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    Mermaid Tails
    Mermaid Tails
    Mermaid Tails
    Ebook114 pages1 hour

    Mermaid Tails

    By Sasha L. Miller

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Giato is a simple dragon. All he wants is to run his shop selling spell components and dote on his hoard of fish. Then someone starts messing with his fish, sending them into a frenzy every day, and it's only a matter of time before they get hurt. But when he finally catches the jerk, he doesn't expect Mihail: beautiful, cursed, and utterly compelling.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSasha L. Miller
    Release dateSep 23, 2018
    ISBN9780463362068
    Mermaid Tails
    Author

    Sasha L. Miller

    Sasha L. Miller spends most of her time writing, reading, or playing with all things website design. She loves telling stories, especially romance, because there’s nothing better than giving people their happily ever afters. When not writing, she spends time cooking, harassing her roommates, and playing with her cats.

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      Book preview

      Mermaid Tails - Sasha L. Miller

      MERMAID TAILS

      SASHA L. MILLER

      Giato is a simple dragon. All he wants is to run his shop selling spell components and dote on his hoard of fish. Then someone starts messing with his fish, sending them into a frenzy every day, and it's only a matter of time before they get hurt. But when he finally catches the jerk, he doesn't expect Mihail: beautiful, cursed, and utterly compelling.

      Mermaid Tales

      By Sasha L. Miller

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

      Edited by Samantha M. Derr

      Cover designed by Megan Derr

      This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

      First Edition September 2018

      Copyright © 2018 by Sasha L. Miller

      Printed in the United States of America

      CHAPTER ONE

      Giato was stalking his own shop. Ostensibly, he was shopping for wine across the street at the lovely Chara's shop, but he was doing less shopping and more staring out the front windows, trying to catch sight of the person who kept screwing with his fish. Chara had said they were tall, always wrapped in a ragged cloak, and that she'd caught a glimpse of long hair once when the wind had blown right.

      None of which was helpful because it was still chilly this spring, and everyone wore cloaks with the hoods up to help fight off the biting wind that came off the lake. With luck, though, the jerk would give themselves away. Giato scowled, glancing over at the clock above the counter at the back. It was just before ten, so the jerk should be showing up soon. Every damn day for the last month, near ten o'clock, someone walked by Giato's shop and stirred up all of his expensive, beautiful fish. They flocked to the window, and all but tried to kill themselves to get out of the tank for whoever kept bewitching them.

      The jerk was lucky none of them had been hurt so far. If they had...

      As if on cue, his fish started swarming toward the front of the shop. Giato tensed, ignoring Chara's soft laughter—she thought the whole thing hilarious—and scanned the street.

      He was in luck. There was only one person on the street anywhere near his shop. As Chara had said, they were tall, wrapped in a thin cloak that had seen better days, with the hood pulled up. One bare, gloveless hand clutched at the front of the cloak, holding the hood closed. Who didn't wear gloves out?

      Someone who was casting strange spells on his fish.

      Giato tamped down his initial urge to storm from the shop. If he scared the jerk off, he'd never get answers. Pulling up his own hood, he waved when Chara called out a goodbye and slipped from her store quietly. The jerk was loitering, watching his fish, and Giato slip-slid through the slush, moving as quietly as he could.

      Not quietly enough, though, as his quarry heard him coming. Without turning to look at Giato, the jerk started walking again, the fish swarming to follow his movement. Giato dismissed the idea of further stealth, sprinting the last few steps to grab the asshole by the arm.

      Hey! What do you think you're doing? Giato demanded. He yanked the person around—and was temporarily lost for words. The man was the most beautiful person he'd seen in an age, which was saying something, because he saw plenty of people every day. His grip slacked, and the man jerked away, eyes wide and terrified. He scrambled away from Giato, but slipped in the slush, falling to the ground with a wet squelch. Er. Sorry.

      The hood had fallen away, revealing long dark hair that had a strange blue tint to it. The man's eyes were a vibrant turquoise. Not human, Giato would bet his fish on that, but he wasn't dragon or fairy or anything else that Giato had run into before. Giato glanced at his shop—the fish were still all at the front of the tank that was positioned in the front window, but they didn't seem as frantic as they had been moments before.

      Sorry, Giato repeated, holding out a hand. I didn't mean to startle you.

      The man shook his head, ignoring Giato's hand as he stood. He glanced at the fish, looking inexplicably sad, and then turned away. No, that wasn't going to happen. Not until Giato got an explanation.

      Hey, Giato said, moving to get in the man's away again. Come in, warm up, maybe borrow one of my cloaks. You shouldn't be walking about all wet, not in this weather.

      The man shook his head, but Giato didn't let that stop him. He could be pushy if he needed to, though obviously he needed to tread more carefully. He wrapped an arm around the man's shoulders, guiding him toward the building. The man dragged his feet, but after a second let Giato guide him into the building. The fish seemed thrilled by that—they all followed along as Giato brought the man closer to the building. The more Giato watched them, the clearer it became that the man wasn't casting something on them. Or if he had, the spell was long-acting and not currently being cast.

      The shop was warm, almost to the point of being unbearably hot. The tanks needed the warmth, and no one liked to shop in a cold building. Giato made his living—and supported his fish collection—selling books on magic and herbal spell components. Most of the later were temperamental enough that Giato wanted the shop warm anyway.

      Giato left the sign declaring he was away on a break up on the door and removed his cloak, hanging it on the rack by the door. He scraped the slush off his boots as well as he could and gestured for his unenthused guest to do the same. Come on, hang your cloak by the fire. He jerked a thumb toward the fire. His own cloak would dry in the warmth of the shop before he had to next go out, but no doubt the man would be leaving more quickly.

      I'm Giato, Giato said, recalling what few manners he had left. What's your name?

      The man looked at him, frowning. He lifted his chin and tapped two fingers against the front of his throat. Giato stared for a moment before it clicked.

      Mute? Giato asked. The man nodded. Instead of walking over to the fire, he drifted closer to the fish tank in the window. It was Giato's favorite. Not that he was supposed to have favorites, but the saltwater tank had taken him the longest and the most money to set up and fill. They were all flashy and brilliant, beautiful and playful, and he wanted ten more tanks just like it. Can you write?

      The man rocked his hand back and forth in a wavering motion that seemed to say, 'sort of,' and Giato immediately went to go get some paper. He fetched it from the little desk on the left side of the shop, which was nestled in the middle of his six fish tanks. The right side of the shop was given over to his wares, neatly organized in jars and pouches, the books filling three bookcases along the back wall.

      He lived upstairs, close to his tanks, and he wouldn't admit the number of times he'd slept downstairs, basking in the glow and presence of his fish.

      Here, Giato said, turning. The man was standing next to the saltwater tank, one hand hovering near the glass. The fish were crowding near, and they liked him. Giato stared, wondering again just what the man was that he was so enthralling to the fish. Just the ocean fish, though; his freshwater fish didn't seem to care that the man was nearby. What's your name?

      The man turned, his eyes sad again. He shrugged, barely glancing at the paper Giato held out. He pointed to the door and waved at Giato, clearly intended to leave.

      At least give me your name, please, Giato said. He almost, almost went to block the man's exit, but something told him that was a bad idea. Please.

      The man hesitated but nodded, taking the pencil and paper Giato held out. He walked over to the nearest wall and braced the paper against it, painstakingly scratching out characters. He handed it back to Giato, who glanced down. The writing was awkward and childish, like the man had only barely started to learn it.

      Mihail. It suited him.

      It's a pleasure, Mihail, Giato said. He smiled, offering a hand. Mihail tentatively took it, and Giato gave it a brisk shake. Mihail's hand was freezing cold, but given that he had no

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