Dark Waters Rising

Protected

The sound of his own heart beating was the only thing in Valentine's ears. His thoughts were racing so quickly that they morphed into one incomprehensible whir.

He couldn't move. He couldn't think.

Until a pair of heart stopping cerulean eyes lifted to meet his own.

As if resurrected for a second time, Valentine regained control of his body and spurred forward. He crashed into his mate, his arms constricting around a frame he feared he'd never feel again. He buried his face in Wesley's neck and willed his own warmth to drain into the man's chilled skin.

The merchant, who remained stiff and cold, reminded Valentine far too much of a corpse for his liking. When Wesley did not return the siren's embrace, Valentine lifted his head and knew as soon as he gazed upon the merchant's face that something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Something had happened to him.

"Wes?" Valentine's voice was small.

"Can we talk? Privately?" Wesley returned so quietly that only Valentine could hear.

"Of course," he nodded, holding Wesley's biceps as he pulled away slightly.

Valentine glanced at the others in the room, most of which already had eyes on them.

"Excuse us for a moment," he said, earning nods and quiet affirmations from the group.

Valentine gently tugged Wesley further into the ship, away from prying eyes.

"What happened? Are you okay?" Valentine asked once they were far enough away that they could speak at a normal volume without being overheard.

"No," Wesley responded, "and I'm sorry."

Valentine's eyebrows furrowed. He couldn't imagine why the man would need to apologize for not being okay. He turned toward Wesley to ask, but before his lips could form around the words, there was a pair of hands wrapped around his neck.

Under normal circumstances, Valentine would hardy complain about a touch from his mate, but this one was of malicious intent. It didn't matter that he wasn't using his lungs underwater, because Wesley's tightening fingers were obviously going for a blood choke.

Within seconds, enough oxygen had been deprived from his brain for the edges of his vision to char. His own fingers desperately tried to pull Wesley's away, but they were weakening rapidly.

As another second passed, his entire vision was flooded with black.

Only this black was different.

A massive cloud of ink enveloped Wesley, and like the snap of a jolly roger in a tempest wind, it lurched into the merchant through his nose and mouth, completely disappearing inside him. Unconsciousness befell the merchant, causing his grip on Valentine to wane. The siren floated limp for a few moments as his vision and strength gradually returned.

When he no longer felt like he was about to fall asleep, he gingerly moved toward Wesley. He pulled his mate into his arms and checked for a pulse. He wasn't sure what happened, or what that thing was, but some of his worries were alleviated when he felt a steady heartbeat beneath his fingers.

Not knowing what to do, he gently pulled Wesley's eyelid up to see if that would somehow make him regain consciousness. He let the skin immediately fall back into place when he saw what laid underneath. Instead of the stormy blue he had become so enamored with, Wesley's eye was completely black. Even the whites had disappeared.

With fear clawing at his heart again, Valentine quickly carried his lover back out to the cargo hold, hoping beyond anything that his mother or one of the others might know what was going on.

Two questions burned a hole through him.

What had prompted Wesley to try to kill him again?

And what had stopped him?

----+------+----

Wesley's toes sunk into nearly white sand as he stood on a beach overlooking the ocean. Bright rays of sunlight spread warmth over his skin.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, inhaling the familiar scent of the sea.

He had missed it. The surface.

After a calming moment of just existing, Wesley looked to his left, where a familiar figure stood just a short distance away.

"Why did you bring us here?" Wesley asked.

"I didn't," he said. "You did."

Wesley's brows raised in surprise. "So you speak now?"

The figure shrugged, eyes fixated on the waves.

"What exactly are you, then?" Wesley asked, since he might actually get an answer this time.

"I am what I appear to be."

Wesley shook his head, a bit frustrated. "That doesn't make sense. How am I supposed to believe you're Valentine when I know full well he's out there in the real world?"

Piercing lilac irises turned to face him in an exhausted glare. This Valentine, or whatever it was, was the spitting image of the pirate before he had left the island. He was at full strength and health, standing proud and tall with a black leather tricorn perched atop hair pulled back by a midnight blue ribbon.

"I am just as much Valentine as he is."

"I don't understand." Wesley crossed his arms over his chest, feeling small and uncertain in the presence of the other man.

"When we went to Hell, we underwent so much trauma that our soul split. He grew to hate me so much that I was torn from the body and expelled. I am the darkest parts of Valentine. The killer. The pirate. The reason you couldn't accept us as your mate. And that bastard left me in Hell."

"Then how are you here?" Wesley's brows furrowed. Getting the other Valentine out had been quite the ordeal, so how had this one escaped?

"I heard your voice calling to me, but it was far away. I followed it to where a portal was opening, and I had nearly gotten through it when it collapsed on me. When your idiot friend removed the key, it made just enough space for me to get free."

Wesley frowned at that. "Castor has the key?"

At least he didn't know what it was or how to use it.

Valentine nodded, his eyes closing as he faced the ocean again.

"I can't talk for much longer. I need to focus my energies elsewhere."

Wesley understood, despite the vague explanation. He could feel the pirate's presence all around him. The black mist was encasing this spot in his mind, shielding it from the malicious influences trying to burrow their way in.

The King had had the audacity to sing to him during their meeting. He knew that Wesley had no knowledge of Valentine's current whereabouts, but figured if he set the enchanted merchant free, one of his bastard's spies would find him and bring him back to the head of the snake.

Valentine's father had a sick sense of humor by sending his son's mate to kill him.

But luckily for them both, this version of Valentine had been watching over Wesley and was able to step in when it all went to shite.

Now they just had to wait until the influence passed.

And pray that Valentine's darker half was strong enough to keep it out until then.

----+------+----

A/N

If you were a foot, would you be a right foot or a left foot?

It's a Tuesday,
-Mora Montgomery