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 teasing 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.