Of Poseidon (37 page)

“Right,” I say, but I’m shaking my head.

He laughs. “I didn’t come all the way to Atlantic City to make you cry.”

“I’m not crying.” I lean into him again. He doesn’t refuse my lips, but he doesn’t do them justice either, planting a measly little kiss on them before stepping back.

“Emma, I came out here to tell you that you don’t have to mate with Grom.”

I raise a brow. “Uh, I was never going to mate with Grom.”

“What I mean is, Grom is mating with someone else who has the gift of Poseidon. Which means that—”

“I don’t have to mate with Grom,” I fi nish for him.

“That’s what I just said.”

“I mean, I don’t have to feel like I’ve let the entire species of Syrena go extinct because I won’t mate with Grom.” He grins. “Exactly.”

“But that doesn’t change what I am— a half breed. You still can’t be with me, can you?”

He rubs his thumb over my bottom lip, thoughtful. “The law forbids it right now. But I think if we give it time, we could get it overturned somehow. And I’m not going anywhere until I do.” He turns us toward the SUV, stopping to retrieve my heels

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from the side of the road. He helps me in the passenger seat of 0—

the Escalade, then hands me my shoes.

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“Thank you,” I tell him as he walks around to the driver’s side.

“It’s a little late to blush,” he says, strapping in.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop blushing.”

“I really hope not,” he says, shutting his door. Taking my face into both hands, he pulls me to him again. His lips brush mine, but I want more. Sensing my intention, he puts his hand over mine and the seat belt I’m trying to unstrap. “Emma,” he says against my lips. “I’ve missed you so much. But we can’t. Not yet.” I’m not trying to do that, I just want to get in a better position to accept his lips. Telling him so would just embarrass us both. But he said yet. What does that mean? That he wants to wait until he can get the law overturned? Or will he give it time, and if it doesn’t work out, break Syrena law to be with me?

For some reason, I don’t want the answer bad enough to ask.

Images of “that girl” fl are up in my head. I don’t want Galen to break his laws— it’s a big part of why I love him so much. His loyalty to his people, his commitment to them. It’s the kind of devotion almost non ex is tent among humans. But I don’t want to be “that girl” either. Syrena or not, I want to go to college. I want to experience the world above and below sea level.

But it’s not like any decisions need to be made right now, do they? I mean, life- changing decisions take time to make. Time and meditation. And physical space between my lips and his.

I pull back. “Right. Sorry.”

He seizes a few tendrils of my hair and runs them along his face, grinning. “Not as sorry as I am. You’ll have to help me keep

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my hands off you.”

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I laugh, even as a charge runs through my veins. “Yeah. No.” He laughs too and turns to start the car, then stops. Letting go of the keys, he says, “So. About breaking up.”

“Let me think about it some more,” I tell him on the brink of giggling at his expression.

“I’ll see what I can do to help you make up your mind.” We stay parked for another fi fteen minutes. But at least we’re not broken up anymore.

Digging my feet into the sand, I hold my hand down to Rayna, who just got comfortable on a towel. “Come on,” I tell her. “Let’s go inside and I’ll give you a pedicure.”

She peers up at me, the moonlight catching the violet in her eyes. “That’s not a good idea,” she says, even though she takes my hand. “They said they’ll be right back.” I sigh. “Rayna, you know the routine. They scurry to my house, don’t fi nd anyone, then spend an hour swimming the shore to see if they sense him again. We both know Galen won’t let me get in the water for the rest of the night. And anyway, since when did you start taking orders?”

She nods. “But I want you to do it the French way, with the white stuff on the tips.” I smile at the back of her head as she passes me on the beach and jogs to the house. She’s no Chloe, but she’s not Mom either. She’s bonafi de female companionship.

Rachel greets me at the sliding glass door. “Hiya, cutie. Your mom called. She’s home and would like to know why you’re not.”

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I lift my chin, ready to fi re off a few diff erent reasons, be-0—

ginning with the fact that I’m eigh teen years old and ending

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with the fact that even if I weren’t of legal age, I’m still within my curfew. Then I realize Mom’s home early— which means she came home about the same time Toraf and Galen sensed the Syrena stalker. Whether it’s just a coincidence or a mother’s intuition working in overdrive is a toss up. I didn’t believe in either until just now— but this is the third time it’s happened this week. Trying not to snatch her cell when Rachel hands it to me, I press the emma’s mom icon on the touch screen.

“Hello?” she says, her voice tight.

“Mom, it’s me. You called?” Sounding casual is diffi cult

when it feels like your heart’s river dancing in your rib cage.

“Yes, I just wondered where you were. You didn’t answer your cell. Is everything okay?” She sighs, but I can’t tell if it’s in relief or parental aggravation.

“Everything’s fi ne. My battery is dead, but Galen bought me a charger to keep over here, so it’s charging.”

“How sweet of him,” she says, knowing good and well she instructed him to do so. “Well, just wanted to check in. Should I wait up for you? I don’t appreciate you missing curfew the last few nights. Technically, staying over there until four in the morning is a coed sleepover, which I don’t allow, or had you forgotten? Your trip to Florida with Galen’s family was special circumstances.”

“I stayed the night at Chloe’s all the time with JJ there.” JJ

is Chloe’s eight- year- old brother. Not a great comeback, but it will have to do.

“You know what I mean, Emma,” she snaps.

“Why are you so grouchy? And why are you home early

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again?”

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“I don’t know. I’m tired, I guess. Listen, I noticed you haven’t brought your swimsuit home yet. I hope you’re not still getting in the water. It’s too cold for swimming, Emma.” I do my own laundry. Digging around in my drawers is the only way she could have “noticed” anything missing. Does she also look for condoms or other incriminating evidence moms usually scavenge for? Does she come home to scavenge?

The thought tickles my temper. Making a mental note to buy a new bathing suit strictly for Galen’s house, I say, “You’re telling me this? You know how cold- natured I am.” My laugh is loud enough to be suspicious, but Mom doesn’t seem to notice. Rachel smirks though.

“Don’t try to tell me you and Galen haven’t fi gured out how to stay warm in the water.”

“Mom!”

“Just promise you won’t get in the water,” she says, her voice tight again. “I don’t need you getting sick.”

“Fine. I promise.”

“And be home before dawn this time. I dare you to bring home anything less than an A on your report card after this.

I double dog dare you.”

I mouth the words into the phone as she says them; you’d think she’d at least change the wording after all these years.

It’s her go- to threat for just about everything. But somehow, it doesn’t work this time. There’s no bluster behind it. She’s getting soft lately, and I think it has to do with the night I accused

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her of adopting me. “Okay. Before dawn.”

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“Good night, sweetie. I love you.”

“Loveyoutoo, good night.”

I hang up the phone and hand it back to Rachel, who exchanges it for a mug of hot chocolate with three gargantuan marshmallows fl oating on top. “Thanks,” I tell her, shuffl ing to the kitchen behind her.

Rayna is sitting at the table, pulling enough polish, clippers, and buff ers out of her kit to open her own nail salon. “I know I said I wanted the French kind, but I really like this color,” she says, holding up a cantaloupe shade.

Rachel shakes her head. “That’ll look tourist tacky against your olive skin, honey bunches.”

Hoping to get a diff erent opinion, Rayna jiggles the bottle at me. I shake my head. Pouting, she slams it on the table, then dumps the entire contents of the kit on top of it. “Well, is there any color that would look good?”

I take the seat next to her. “What’s Toraf ’s favorite color?” She shrugs. “What ever I tell him it is.”

I raise a brow at her. “Don’t know, huh?”

She crosses her arms. “Who cares anyway? We’re not painting his toenails.”

“I think what’s she trying to say, honey bunches, is that maybe you should paint your nails his favorite color, to show him you’re thinking about him,” Rachel says, seasoning her words with tact.

Rayna sets her chin. “Emma doesn’t paint her nails Galen’s favorite color.”

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Startled that Galen has a favorite color and I don’t know it, I say, “Uh, well, he doesn’t like nail polish.” That is to say, he’s never mentioned it before.

When a brilliant smile lights up her whole face, I know I’ve been busted. “You don’t know his favorite color!” she says, actually pointing at me.

“Yes, I do,” I say, searching Rachel’s face for the answer. She shrugs.

Rayna’s smirk is the epitome of I know something you don’t know.

Smacking it off her face is my fi rst refl ex, but I hold back, as I always do, because of the kiss I shared with Toraf and the way it hurt her. Sometimes I catch her looking at me with that same expression she had on the beach, and I feel like fungus, even though she deserved it at the time.

Refusing to fold, I eye the buff et of nail polish scattered before me. Letting my fi ngers roam over the bottles, I shop the paints, hoping one of them stands out to me. To save my life, I can’t think of any one color he wears more often. He doesn’t have a favorite sport, so team colors are a no- go. Rachel picked his cars for him, so that’s no help either. Biting my lip, I decide on an ocean blue.

“Emma! Now I’m just ashamed of myself,” he says from the doorway. “How could you not know my favorite color?” Startled, I drop the bottle back on the table. Since he’s back so soon, I have to assume he didn’t fi nd what or who he wanted— and that he didn’t hunt them for very long. Toraf

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materializes behind him, but Galen’s shoulders are too broad 0—

to allow them both to stand in the doorway. Clearing my

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throat, I say, “I was just moving that bottle to get to the color I wanted.”

Rayna is all but doing a victory dance with her eyes. “Which is?” she asks, full of vicious glee. Toraf pushes past Galen and plops down next to his tiny mate. She leans into him, eager for his kiss. “I missed you,” she whispers.

“Not as much as I missed you,” he tells her.

Galen and I exchange eye rolls as he walks around to prop himself on the table beside me, his wet shorts making a butt-shaped puddle on the expensive wood. “Go ahead angelfi sh,” he says, nodding toward the pile of polish.

If he’s trying to give me a clue, he sucks at it. “Go” could mean green, I guess. “Ahead” could mean . . . I have no idea what that could mean. And angelfi sh come in all sorts of colors. Deciding he didn’t encode any messages for me, I sigh and push away from the table to stand. “I don’t know. We’ve never talked about it before.”

Rayna slaps her knee in triumph. “Ha!”

Before I can pass by him, Galen grabs my wrist and pulls me to him, corralling me between his legs. Crushing his mouth to mine, he moves his hand to the small of my back and presses me into him. Since he’s still shirtless and I’m in my bikini, there’s a lot of bare fl esh touching, which is a little more intimate than I’m used to with an audience. Still, the fi re sears through me, scorching a path to the furthest, deepest parts of me. It takes every bit of grit I have not to wrap my arms around his neck.