Infatuation of a Merman

Chapter 10-Eclipsing Fears

He tilted his head forward, leaning close enough that I could almost feel his steady breath. "Do you actually believe that these are just for decoration?"

Hearing him speak shocked me into silence. He hadn't made a peep since arriving on land, so for him to abruptly change his method of communication was unexpected.

It took a while for my surprised mind to process what he said. "The scales have a purpose?"

"Of course, they stop you from bleeding to death."

"Why would I bleed to death?"

He gave me an exasperated look that said 'Are you intentionally being an idiot?'

Feeling my intelligence being challenged, a rarely seen pride caused me to wrack my brain for the possible answer. So the scales were apparently stopping me from bleeding, which would mean that they were concealing a wound like a big bandage. The only problem was where I could've received such a life-threatening injury.

My memories flashed back to that time in the cave.

"You mean that slash I got from the blue-tailed merman?"

He nodded in affirmation.

"Then why aren't the scales in a straight line?" The wound was done in a straight line, so it would've made sense if the shape of the scar were the same.

The annoyed glare he sent my way made me feel as if I had stepped over his imaginary line of tolerable patience. Remembering just how dangerous he was, a sense of crisis overwhelmed me as I struggled against the grip he had on my wrists.

"It-it's okay. Y-you don't have to answer."

His anger faltered, replaced by a brief moment of confusion, before it returned. He grit his teeth while his eyes narrowed dangerously at me.

"Don't move," he ordered, releasing my wrists and striding out of the room.

And I obeyed, nervously awaiting his return like some captured animal too afraid of freedom and its consequences.

When he returned, he had the slave rite in his hand. He held the contract before me, like he didn't want me to miss anything. His fingers, coated in my blood, smeared against a boxed area on the contract. The deep red hue starkly contrasted with the yellowing parchment, as if four long gashes had been gouged out of it.

It was then that I knew. He was going to make me a slave.

I lunged for the rite. My nails nicked his hand as he quickly withdrew the parchment. I drew blood, but I wasn't able to snatch the rite.

I didn't strike him again. I didn't want to. He was staring straight at me, daring me to challenge him a second time. Maybe it was the confidence he exuded or the silent threat in his demeanor, but I didn't try to approach him again.

Then again, this contract was one of the cheaper ones; there weren't many restrictions placed on the slave. The slave didn't have to obey the owner's orders or anything. They would just die when the owner died. And I didn't think that Kiraize was suicidal so it was completely fine. I just had to keep telling myself that.

He wiped the blood that was leaking from his hand onto the contract's other box.

The inscriptions painted onto the parchment glowed with a dim light, signifying the completion of the slave rite. An illusory chain wrapped around my hand. It extended from my wrist, slithering on the ground toward Kiraize. He didn't run from the magic construct. He let it approach him, crawl up his body, and then squeeze the life from his neck.