally exciting and frightening.
She returned to her bedroom and found a window had been carelessly left open, the fine net curtains dampened by the rain and sticking to the glass. The wind that snatched at the curtains, sucking them free so that she had to combat them to push the window down, carried her scent out into the night, but it did not catch at the nose at a Jamison.
It was not a Jamison that crept up the vines that crawled up the balcony of the house. It was not a Jamison that pushed up the window letting the wind into the room for a brief moment as he parted the curtains and crept into her room, before closing it out again.
Emily’s eyes opened as if in a dream and met the eyes of the man who leaned over her.
“Do not fear,” he whispered.
She reached up, her limbs heavy with sleep, and her fingers threaded through the dark silk of his hair as her night-time lover eased back the sheets that covered her, his lips meeting hers. Their kiss lingered as he eased the satin of her nightdress up and from her. His skin against hers was heavenly, and she moaned, her exclamation smothered beneath his mouth.
His hand stroked down her hip, adjusting, and lifting her into him as he eased his c-ck into her, both of them sighing, recognising the completion in their joining.
His fingers found hers, tangling and holding her hands to either side of her head as his body moved against hers, and his lips touched and lingered, drawing out the kisses between them as the storm outside broke, and the ocean soothed into calm.
2.
Emily lay gazing at the ripples of light that played across the ceiling, the reflection of the ocean outside caught by the glass of her windows and thrown through the curtains that had been left open, and she recalled her dream of her night-time lover.
Foolishness, she told herself. The wanton dreams of a girl who had spent most of her life in a girl’s boarding school. She pushed back the covers of her bed and found herself naked below, stilling as she did so, her fingers feeling the salty grit of sand in her sheets.
Her satin nightgown lay discarded on the floor. She must have, she thought as she caught it up and slid it over her, removed it in her sleep.
She ran a brush through her hair and pulled on the matching satin dressing gown, before making her way down the stairs to the breakfast room. She could hear the murmur of her parent’s voices as she approached.
“Jennifer Jamison will complete the transfer, of course, once the two are officially married, but in the meantime, this should relieve some of our financial pressure, Gregory,” her mother said. “It is not to be spent at the races or on your wh**es, promise me that.”
“Mhm,” Gregory’s reply was noncommittal and punctuated by his turning the page of his newspaper. “The Big House is occupied again,” he said to distract his wife. “Ah, there she is,” he added looking over his newspaper as Emily entered.
They sat at the elegant little antique walnut breakfast table with its scalloped edge and contorted legs, its surface protected by a lace tablecloth that was almost as old as the table, the gilt rimmed plates and tea set catching the sunlight, and the ocean waters and curve of perfect sand peaceful through the windows.
“Papa,” Emily brushed a kiss against his cheek before rounding the table and doing the same to her mother. “Mama. It looks as if the weather has turned,” she said hopefully as she sat in her place. “If it stays nice, I might go to town and do some shopping.”
“The forecast is good for the next week,” her father replied returning to his newspaper.
“Thank goodness,” her mother used her spoon to carve a portion of grapefruit free of the peel. “It would be terrible to have bad weather on the night of the Start of Season Ball.”
“Hmm,” Gregory Beaufort flicked a look at Emily. “A terrible shame.”
Emily wondered if he felt any guilt for wasting away the family’s wealth on gambling and, as her mother so succinctly put it, his wh**es. He had married into the family, not the reverse, a local boy and love match. Midway through her season, Pamela Rune had met his eyes across a bonfire at the beach and they had been married, grandly, not three months later.
Pamela Rune now regretted that decision, something that she made clear to Emily at every opportunity, but only out of Gregory’s hearing.
“How do you know?” Pamela asked Gregory.
“Know what?” He was baffled and irritated as he reached for his tea. Emily topped it up for him from the pot before using the remainder in her own cup. “Thank you,” he inclined his head to his daughter.
“The Big House,” Pamela prompted. “How do you know it is occupied this season? It has been... years. The timing could not be worse,” she added under her breath.
“I heard about it in town when I picked up the paper this morning,” Gregory said. “Apparently a convoy of limousines, 4WDs and trucks rolled through town on their way up the hill during the peak of the storm.”
“Hmm,” Pamela stabbed at her grapefruit.
Emily knew, watching her mother from the corner of her eye, that before Gregory Beaufort had caught Pamela Rune’s eye across that bonfire, she had been stepping out with Nicholas Lancaster of the Big House.
Nicholas Lancaster had gone overseas around the same time, and the Big House had been shut up ever since, although the Wilson family lived in the gatekeeper’s cottage and kept the house and grounds pristine.
“Well,” Emily finished her tea and pushed her seat back. “I think I will dress and go to town. Do you need anything whilst I am there?”
“I will come shopping,” Pamela announced to Emily rising also. “I have a few errands to see to in town.”
“Lovely,” Emily’s smile was stiff. She had hoped to go alone, hopefully meet some old summer friends. Having her snobbish mother at her side would mean that any meetings would be overlooked.
She dressed carefully in jeans and a white sheer blouse over a singlet top, and pulled her glossy dark into a high ponytail, before slipping on a pair of white sneakers and grabbing her handbag.
Her mother was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, tying a scarf over her hair, dressed in a tight mid-calf skirt, tastefully floral blouse and heels, and she sighed when Emily trotted down the stairs. “Emily, you look so... casual.”
“It’s a shopping trip, not a night at the club,” Emily told her taking her car keys out of the bowl on the hall table.
“That doesn't mean you shouldn't put more effort into your appearance,” Pamela complained as she followed Emily out of the front door onto the porch. "We might see the Jamisons."
“Damion knows what I look like,” Emily replied.
Her mother stayed on the porch waiting until Emily brought the car out of the garage and drove it to her. She slid into the ground-hugging Porsche with a sigh. “At least your car is halfway decent,” she commented. “Though so low, Emily!”
“It’s how they make these cars,” Emily was amused. “They are not really designed with pencil skirts in mind, mother.”
“Obviously,” Pamela rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. “Keep the top up or my hair will be a disaster by the time we get there.”
“Yes mama.”
“On the subject of Damion, he finished university last month. He has begun work at his family’s firm. An architect, Emily.” Pamela said as Emily turned the car onto the main road into town. "There is talk that he might apply for the mayor position in the next elections."
The town stubbornly held onto its heritage seaside charm, with most of the buildings in and around the township either original or reproduced to look original, the lamp-posts Victorian-esque, and the streets set with wrought iron benches.
Even the people who walked the streets seemed to belong to a previous era, with white, striped, or natural fibers predominant, tanned limbs, straw hats, and brightly white sneakered feet.
But then, Emily thought, the fashion reflected the type of people who frequented the era during the summer season - the wealthy escaping the city, and the alternative, flower children who came down from the hills to sell their arts and crafts to the wealthy summer visitors.
“Yes mama.”
“He plays football with the local team on Saturdays, and practises three times a week on the over at the High School. Apparently, the audience has increased considerably since he joined the team – every eligible girl in three towns comes to watch him,” she slid Emily a look out of the side of her sunglasses.
“Yes mama.”
“You could show some enthusiasm,” Pamela sighed.
“Yes mama."
“It is better this way,” Pamela brushed her hand over her skirt, removing an invisible piece of lint. “It is a good match."
"You picked your husband," Emily murmured.
"And made an absolute mess of it," Pamela replied crisply. "A man who has single-handedly worked his way through the fortune it took our family centuries to accumulate in less than three decades. Trust me, Emily, this is the right thing for you. Whilst our fortunes have gone down, the Jamison’s fortunes have gone up. You will be comfortable, secure, with a handsome husband who leapt at the opportunity to marry you, I might add.”
You are mine, Damion Jamison had said.
“Pull over near the bank, darling,” Pamela added as they entered the main street of the town, busy with cars and pedestrians. Emily spotted a Ute reversing out of a car park and swung in as it cleared the space. “Nicely done,” Pamela approved. “Perhaps we will meet back at the car at eleven?”
“Yes mama,” Emily was relieved to escape Pamela. She watched her mother go into the bank and then stepped into the flow of pedestrian traffic, letting it carry her along the glass fronted stores.
Her eye was caught by a above one store: The Cat and Crow. The woodwork around the window and the door was dark, and the display showed an interesting array of candles, bars of soap, and little jars.
“Alright,” Emily shrugged and eased the door open.
The bell over the door rang, but there was no one at the counter, and so Emily drifted through the shelves. Witch hazel and rose water moon-rested cleanser, gold and red jasper tinctures, sage setting sprays, perfumes with names like Lust, Faithful, Envy, and Midas were set amongst bundles of sage and other dried flowers and herbs, and candles in every colour, shape, and size.
“I have tried everything,” a young woman said. Through the shelves, Emily saw Claudia Jones enter with her mother, both dressed in flowing layers of lace and velvet. “Every love spell in the shop to get him to notice me, and every banishment spell to get her leave, and nothing works,” she sighed as she set a box onto the counter with a clink of jars. “I am thinking of asking the coven to help.”
“The problem lies not in the spells you are weaving, but in the subjects you would weave them on,” the older woman replied. “Damion Jamison and Emily Beaufort's heritages make them immune to our magic.”
“What is Emily... ?”
“Hello,” Mrs Jones spotted Emily. “Are you looking for something in particular?”
Flustered at having been caught eavesdropping, Emily grabbed the first item before her, a black beaded bracelet, and brought it to the counter with a smile.
“Just this, thank you,” she said watching as the young blonde woman’s cheeks coloured. “Hi Claudia.”
“Hi, Emily,” the girl muttered, picking up the box and hurrying into the shelves to unstack it.
“An interesting choice,” Mrs Jones stroked her fingers over the black beads. “Black jade is an etheric bodyguard, and a stone of protection. It is said to guard against negative forces, and energy vampires,” she lingered on the last word as she clipped it around Emily’s wrist and took the money to the ancient cash register.
“I would wear it at all times, if I were you,” she said as she handed back the change. “There is no such thing as too much protection.”
“Thank you,” Emily put the change away, disconcerted by the intensity in the woman’s gaze.
As she left, she heard Claudia say: “Why did you tell her that, mum? What did you see?”
3.
Emily released a breath as she stepped back out onto the pavement and laughed a little at her own nerves. Love spells to capture the heart of Damion Jamison and banishment spells to drive her away, how ridiculous, she thought, and then frowned. Did the whole town know that she was being sold to Damion?
She flushed and hurried down the sidewalk, embarrassed, and was so caught up in her own thoughts that she bumped into a man as he stepped out of a storefront before her, causing him to catch her against him to stop her from falling.
She stared up at him in shock, her breath stolen from her.
Damion Jamison was just as gorgeous as she remembered him, although he was a man now and not a coltish teenager all long limbs and awkwardness.
He had achieved the height promised in his youth, easily six two or three, and filled it well, his shoulders broad and rounded by muscle, his waist tapering narrowly, and his body against hers fit and hard. His brown hair glinted with a reddish tinge in the sunlight and was just slightly overgrown, curling a little where it brushed his ears and nape, and his eyes were still that unusual golden brown ringed by black, striking against his tanned skin.
There was still a glamourous magic to him, she thought, that stole her breath from her lungs and made her heart race.
“Emily,” he said, and stepped them out of the flow of pedestrian traffic into the shelter of the doorway he had exited, without releasing her, holding her tightly against him, his eyes fixed to hers. “It has been a long time.”
“Yes,” she breathed the word wishing that her mind would find something more interesting, something more sparkling to say, but it seemed frozen by the feel of him against her.
He stroked a lock of her hair back from her face. “I have been waiting for your return,” he said and leaned forward as if he were going to kiss her.
“Is this Jamison Architects?” A man asked, startling them both.
Emily stared, her heart stuttering in her chest.
The man who stood before them did so with an absolute confidence bordering on arrogance. His long dark hair was pulled back from a striking face set with bright blue eyes and high cheek bones hollowing into a strong jawline.
He thrust his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers, the open jacket revealing broad shoulders and narrow waist, and he smiled a little, his eyes meeting Emily’s with wickedness.
He winked as if they shared a secret between them.
“Yes,” Damion released his hold on Emily. “I am Damion Jamison,” he offered his hand.
“Elijah Lancaster,” the dark-haired man shook hands. “And?” He looked at Emily, his smile that of a man who knew the secrets of a woman's underwear drawer.
“Emily Beaufort,” Emily flushed. It was impossible, of course, she thought, but she had a strong feeling of recognition and connection towards the man.
“Pamela Rune’s daughter,” Elijah Lancaster took Emily’s hand, lifting it to his lips, the contact sending sparks up her arm. “My father speaks highly of your mother.”
“How can I help you?” Damion did not like Elijah touching Emily, and his smile carried the tension evident in the set of his shoulders.
“We are considering some renovations,” Elijah hand not released Emily’s hand, his thumb stroking over her skin. "And I came to open negotiations."
“You are planning on staying for a while, then?” Damion's eyes narrowed.
“The Lancasters always return to Winthrow,” Elijah replied tilting his head with a wide smile. “Eventually.”
“I can come by later today to discuss this further,” Damion’s eyes went to Emily and Elijah’s joined hands. “Around three?” He was trying to get the other man to move on, and to separate him from Emily.
“Wonderful,” Elijah said warmly, but did not release Emily nor did he move on. “What is there to do around here?” He asked. “I find myself rather bored.”
“There is the country club,” Damion’s hand came to rest against Emily’s elbow, so that one man claimed each arm, and she was held between them in a type of tug of war. “It is quite popular in the evenings. During the day, there is plenty of shopping, the beach, or the waterfront cafes and pubs.”
Elijah tugged a little on Emily’s hand, bringing her to his side with such ease and confidence that the move was seamless, tucking Emily under his arm. “Perhaps we can keep each other company, Emily, and let Damion return to work?”
“Oh, I…” Emily looked over her shoulder at Damion helplessly as Elijah was already walking down the street carrying her with him.