Taming the Abyss King

I bought a merman on the black market. He was captivating. And he was dangerous.

But then came the nights I’d find him watching me through the glass, his eyes burning with a predatory stillness.

And after that, the dreams began—dreams so vivid and strange they felt more like memories.

1
To get back in my good graces, my underlings brought me to The Onyx Room, the most notorious private auction house in Solace City. I’d spent the entire evening slouched in a plush velvet armchair, feeling the boredom settle deep in my bones. I was idly flipping a vintage stiletto dagger I’d recently acquired, letting the blade catch the amber light, and shot a lazy, half-smiling glance at the man who’d invited me.

He flinched, his leg starting to jiggle under my gaze. Just as I was about to dismiss him entirely, the auctioneer on the stage below finally reached the last lot of the night.

The Onyx Room was all dark wood, hidden alcoves, and the low glow of amber lamps—a speakeasy vibe for clientele with monstrously deep pockets and questionable morals. The auctioneer, a man with a flair for the dramatic, raised a finger to his lips, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. His voice dropped to a husky whisper, pulling the room into a shared secret. "And now, for our final piece. I guarantee this is something that will drive every last one of you to madness."

He paused for effect. "It originates from the Gamma Labs project. A 'failed' experiment, they called it. But I tell you, it is nothing less than a masterwork of creation itself…"

As he spoke, two stagehands wheeled out an enormous container draped in a thick, crimson curtain. The thing was massive, tall enough that its top cleared the high ceiling by only a few feet.

Every eye in the room was fixed on it. Even I felt a flicker of interest and straightened in my chair, a cynical smile playing on my lips. A failed experiment. Just another toy for the obscenely wealthy. The underground world had been flooded with them for years—horrific chimeras born from illicit gene-splicing. Half-human, half-serpent monstrosities; children with the faces of cats; men twisted into beastly wolf forms. Every one of them a “failure.”

But this was different.

The red curtain fell. Under the dim, theatrical lighting, the container was revealed to be a massive, cylindrical cultivation tank, filled with a pale, glowing blue liquid.

A collective gasp swept through the crowd below. They were stunned into silence by the sight, and I felt my own breath catch in my throat.

Because floating serenely inside was a merman. A merman with no visible signs of crude genetic fusion.

He was a creature of intense, breathtaking beauty, possessing an androgynous allure that blurred the lines of gender. But the bare, sculpted lines of his torso made it clear he was male. His frame was long and elegant, yet the defined muscles of his chest and arms rippled with a power you couldn't ignore. His lower body was a magnificent tail, at least six feet of shimmering, gunmetal-silver scales that caught the dim light like a thousand tiny mirrors.

He appeared to be sleeping, his hair—a startling shade of cobalt blue—drifting around his head like a deep-sea halo. As the water gently eddied, I could just make out the translucent, fin-like membranes behind his ears. His face was a masterpiece of sharp, delicate lines and chiseled angles. His eyelashes were stark white, like a dusting of frost, casting faint shadows on skin so pale it seemed almost inorganic.

He looked like a deity who had presided over the cosmos, only to fall to earth when his celestial throne crumbled. This wasn't a product of a creator. This was the creator himself.

"I wonder what he looks like with his eyes open," I murmured, the words escaping before I could stop them.

As if on cue, he opened them.

And then, in the space of a blink, I met a pair of deep blue eyes. The gaze was placid, yet it hit me with the force of being dragged into the crushing depths of the ocean. It was the feeling of tearing a perfect rose from a thorny vine with your bare hands.

Captivating. And dangerous.

Across the sea of bidders on the floor below, through the one-way glass of my private booth, our eyes locked. I knew he shouldn't be able to see me.

But he did. I was sure of it.

His stare held no discernible emotion, yet it pierced right through me, sending a chill down my spine that was equal parts warning and… exhilaration.

My lips were suddenly dry. I ran my tongue over them. I loved this feeling—the thrill of a challenge, the promise of a conquest.

I raised an eyebrow, holding his gaze without flinching.

When the bidding below descended into a frantic, near-violent frenzy, I raised my hand. And I ended it.

I stood and walked to the glass, tracing the outline of his face on the cool surface. Leaning in, I smiled and mouthed the words, a silent declaration of ownership.

You’re mine.

As I turned to leave, I glanced back one last time. And I could have sworn I saw the corner of his mouth, which had been perfectly neutral, twist into a subtle, contemptuous smirk.

2

Merfolk. The legends painted them as enigmatic, powerful creatures of the deep. Wild, cunning, and brutally intelligent. They were said to possess eyes that could pierce the darkest abyss, a sense of smell that could track blood for miles, and voices that could weave hypnotic spells.

Whispers and folklore. No one in the modern world had ever actually seen one.

And now, I owned one.

He might be a product of a lab, but his flawless form made that single imperfection utterly irrelevant.

I had him moved to my estate and placed in the shark tank. "Tank" was a modest term. It was a massive, private aquarium built into the foundation of my villa, its main wall a sweeping curve of reinforced glass that formed one side of my subterranean lounge. It was where I liked to unwind. And occasionally, where I’d feed my sharks with people who had disappointed me.

I wanted to see which was the more ferocious predator: the merman or the sharks. Based on the legends of their savagery, the outcome was anyone's guess.

But three days passed, and the bloody spectacle I’d anticipated never happened. In fact, the only violence was directed at my staff; two of the handlers who performed the daily feedings had been bitten by sharks that were suddenly, uncharacteristically aggressive.

I stood before the vast glass wall for a long time, watching the blue light from the ceiling shimmer through the eerily quiet water. Not only were my sharks, usually restlessly patrolling, nowhere to be seen, but the merman was also missing.

Puzzled, I pressed my face closer to the glass, trying to peer into the deeper, darker recesses of the tank. A sudden, prickling chill crept up the back of my neck.

I snapped my head up.

There he was. Floating directly above me in the water, near the surface, looking down at me from the other side of the glass ceiling. He was positioned like a sea god passing judgment on a mortal subject. His white eyelashes were lowered, obscuring his expression, but his presence filled me with a strange unease that made the blood hum in my veins.

Still looking up, I gave him a lazy wave. I didn’t know if he could hear me, let alone understand, but I called out anyway. "Come down. I don't like craning my neck to talk to… anyone."

He seemed to understand. With a single, powerful flick of his silver tail, he descended, slicing through the water until he was hovering directly in front of me, separated only by a few inches of glass.

I stepped closer, my fingers tracing the outline of his face on the cool surface. "You are devastatingly beautiful," I said, my voice low.

This time, I knew he heard me. And I knew he understood.

Because his lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile, a look filled with an unreadable intent. He opened his mouth and said something, but no sound reached me through the glass.

I asked him a few more questions, but he just watched me with that same unnerving gaze from the auction, offering nothing more. It was a letdown. I suppose I couldn't expect much. He was a "failure," after all. He could have been human once, or maybe just a fish. But if he was modeled on a human, then whoever possessed that face before the experiment must have been a walking cataclysm.

3

Over the next few days, I went to see him a few times. He either stared at me, motionless, or was nowhere to be found. The novelty began to wear off. I’d expected a wild hawk that needed breaking, but he seemed to have been tamed almost instantly. It was boring. My interest waned, and I stopped visiting the lounge.

Until the night of the full moon. It hung high and heavy in the sky, a perfect silver disk. I was drinking alone on my terrace when one of my men rushed in, breathless, to report that the merman had vanished. Annoyed, and with a pleasant buzz from the scotch, I made my way down the winding staircase to the aquarium lounge.

The moment I stepped onto the gallery, I saw him. He was there, hovering on the other side of the glass, watching me.

A flare of anger cut through the alcohol haze. "Have I not been feeding the sharks enough lately? Are you all so bored you have to lie to my face?" I snapped, my voice echoing in the vast, quiet space. I jabbed a finger toward the merman. "And you. What are you looking at? Are you some kind of mute fish?"

Fueled by liquor and irritation, I stalked toward the glass. I misjudged the small step down from the gallery to the main floor, my ankle turned, and I pitched forward.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the impact. But it never came. After a long moment, I hesitantly opened them.

A cold dread, sharp and sobering, washed over me, chasing away the last vestiges of my drunken stupor.

I was floating. In the water.

On the other side of the seamless, impenetrable glass wall was the very lounge I had just been standing in.

And then, a pale, cold hand snaked around my waist from behind, locking me in an unbreakable grip.

4

Every nerve in my body went rigid. The primal, exhilarating fear of being trapped in a predator’s den flooded my senses.

I’d been drinking in the comfort of my own home, dressed only in a silk nightgown with a light robe thrown over it. The thin fabric was now soaked, clinging to my skin. The robe had a low-cut back, and I could feel the distinct, icy touch of his skin against mine—a coldness that wasn't human.

I didn’t have time to wonder how I was able to breathe underwater, how I wasn't drowning. The owner of the hand shifted, his head moving to rest beside my shoulder. I felt his breath, damp and cool, against the shell of my ear, the sensation impossibly clear through the water. It was a feeling so alien, so dangerous, it sent a tremor of pure adrenaline through me.

I was terrified. I was thrilled.

I didn't dare turn around. This was a merman, a creature of legend known for its deadly siren song. Even as a lab creation, he was an unknown, and I had to treat him with the respect a predator deserved.

I fought to control the trembling that threatened to take over my body, my eyes darting around, searching for a reflection. In the dim, blue light, the curved glass wall offered a distorted mirror.

The image was surreal. I was floating like a marionette with its strings cut, my dark hair fanning out around me like seaweed, my white silk gown billowing softly against the current. Behind me, the merman was an imposing shadow, his form, including his tail, easily nine feet long. He dwarfed me, caging me completely.

One of his arms was clamped around my waist. His cobalt hair mingled with mine, a swirl of blue and black that looked almost tender. In the reflection, his expression was one of lazy, sated satisfaction, his silver tail swaying gently with each breath. He lowered his head, nosing at the side of my neck. I felt the sharp points of his teeth graze the artery there, sending a wave of ice through my veins.

What is he doing? Is he going to eat me?

A thousand scenarios flashed through my mind, none of them fitting the slow, deliberate way he was acting. His other hand, fingers tipped with sharp nails connected by translucent webbing, had already slipped under my robe, tracing patterns over the bare skin of my back.

My senses screamed at me to be on guard. I watched his reflection, ready to strike at the first sign of aggression.

But he didn't attack. Instead, he slowly lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine in the warped glass.

My heart hammered against my ribs. He knows I’m watching.

His expression didn't change, but I felt a subtle shift in the water around me, an invisible pressure building. My instincts screamed, the hair on my arms standing on end.

"What do you want?" I tried to say, the words catching in my throat.

I never got them out. I couldn't even process why I could speak underwater. His free hand shot up, gripping my chin and tilting my head back, exposing the fragile line of my throat to his gaze.

And then he kissed me.

It was sudden, overwhelming. I raised my hands to fight him off, to push him away, but in that same instant, the world fell out from under me. The strange buoyancy, the ability to breathe—it all vanished.

The crushing weight of the water slammed into me. The desperate, burning need for air filled my lungs. Panic set in. My thoughts fractured.

Is this considered interspecies harassment?

Through the haze of oxygen deprivation, I thought I heard it—the legendary song of the mermen. It was a deep, resonant hum, an ancient summons from the abyss. The language was alien, but I felt a flicker of recognition, a certainty in my gut.

He was saying my name. Ava.

The world was going dark. The pressure was unbearable. Just as my consciousness began to fade, I heard the faint, muffled shouts of my men from the other side of the glass.

And then, everything went black.

5

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the floor of the lounge gallery, right where I had tripped. Several of my men were gathered around me, their faces etched with concern.

I pushed them away and scrambled to my feet, my eyes fixed on the empty aquarium. "When you came in," I demanded, my voice raw, "where was I?"

"Right… right here on the floor, Ms. Thorne," one of them stammered, confused.

"Did you see the merman?" I asked, my gaze sweeping the tank again.

They exchanged uneasy glances. "No, ma'am."

I stared into the deceptively calm water for a long moment, my thumb brushing against my swollen lips. Without another word, I turned and strode out.

I summoned a gene-splicing expert, a jumpy old man who paled when he saw the blood-stained dagger I was cleaning. He nervously launched into a long-winded explanation of the merman's genetic makeup.

"Spare me the lecture," I cut in, impatient. "Just tell me how he pulled me into the tank. What kind of ability is that?"

"I… I have no idea, Ms. Thorne," the old man stammered, wringing his hands. "Are you certain… perhaps you'd had a bit too much to drink and it was… a dream?"

I gave him a look that made him shrink. My men "politely" escorted him out.

I sat on the sofa, stewing in my own thoughts, then rose to my feet. I summoned every person on the estate's staff.

"Everyone," I announced, my voice dangerously calm. "We're going fishing."

I stood before the glass wall and watched as a team of divers swept back and forth through the massive tank. Half an hour later, they’d found nothing but a few shark teeth, shed naturally during the season change. Not a single trace of him.

A cold, humorless smile spread across my face. He was in there. I knew he was. He was deliberately letting them miss him.

So, the silver-tailed merman wanted to play games. I’d tried to tame him, and now he was trying to tame me. If it weren't for the fact that I was on dry land and he was in his element, I would have shown him a thing or two about the cruelty of humans.

I ordered the food supply to the tank cut off. I had underwater cameras installed. And I forbade anyone from going near that part of the estate.

For days, I watched the monitors. Nothing. The merman remained hidden. Just as I was about to lose interest again, he appeared. He materialized in the center of the main camera’s view, staring directly into the lens. It felt as if he could see me sitting on the other side.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. It was wild, aggressive, and charged with a wickedness that belonged to some forgotten, malevolent god.

My breath hitched. And then I had to admit it.

He was, without a doubt, provoking me.

It had been a long time since anyone had dared to treat me, Ava Thorne, with such blatant disrespect in my own city.

I immediately ordered the divers back in the water to capture him.

But by the time they reached the tank, he was gone again.

Staring at the empty, blue-lit water on the screen, I laughed softly. "Alright then," I whispered to the empty room. "Let's see who tames who."

6

That night, for the first time in years, my sleep was not a dreamless void. It was filled with a strange, hauntingly vivid dream.

In this dream, I was a woman of another time, a formidable privateer captain sailing the high seas. My mission was to chart a new trade route, but a violent storm had thrown my ship wildly off course somewhere in the Atlantic, near the Strait of Gibraltar.

After the storm broke, the seas calmed.

"Captain," my first mate said, his voice hesitant as he approached me on deck. "We've… pulled something from the water. You should come see it."

His reluctance piqued my curiosity. I followed him below deck, where the crew, who had been huddled together, quickly parted to reveal their find.

I stopped short, stunned. It was him. The merman from my tank. But this version of him was in a wretched state, his body covered in deep, gruesome wounds.

The dream-version of me, however, was unfazed. She seemed to possess a worldly knowledge of such creatures. She strode forward and crouched beside the barely conscious merman, tilting his chin up with her fingers. She completely ignored the venomous glare he shot her, studying his face with a clinical interest before letting out an appreciative, low whistle. "A foreign merman, is it? Handsome devil. Just my type."

…I had to admit, despite the public setting, that sounded exactly like something I would say and do.

This merman, unlike the one in my tank, seemed to have a strategic mind. He knew he was injured, weak, and powerless. So, he simply lay there, limp and unresponsive, allowing himself to be handled.

My dream-self knew precisely how to deal with him. She ordered a set of shackles brought forth, forged from what my first mate called "cold iron and silver." Instead of putting the merman back in the water, she had him chained by her bedside in her cabin.

I had to give her credit. On land, it was her territory. How could she fail to break a beast on her own terms?

And she was certainly relentless. The dream flashed forward. I saw myself sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a piece of specially prepared fish, trying to coax him.

"Hungry? Tell me your name, and you can have it. I know your kind can speak."

The merman lay on the floor, his eyes like chips of ice, radiating a cold, murderous fury.

I paid him no mind, even daring to run my hand over his bare torso, stroking the smooth skin as I mused aloud. "Fine, don't talk. I'll just name you myself. My name is Ava. You can share it. How about… Ava's Isle? No, just Isle."

I paused, considering my own brilliance. "A woman of letters and poetry, that's me. See how artistic that sounds?"

The merman, shackled by his hands and tail, could only glare at me, the rage in his eyes so potent it was a physical force. He looked like he wanted to devour me whole.

Having satisfied my curiosity for the moment, I offered him some mock comfort. "Don't struggle. Being caught by me is the best thing that could have happened to you. In your condition, if I threw you back in the sea, you'd be nothing but shark bait."

I paused, a slow, pleased smile spreading across my face. "Now that I think about it, I'm your savior. And since you're refusing to speak, you can't thank me with words. You'll just have to repay me with your body."

I had no idea if the merman understood my words, but I was certainly enjoying myself. Gazing at his impossibly beautiful face, a familiar itch started under my skin. I leaned down, cupped his jaw, and pressed a firm kiss to his thin lips, lips that I knew hid sharp teeth.

"Hiss—" He bit me.

"So shy," I murmured, licking the drop of blood from my lip. I looked at his defiant, sneering face and was about to go in for another, more forceful kiss.

But just as I reached for him, the morning light flooded my vision.

The dream was over.

7

"Son of a—" I woke up snarling, furious at the interruption.

But the words died on my lips as my eyes adjusted to my surroundings. I froze, not daring to move a muscle.

Because I was in the exact same position as in my dream: sprawled on top of the merman.

His stunning face was inches from mine, so close I could feel his cool breath ghosting across my skin.

But this wasn't my dream. I was in the water, in his domain, held captive in his arms.

Discretion is the better part of valor.

I looked from his teasing, observant gaze down to my own empty hands, and offered a weak, ingratiating smile. "Long time no see."

He raised a single, perfect eyebrow. The arm around my waist tightened, pulling me even closer. The sudden movement made me lose my balance in the water, and I instinctively threw my arms around his neck to steady myself.

A low, throaty chuckle vibrated through his chest and echoed in the silent water.

I snapped my head up to meet his eyes, saw the amused curve of his lips, and understood instantly what he was doing.

He was playing with me. My fear, my small, desperate movements—it was all a game to him.

In that moment, I forgot I couldn't swim. I forgot I was at his mercy.

I, Ava Thorne, always repay my debts.

My hand, already around his neck, slid up into his cobalt hair, my fingers finding the translucent, webbed fin behind his ear. "You ruined a perfectly good nightgown," I said, my voice dripping with false fairness. "A little touch for a touch seems only fair, don't you think?"

I gently pinched the delicate membrane, a sly smile on my face. "Nice texture," I commented honestly.

Seeing no aggressive reaction from him, no baring of teeth, that reckless, self-destructive part of me decided to push my luck.

My hand slid from his fin to his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw before brushing over his lips. He caught the tip of my finger between his teeth, a gentle pressure, not a bite.

Under his smoldering, predatory gaze, I laughed softly. "Why so gentle? Haven't you eaten? Or is it possible the great merman knows how to be tender with a lady?"

As I spoke, my other hand began its own exploration, gliding over the hard, defined planes of his chest.

But this time, I had pushed too far. I had grossly overestimated my ability to operate in his world.

It was only later that I would understand the monumental, almost fatal, mistake I had made. The merman was in his mating season, and my foolish provocations had nearly gotten me killed. Or worse.

Lost in the intoxicating feel of his skin, I failed to notice the change in his eyes, the deep blue darkening to a stormy, abyssal black.

By the time I sensed the shift in the atmosphere, it was too late. His silver tail, which had been swaying lazily, shot out like a whip, coiling tightly around my waist.

"What are you doing?"

"Hey, where are you touching?"

"Whoa, easy there, handsome! Let's talk about this! Don't rip the silk!"

"Isle! Okay, okay, I won't touch you! I'm sorry!"

"Damn it, I said I'm sorry!"

"..."

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