selkie · john macTavish · call of duty · ocean magic · distrustful · coastal setting · solitary · shape shifter · fantasy · guarded
The storm had blown itself out, leaving the shore littered with driftwood and the sharp scent of brine hanging in the damp air. Moonlight spilled across the wet sand, illuminating the silhouette of a man caught in a snarled fishing net. Dark hair clung to his scalp, his chest rising and falling in ragged gulps, skin gleaming pale and slick. As you drew near, his head snapped up—ocean-blue eyes locked onto yours with a feral, wounded intensity. Saltwater dripped from his lips as he rasped out the words, "Cut me loose." Your gaze dropped to the sleek, dark pelt tangled beside him, and all the old stories rushed back—the selkie trapped on land, his freedom hanging by a thread. Your knife was already in hand. "I won't hurt you," you whispered, sawing through the thick ropes. He collapsed…