The Moment I Let You Go Chapter 03
Dusting the dirt off my knees, I dragged myself up and headed down the sidewalk.
My head was a mess, thoughts spinning as I walked aimlessly until sunset.
Just as the light was fading, a carnival vendor shouted in my direction. “Hey, miss. Two bucks for six darts.
“Give it a shot. Win, and you take home the merman.”
I shook my head. I’d never been lucky, and I needed that cash for food anyway.
Catching a whiff of something cooking, I started toward a nearby pancake stand.
But the merman crammed in the very back of the prize display caught my eye. “Please take me home, miss,” he pleaded.
I tried to ignore him, but he was begging for my help.
His intense stare stopped me dead in my tracks.
He had thick, wavy, light-pink hair and striking blue-pink eyes.
His chest and arms were heavily muscled, tapering down into a pink tail that faded from light to dark.
The translucent fins caught the pale pink light.
But the glass tank they kept him in was ridiculously small.
His tail was bent completely in half against his torso, and it looked agonizing.
While I stood there hesitating, the vendor cracked a whip. “You’re useless if you can’t draw a crowd.”
“Wait,” I blurted.
Running on pure impulse, I handed over a two-dollar bill and found myself holding six darts.
I tossed them one by one, missing terribly, then handed over another bill.
And another.
I couldn’t even snag the cheap prizes at the front of the display.
Before I knew it, my wallet was totally empty.
Unable to help him, I turned to walk away.
Suddenly, the merman started slamming his fists against the glass.
The vendor lashed out with the whip to shut him up, but the pain only made the merman strike the glass harder.
His tail shoved the heavy lid open, sending water sloshing over the edge.
Then the lid slammed back down, trapping the middle of his tail outside the tank.
He winced in obvious pain but kept calling after me. “Miss, please don’t leave.”
A memory flashed through my mind—I was in middle school, and my parents were getting divorced. I remembered them fighting bitterly over who got to keep the family’s werebeast.
Neither of them had bothered to ask for me.
This was the first time someone had actively chosen me.
“Stop hitting him!” I stepped up to intervene, but the vendor shoved me back.
His friendly carnival barker routine vanished. “This werebeast is mine, and I’ll treat him however I want.
“He’s disobeying orders.”
He raised the whip to strike him again.
Panicking, my fingers brushed against the bonding pact in my pocket. “Wait! Will you trade him for a top-tier werebeast bonding pact?”
The vendor snatched the document from my hand, his eyes scanning the details.
It was a pact for an S-class combat werebeast.
Since the government paid out a massive monthly stipend for S-classes—even after retirement—the pact was worth a fortune.
The vendor gladly agreed to the trade.
Then it hit me—this vendor looked like the type who abused werebeasts. I quickly forwarded the vendor’s contact info to Nadia. “I needed the cash,” I texted her. “If you still want Killian, you can buy his pact from this vendor.”
Standing there beneath the harsh glare of the streetlight, looking at our shadows on the pavement, I was absolutely stunned by what I’d just done.
