The Day I Died and Fell For My Royal Guard

Seri

I never thought that dying would feel so… peaceful.

Which, honestly, is good –I guess?

Because up until about thirty seconds ago, my life had been anything but peaceful.

Fucking poachers.

What type of man gets off on killing something as adorable and harmless as a seal?

I had finally gotten my dream job studying harbor seal populations in the Irish Sea. Like every American girl growing up in the 90s, I carried my Lisa Frank binder—with two dancing dolphins on the front—and proudly declared that one day I would be a marine biologist. I was going to save the oceans, make a difference, and who knows? Maybe even fall in love with a hot captain while doing research.

Spoiler alert: I did not fall in love with a hot captain. Even though Graham was handsome in that rugged Irishman kind of way, we never got past the whole “friends with benefits” comfort that we easily fell into when I first moved here after college.

Instead of falling in love and saving the oceans, I got shot.

Because some asshole thought it would be a great idea to kill one of my research subjects. And like the idiot I am, I got involved.

“Seri, log the count—north side of the rock!”

“I am logging it,” I snapped, bracing my clipboard against the wind as the boat rocked beneath us. They never told us what it would really be like to work day and night in rough conditions like this. I wasn’t made for this. I was born in Florida. I’d literally fall out of trees just like the iguanas when it got too cold. I blame it on my mom’s Mediterranean heritage, we were a warm weather people.

This was absolutely ridiculous. The tropics is where I was supposed to be, not freezing my ass off in the middle of the ocean. I really should have studied coral reefs. Imagine, the warm water tickling my skin as I outplant polyps. That would have been the dream.

“Thirty-two adults, eight pups. And if you swing us any closer, I’m going to personally report you to—”

“Relax,” my captain muttered, not even looking at me. “They’re used to this.”

“They’re used to us,” I shot back. “Not whoever that is.”

I pointed across the dark water.

At first, I thought it was just another recreational vessel. A small one, low to the water, no lights except a dim glow near the bow. But something about the way it moved—too slow, too deliberate—made my stomach twist.

Then I heard it.

A sound I had spent years learning to recognize.

Distress.

High-pitched, sharp, wrong.

My heart dropped.

“Those aren’t ours,” I said, already moving toward the edge of the boat. “They’re not part of the colony—”

Another cry cut through the wind.

Closer this time.

And then—

A splash.

“Oh my God,” I breathed. “They…they captured one.”

“Seri—” Graham started.

“Call the coast guard,” I said, my voice going cold in that way it only did when something inside me locked into place. “Now.”

“They have weapons. Don’t do anything stupid—”

“They’re going to kill it.”

I didn’t wait for him to argue.

I grabbed the spotlight and swung it toward the other boat.

The beam cut across the dark like a blade.

And there they were.

Three men.

One of them crouched low, hauling something heavy over the side.

The net writhed.

Inside it, a beautiful seal twisted, its body slick with water and panic, eyes wide and shining in the light. It was like it could see into my soul, even from the distance. She was stunning.