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5、005 英文版 ...
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The tide rolled in slow and soft, as if the ocean itself was afraid to break the fragile hush between them.
Shane stared at the sand, his cheeks still flaming, his heart hammering so loudly he was certain Tahir could hear it. He couldn’t believe he’d said it. Couldn’t believe he’d admitted, even in that roundabout, stubborn way, that he didn’t want to leave.
That he didn’t want to leave him.
It was humiliating. It was weak. It was everything he swore he’d never be.
And yet… he didn’t regret it.
Not even a little.
Tahir stood before him, still smiling that bright, quiet, unbelievably happy smile, and Shane’s chest felt tight, warm, unbearably full. He’d never seen anyone look at him like that. Like he was the sun, the moon, the entire sky rolled into one. Like he was a miracle.
Like he was precious.
Shane’s throat bobbed. He forced his jaw tight, trying to salvage what was left of his pride.
“—Don’t get the wrong idea,” he muttered, stiff and defensive. “I just… I don’t have a way to leave right now. It’s… practical. That’s all.”
Tahir’s smile softened, fond and endless and entirely knowing.
“Of course,” he said, not teasing, not mocking, just indulgent. “Practical.”
Shane’s ears burned. He opened his mouth to snap something else, something sharper, something that would put the distance back between them — but then Tahir stepped closer, and every thought in his head vanished.
He was close. So close. Shane could see every long, dark lash, every fleck of gold in his dark eyes, the faint, damp curve of his lower lip. He could feel the warmth of his skin, the steady, quiet roll of his SSS-level Alpha pheromone — rust and iron and ocean, wrapped around him like a blanket.
It should have been overwhelming. It should have been threatening.
It was home.
Shane’s breath caught.
Tahir lifted a hand, slowly, carefully, giving him every chance to pull away. When Shane didn’t move, didn’t even blink, his fingers brushed gently, lightly, against Shane’s cheek.
The touch burned.
Shane shivered, his eyes fluttering shut for half a second.
“You’re so easy to fluster,” Tahir murmured, his voice low, warm, amused. “But I like it.”
Shane’s cheeks burned hotter. He turned his face away, but he didn’t pull away. He didn’t want to pull away.
“Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no bite in it. No heat. Just a weak, embarrassed whine.
Tahir chuckled, low and warm and deep. The sound vibrated through Shane’s bones.
“Make me,” Tahir said.
Shane’s eyes flew open.
He stared at Tahir, at that lazy, confident, infuriatingly attractive smirk, and his brain short-circuited. The words were innocent on the surface, but the way Tahir said them — low, rough, heated, deliberate — left absolutely zero room for innocence.
This mermaid had no shame.
No filter.
No mercy.
Shane’s entire face exploded in heat.
“You — you’re disgusting!” he spluttered, scrambling backward, his eyes wide, his heart racing. “Where do you even get off saying things like that?!”
Tahir laughed openly, bright and warm and pleased, as Shane fled backward again, tripping slightly over the sand in his hurry to escape.
“Where do you think?” Tahir called after him, lazy and shameless. “I’ve been watching you. I’ve been thinking about you. All night.”
Shane’s soul left his body.
He turned and fled into the trees again, his face flaming, his mind spinning, his pride thoroughly, completely, irreparably destroyed.
Tahir stood on the beach, laughing softly, his tail curling gently in the water.
He liked this.
Liked the chase.
Liked the flush.
Liked the way Shane’s proud mask cracked every single time.
He would break down that wall.
Slowly.
Gently.
Thoroughly.
Until there was nothing left between them but warmth.
And trust.
And love.
The days blurred together, soft and unhurried, like the waves.
Shane never did manage to escape for long.
He’d storm into the trees, determined to stay away, determined to hate Tahir, determined to remember he was an A-level Alpha who didn’t need anyone — and then he’d get hungry, or tired, or lonely, or that iron-scent pheromone would wrap around him, gentle and persistent, and he’d find himself wandering back to the beach.
Back to him.
They fell into a quiet, easy rhythm.
Tahir would bring him fruit, sweet and fresh and cool. He’d weave leaves into mats for shade, twist vines into ropes, use his quiet, unspoken ocean-magic to keep them warm at night, to keep the dangerous things of the island far away.
He never pushed.
Never crowded.
Never forced.
He just… stayed.
Quiet.
Steady.
Mine.
Shane began to relax, despite himself.
He stopped tensing every time Tahir came near.
Stop flinching every time their hands brushed.
Stop fleeing every time Tahir said something shameless, something heated, something that made his cheeks burn.
He began to talk.
At first, only short, stiff sentences.
Then longer, easier ones.
Stories about his studies abroad.
About his family.
About the cold, quiet loneliness of his life before the crash.
Tahir listened.
Every word.
Every silence.
Every hidden, unspoken pain.
He never interrupted.
Never judged.
Never mocked.
He just held Shane’s gaze, dark and steady and devoted, and let him speak.
In return, Tahir told him stories of the ocean.
Of the deep, dark places where light never reached.
Of creatures that swam in the abyss, ancient and terrible and beautiful.
Of storms that raged for weeks, of ships that sank, of secrets the sea had kept for centuries.
He told him about being an SSS-level Alpha.
About the weight of it, the loneliness of it, the way even the strongest creatures of the deep bowed to him.
About how he’d never cared… until he’d seen Shane in the water.
Until he’d seen him.
Shane listened, too.
Quietly.
Hungrily.
Like he was starving for every piece of Tahir he could get.
On the seventh night, the storm came.
It hit without warning, a savage, screaming thing — wind tearing through the trees, rain lashing the beach, waves rising high and dark and angry, crashing against the shore like fists.
Thunder boomed.
Lightning split the sky.
Shane froze, his heart lurching. The plane crash flashed through his head, sharp and sudden and terrifying. The sound. The fear. The falling.
He stumbled back, his breath coming fast, his vision swimming —
Strong, warm arms wrapped around him, pulling him tight, pressing him securely against a broad, solid chest.
“Easy,” Tahir’s voice murmured, low and calm and steady, directly into his ear. “I’m here. You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
The iron-scent pheromone wrapped around him, thick and protective and gentle, drowning out the storm, drowning out the fear, drowning out everything but him.
Shane buried his face in Tahir’s shoulder, his hands fisting in the wet skin of his back, and shook.
He wasn’t proud anymore.
He wasn’t strong anymore.
He was just… scared.
Tahir held him tighter, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other wrapped securely around his waist, his tail curling gently around them both, a living, protective shield.
“I’ve got you,” Tahir whispered, over and over, into his hair, into his skin, into his soul. “I’ve got you. I’m not letting go. Not ever.”
The storm raged outside.
But inside Tahir’s arms…
There was only warmth.
Only safety.
Only home.
Shane’s shoulders shook.
He took a shaky, ragged breath.
And then, quiet, muffled against Tahir’s shoulder, so softly he almost didn’t hear it himself —
“…Don’t let go.”
Tahir’s arms tightened.
“Never,” he whispered, fierce and endless and true. “Never.”
The storm passed before dawn.
When Shane woke, the sky was clear, the air was sweet and clean, and the ocean lay calm and blue and quiet, as if it had never raged at all.
He was still in Tahir’s arms.
Tahir was awake, watching him, his gaze soft and dark and endlessly fond.
Shane lifted his head, their eyes meeting.
No embarrassment.
No pride.
No stubborn distance.
Just… quiet.
Calm.
Understanding.
Shane’s throat bobbed.
He didn’t look away.
Slowly, carefully, his heart pounding, Shane lifted a hand. His fingers brushed gently, hesitantly, against Tahir’s cheek.
Tahir’s breath caught.
Shane’s hand trembled, but he didn’t pull away.
“…Tahir,” he whispered, his voice soft, raw, real.
Tahir’s eyes darkened.
“Shane,” he whispered back.
No more games.
No more teasing.
No more walls.
Just two names.
Two Alphas.
Two souls that had found each other in the middle of the sky falling.
Shane leaned forward.
Tahir met him halfway.
Their lips brushed.
Soft.
Gentle.
Unrushed.
A kiss that felt like coming home.
