“But I’m not from the ocean,” I say softly. Too softly.

“But you will be. If you mate with Galen. He’ll find some way to steal you away.”

The words reverberate through me. I can’t let Reed know that Galen already suggested that very thing. He’d use it against me, in favor of himself, in favor of Neptune. And is that so wrong? Shouldn’t I have options? Obviously Grandfather thought so. What if I’m selling myself short by making a decision so early?

Then I think of Galen, the way his lips feel against mine, the way his smile sends my stomach into a tumult more substantial than the innocent flutter of mere butterflies. The way his body fits around mine like a missing part and the way his laugh swarms through me like an intoxicating drink.

I am not selling myself short with Galen.

But when I said yes to Galen, I said no to all other options. Before I even knew what those options were. I would be a fool not to admit that right now I’m sitting in front of another option. Not just a good-looking guy who just happens to be consuming the space between us with those big violet eyes, that intense gaze.

This option comes with acceptance, others of my kind, a life on land and in the water. As far as I can tell, this option comes without baggage. Like, for instance, without wearing an invisible scarlet letter every time I visit the underwater kingdoms with Galen.

But I would be losing Galen.

Reed sighs. I’m obviously not making major life decisions fast enough for him. He pulls out a twenty and leaves it on the table for the bill. “Let’s go, beautiful. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

And so we go.

26

THE FORCE of shaping his fin sends Galen flying backward. Beneath him, he hears metal scrape against the floor, the crash twisting his wrist until he cries out. A sharp snap coincides with pain in his fingers.

Tyrden is still sprawled on the floor. When he sees Galen, he gives off a howl of indignation. His eyes hold a certain disbelief as he takes in the sight before him.

Galen doesn’t have time to be self-conscious about his big fin. With one eye, he watches Tyrden floundering on his stomach, grasping for his knife. With the other, he frantically tries to untie his right hand. Just as before, the knot doesn’t give; he has no idea how Tyrden untied his left hand so quickly. He struggles to bend the rest of the chair, ignoring the pain in his fin where the ropes from his feet had constricted as his fin took shape. He may be limping out of here, at best. With that thought in mind, he punches the metal frame of the chair, willing it to break. With some luck, he might even be able to sever off a piece of chair sharp enough to cut the rope.

Tyrden pulls himself off the floor with a grunt. He approaches cautiously, knife in the ready position. Galen waits until he’s within reach, then swipes his fin across the floor. The Syrena expects it this time and jumps, landing steadily on his feet. Beyond enraged, he breaks into a rabid run.

Galen abandons his efforts with the chair and flips over, slicing his fin through the air again, lifting it almost to the ceiling. Tyrden can’t outjump this. The powerful stroke sends Tyrden against the wall with a loud crack. He falls to the floor in a thud, his knife several feet away. Taking advantage of Tyrden’s disorientation, Galen pulls himself toward it on his elbows, dragging the warped metal chair with him.

Get the knife, get the knife, get the knife.

Tyrden doesn’t recover as quickly this time, but the sight of Galen heading toward the blade seems to bring him to his senses. He shakes his head as if relieving it of dust.

Almost there. He grabs at the knife just as Tyrden kicks it across the room. Galen is forced to roll away as Tyrden brings his boot down hard on the floor, just missing Galen’s head. Galen grabs the metal chair and uses it as a shield as Tyrden rears back for another kick. The clash reverberates off the walls; Tyrden is jolted backward, giving Galen a slight reprieve from another attack.

He turns his attention toward the knife again, shielding his back with the metal chair, dragging himself across the room as before. Galen debates whether or not to change back into human form, but with the rope injury to his fin he’s not sure what his human legs will be capable of. Damage to the fin doesn’t necessarily mean damage to his legs—or, at least, not both of them. Still, right now he needs the power and range of motion the Gift of Triton gives him.

Just as Galen reaches the knife again, Tyrden kicks the chair from his back, sending his right arm flying into an angry position. Even so, Galen’s left hand closes around the grip of the knife, and he lifts the blade in front of him just as the crazed Syrena is ready to pounce.

Tyrden stops immediately. Galen uses his hesitation to jerk the chair back to him, making quick work of the rope with the knife. While Tyrden is distracted by the blade in his hand, Galen sweeps his fin across the floor. His tail connects painfully with Tyrden’s hard boots, lifting the older Syrena off his feet and onto his back. His head slams against the floor in a sickening thump.

Galen lets out a grunt of agony. His tail is definitely twisted or bent or both. For several intense moments, he waits for his captor to get up. With a sense of dread, he watches the steady rise and fall of Tyrden’s chest for longer than he should. He can’t help but be cautious. This could be another mind game.

Galen makes the snap decision to change to human form. Keeping an eye on Tyrden, he tests his balance on each leg. His left ankle throbs with a deep ache but can still hold his weight. Everything else is in working order.

Picking up what’s left of his jeans, Galen takes the longest piece and wraps it around his waist, trying to at least cover up. He uses the pads of his feet to tread quietly toward where Tyrden lies.