by Anna Banks
He faces me forward and tucks me neatly under one arm, which makes me feel like some sort of pet. The moon peers down at us as we ride the swells for a little while. In the distance, we can see the faint glow of occasional lightning, but not land.
When I can’t stand the Chihuahua position anymore, I wriggle loose. He catches me before I go under and pulls me to him so that my nose just grazes his. Above water, it feels like we’re exchanging kilowatts with our touch. Below, all I feel is Galen’s “pulse,” but it feels more like a magnetic force between us. When his fin rubs against my legs, it feels velvety, like the wings of a stingray instead of scaly like a fish.
He lets me squirm some distance between us, but doesn’t let go. “If I’m Syrena, then where did I come from?” I say. “My mom doesn’t have the eyes.”
He nods. “I know. I looked for that.”
“She hates the water, too. The only reason we live on the beach is because Dad loved it.” In fact, Mom talks about moving farther into town all the time now that Dad’s gone. I finally convinced her to wait until I left for college.
“And your father?”
“Blond. Blue eyes. Not as pale as me.”
“Hmm.” But he doesn’t sound surprised. It sounds more like I confirmed what he already knew.
“What?”
“The only thing I can think of is that they’re not your real parents. They can’t be.”
I gasp. “You think I’m adopted ?”
“What does adopted mean again?”
“That they raised me as their child, but I was born to someone else.”
“Obviously.”
I push away from him. The waves are a lot bigger when I try to negotiate them on my own. “Well, that’s real easy for you to say, isn’t it?” I decide to swallow the next wave instead of swim over it. I’m relieved when his arms encircle my waist again.
“Emma, I’m just exploring the options here. You’ve got to acknowledge that someone isn’t telling the truth. And I don’t think you can reasonably say I’m lying.”
I shake my head. “No. You’re not lying. But they are my parents, Galen. I have my dad’s nose. And my mom’s smile.”
“Look, I don’t want to argue with you. We’ll just have to think harder about it, that’s all.”
I nod. “There’s got to be some other explanation.”
He offers a tight-lipped smile, his expression doubtful. In silence, we let the waves drift us toward shore. After a while, he pulls my legs up and lets me lean my head against his chest. We pick up speed as he propels us gently through the swells.
“Galen?”
“Hmm?”
“What happens when we get to shore?”
“Probably you should get some sleep.”
He’s already looking at me when I lift my chin. “You think I can sleep after all this? And anyway, that’s not what I meant.”
He nods. “I know it’s not.” He shrugs, adjusting me in his arms. “I was hoping you’d let me … help you.”
“You want to help me turn into a fish.”
“Something like that.”
“Why?”
“Why? Why not?”
“Stop answering my questions with questions.”
He grins. “It doesn’t work, does it?”
“Stop that!” I give his jaw a little slap.
He laughs. “All right.”
“But what I’m trying to say is, the reason you took such an interest in me since Chloe died … the reason you moved here, enrolled in my school, invited me to the beach … You were just trying to figure out if I’m one of you?”
Of course, stupid. When has anyone like Galen ever paid you any attention? When has there ever been anyone like Galen? Still, I’m surprised how much it hurts when he nods. I’m his little science project. All the time I thought he was flirting with me, he was really just trying to lure me out here to test his theory.
If stupid were a disease, I’d have died from it by now. But at least I know where he really stands—about his feelings for me anyway. But what his intentions for me in general are, I have no idea.
What happens if I can turn into a fish? Does he think I’ll just kiss my mom good-bye, flush all my good grades—all those scholarships—down the toilet so I can go swim with the dolphins? He called himself a Royal. Of course, I don’t know exactly what that means, but I can sure guess—that I’m another subject to him, someone to order around. He did say I had to obey him, after all. But if he’s a Royal, why come out here himself ? Why not send someone less important? I’m betting the U.S. President doesn’t personally go to foreign countries looking for missing Americans who might not even be American.
But can I trust him enough to answer my questions? He already deceived me once, faking interest in me to get me out here. He lied to my face about having a mother. He even lied to my mom. What else would he lie about to get what he wants? No, I can’t trust him.
Still, I want to know the truth, if only for myself. I’m not moving into some big seashell off the Jersey seashore or anything—but I can’t deny that I’m different. What could it hurt to spend a little more time with Galen so he can help me figure this out? So what if he thinks I’m some sort of peasant fish who has to obey him? Why shouldn’t I use him the way he used me—to get what I want?
It’s just that what I want is holding me in his arms, acting like he’s concerned that I’m not talking anymore.
12
FROM THE window seat, Galen watches Emma stir in the recliner. She mumbled all night, but he couldn’t make out the words over Toraf’s snoring. They stayed up late, Galen and Toraf, taking turns answering her questions. How did they find her, where do they live, how many are there? Emotion tampered with her expressions as they shifted from surprise to fascination to shock. Surprise when he told her how Dr. Milligan saw her at the Gulfarium—though Galen avoided the subject of her interaction with the animals. Fascination when he told her most Syrena live in plain sight on the bottom of the ocean—plain sight, that is, if humans could get deep enough—and that the Royals lived in the protection of the rock caverns. Captivation when he told her how Poseidon and Triton were flesh-and-blood Syrena, the first generals of their kind, not some gods that human lore made them out to be. Shock when Toraf estimated the combined population of the kingdoms to be over twenty thousand.
Galen clipped answers when the questions ventured too close to his purpose for being here—and once again, he thanked his good judgment for not telling Rayna. He wasn’t—isn’t—ready to tell Emma about Grom. Even Toraf steered the subject away from the big question buried inside all the little ones—why? Emma seemed to sense the conspiracy, sometimes asking the same questions in different ways. After a time, her expression surrendered to acceptance mostly, but her eyes still hinted at disbelief. And who could blame her? Her life changed last night. And he’d be a fool if he didn’t admit that his did, too.
Watching her mingle with those fish sealed his fate. There is no chance that Emma is not a direct descendant of Poseidon. There is no chance that she can ever be his. And he better start getting used to it.
He glances at the bed meant for one person where Rayna is sleeping, oblivious to the fact that she’s nestled into the crook of her mate’s arm while he makes the sound of an injured leopard seal in her ear. Galen shakes his head. If Rayna wakes up, she’ll make sure Toraf never breathes through his nose again.
“So last night really happened,” Emma says, startling him. The only movement she makes is a groggy smile.
“Good morning,” he whispers, inclining his head toward Rayna and Toraf.
Emma’s eyes go wide as she nods. She eases the comforter off her body and onto the floor. Galen had rummaged through Rachel’s drawers last night and found her a pair of pajamas to sleep in while her clothes dried. As she stretches in them now, Galen notes how much taller she is than Rachel—the tank top doesn’t quite meet the rim of her pants—and how much curvier. The sight of Emma’s flesh teas
ing the boundaries of that fabric makes him wonder how he’s going to keep himself focused today. While female Syrena have strong, muscular builds, Emma’s time spent in human form has made her soft in places—and he’s surprised by how much he likes that.
Emma’s stomach growls and she blushes. He’s come to realize how much he likes that, too. Grinning, he points to the ladder leading to the hallway below. Since they stayed in the topmost floor last night, the only way in or out of the one room is to climb. She nods and descends without a word. Galen forces himself to look away from the tantalizing view as she takes the last step from the ladder. He follows with gritted teeth. Once in the hall, they exchange a knowing smile—Toraf is as good as dead.
By the smell of food wafting up the stairwell, Galen knows Rachel is already back. He can hear her high heels clicking around the kitchen, the oven opening and shutting, her loud curse, probably in response to burning herself on a pan. The morning breeze streams in through the remains of the living room, which now resembles an open patio. Emma winces as she assesses the damage again in daylight.
“I’m really sorry, Galen. I’ll pay for all of it. Tell Rachel to send me a bill.”
He laughs. “Do you think it would cost more or less than the medical bills you racked up when you knocked yourself out trying to get away from me?”
She grins. “Well, when you put it like that…”
Rachel is setting the table when they round the corner to the kitchen. “Good morning, my little lovebirds! I’ve got steamed fish and shrimp for you, sweet pea, and for Emma darling, the most magnificent omelet ever made. Juice Emma? I’ve got orange or pineapple.”
“Orange, please,” she says, taking a seat. “And you don’t have to call us lovebirds anymore. Galen let me in on the secret last night. You know we’re not really dating.”
“Uh, actually Emma, I think we should keep that up for a while. For your mother’s benefit,” Galen says, handing her a glass. “She’ll never believe we’re spending so much time together and not dating.”
Emma frowns as Rachel slaps a chubby omelet onto her plate with an oversize spatula. With her fork, Emma stabs into the belly of it and pulls out a steaming chunk of meat dripping with cheese. “I guess I didn’t think of that,” she says as she takes a bite. “I planned on telling her we broke up.”
“He’s right, Emma,” Rachel calls from the stove. “You can’t break up if you’re going to be here all the time. She needs to think you’re still a couple. And you’ll need to be convincing about it, too. Lots of kissing and stuff in case your mother tries to spy on you.”
Emma stops chewing. Galen drops his fork.
“Uh, I don’t think we need to take it that far—” Emma starts.
“Oh, no? Teenagers don’t kiss their sweethearts anymore?” Rachel crosses her arms, wagging the spatula to the beat of her tapping foot.
“They do, but—”
“No buts. Come on, sweetie. You think your mom’s going to believe you keep your hands off Galen?”
“Probably not, but—”
“I said no buts. Look at you two. You’re not even sitting next to each other! You need some practice, I’d say. Galen, go sit beside her. Hold her hand.”
“Rachel,” he says, shaking his head, “this can wait—”
“Fine,” Emma grinds out. They both turn to her. Still frowning, she nods. “We’ll make it a point to kiss and hold hands when she’s around.”
Galen almost drops his fork again. No way. Kissing Emma is the last thing I need to do. Especially when her lips turn that red. “Emma, we don’t have to kiss. She already knows I want to sleep with you.” He cringes as soon as he says it. He doesn’t have to look up to know the sizzling sound in the kitchen is from Rachel spitting her pineapple juice into the hot skillet. “What I mean is, I already told her I want to sleep with you. I mean, I told her I wanted to sleep with you because she already thinks I do. Want to, I mean—” If a Syrena could drown, this is what it would feel like.
Emma holds up her hand. “I get it, Galen. It’s fine. I told her the same thing.”
Rachel plops down beside Emma, wiping the juice spittle from her face with a napkin. “So you’re telling me your mom thinks you two want to sleep with each other, but you don’t think she’ll be expecting you to kiss.”
Emma shakes her head and shovels a forkful of omelet into her mouth, then chases it with some juice. She says, “You’re right, Rachel. We’ll let her catch us making out or something.”
Rachel nods. “That should work.”
“What does that mean? Making out?” Galen says between bites.
Emma puts her fork down. “It means, Galen, that you’ll need to force yourself to kiss me. Like you mean it. For a long time. Think you can do that? Do Syrena kiss?”
He tries to swallow the bite he forgot to chew. Force myself? I’ll be lucky if I can stop myself. It had never occurred to him to kiss anyone—before he met Emma. These days, it’s all he can think about, her lips on his. He decides it was better for both of them when Emma kept rejecting him. Now she’s ordering him to kiss her—for a long time. Great. “Yes, they kiss. I mean, we kiss. I mean, I can force myself, if I have to.” He doesn’t meet Rachel’s eyes as she plunks more fish onto his plate, but he can almost feel her smirking down at him.
“We’ll just have to plan it, that’s all. Give you time to prepare,” Emma tells him.
“Prepare for what?” Rachel scoffs. “Kissing isn’t supposed to be planned. That’s why it’s so fun.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t for fun, remember?” Emma says. “This is just for show.”
“You don’t think kissing Galen would be fun?”
Emma sighs, putting her hands on her cheeks. “You know, I appreciate that you’re trying to help us, Rachel. But I can’t talk about this anymore. Seriously, I’m going to break out into hives. We’ll make it work when the time comes.”
Rachel laughs and removes Emma’s empty plate after she declines a second helping. “If you say so. But I still think you should practice.” On her way to the sink, she says, “Where’s Toraf and Rayna? Oh!” She gasps. “Did they find an island?”
Galen shakes his head and pours himself some water from a pitcher on the table, grateful for a topic change. “Nope. They’re upstairs. He snuck into her bed. I’ve never seen anyone risk his life like that.”
Rachel makes a tsking sound as she rinses some dishes.
“Why does everyone keep talking about finding an island?” Emma asks, finishing the rest of her juice.
“Who else is talking about it?” Galen frowns.
“In the living room, I heard Toraf give her a choice between going to the kitchen or finding an island.”
Galen laughs. “And she picked the kitchen, right?”
Emma nods. “What? What’s so funny?”
“Rayna and Toraf are mated. I guess humans call it married,” he says. “Syrena find an island when they’re ready to … mate in a physical sense. We can only do that in human form.”
“Oh. Oh. Um, okay,” she says, blushing anew. “I wondered about that. The physical part, I mean. So they’re married? Seems like she hates him.”
Galen hesitates. He remembers Rachel’s outrage about this subject when he first told her all those years ago. Emma will find out one way or another. Might as well be now. “Toraf asked our brother for her, and he consented. I know humans do it a little differently, but—”
“What?” Emma eases out of her chair, leans over the table with arms crossed.
Here we go. “Toraf asked—”
“You’re telling me your brother forced her to marry Toraf ?” Speaking while her jaw is clenched makes her words difficult to understand.
“Well, it’s not like she was there—”
“What? She wasn’t at her own wedding?”
“Emma, you need to calm down. Syrena don’t call it a wedding. They call it—”
“I don’t care what you call it,” she shouts. “And I don�
��t care if she’s human or not. You don’t force someone to marry someone else!”
“I agree!” Rayna calls from the living room. Toraf follows her into the kitchen grinning, despite his split lip. Rayna plants herself beside Emma, crosses her arms the same way.
Emma nods to her. “You see? She doesn’t like it. She shouldn’t have to be married if she doesn’t like it.”
“Exactly my point,” Rayna says, elbowing Emma in a show of camaraderie. Galen shakes his head. Emma doesn’t seem to remember that just last night, Rayna used that same elbow to try to puncture her left eye.
“Morning,” Toraf says pleasantly, taking the seat next to Galen. “I trust everyone slept well?” Rachel silently serves him breakfast and pours him some water.
Galen sighs. “Emma, please sit down. This isn’t some new law she didn’t know about. She did have a choice at first. If Rayna had picked a mate sooner, this wouldn’t have—”
“There’s a time limit to picking a mate? Really? This just gets better and better. So tell me, Galen, if I turn out to be one of you, will I be expected to mate? Do you already have someone in mind for me, Your Highness?”
There she goes again. All night she called him Your Highness and Majesty. And by the face she makes, she considers it an insult. Which is why he’s dying to tell her she’s a Royal too, but that would create more trouble than eradicating that smug expression would be worth. And it would make her think she could pick her mate, like most female Royals can. But Emma isn’t like most female Royals. She’s the last living proof of the Poseidon line—which dwindles her choices of a mate to one.
“Do you have someone in mind, Galen?” Toraf asks, popping a shrimp into his mouth. “Is it someone I know?”
“Shut up, Toraf,” Galen growls. He closes his eyes, massages his temples. This could have gone a lot better in so many ways.
“Oh,” Toraf says. “It must be someone I know, then.”
“Toraf, I swear by Triton’s trident—”