Water should be clear, pure, perfect and barely perceptible. He should never have to think about water. It should be the last thing on his mind. Because his mate is near, a fact that ought to trump every other consideration.
But the water is thick with blobs of synthetic snowdrift, more terrifying than any of the winter scenes he can dimly access, from his other life. It’s then that he spots her, through the growing mist.
Still in human form, despite the moon: scuba diving through the aqua depths, her wetsuit gleaming as she hammers towards him, from a kilometer away. Because she can feel it, as he begins to choke, to spasm.
To die. Greg wonders if his mate’s pain will be the last thing he’s aware of, as her shark form is triggered and she begins to rip off human adornment, to launch herself towards him as her gills open.
He’s choking. And he wonders. If they’ll die together, in this storm of man-made snows.
He’s man, and he’s shark. But it’s the men who’ve killed him, and all his natural shark brothers too.