“May we help you with anything else, young friend?” Romul asks, after a few moments.

Galen shakes his head. “No. Thank you for your time today, both of you.”

“It’s our pleasure to serve you, Highness,” Atta says, bowing away from him in her retreat. Her long hair undulates behind her like a piece of fabric.

Galen turns to leave as well, but something catches his eye on the wall. He scans it again, searching for a glimpse of it. He finds it a few feet away. Swimming up to an image of a Syrena male, he traces his finger around the shape of his eye. “Blue?” he asks Romul. “Are his eyes blue?”

Romul shakes his head. “No, my prince. Some of the paint the humans used to depict our brethren was apparently inferior. Over the years, the color seems to have faded.”

“Of course. Purple is made from blue.” Galen nods at the picture, then at Romul. “Well, thanks again, Romul. I’ll see you later.”

Romul inclines his head toward him. “Always an honor, young friend. Be well.”

Galen follows the pulse of the two Trackers to find his way out of the cave. Traveling home seems to take longer than getting there. He suspects the weights burdening his mind are responsible for slowing him down physically as well.

Dr. Milligan is right. Emma is definitely a Half-Breed. But she still possesses the Gift of Poseidon. The law requiring the two houses to mate every third generation must be for show—Royals aren’t the only ones who can inherit the Gift. Galen suspects it must be another reminder from Triton to stay loyal to each other instead of to the humans. That makes Paca as good a candidate as any, Royal blood or not. If she has the Gift, she’ll pass it on to her offspring. And so will Emma.

Could it be possible that some of Poseidon’s half-human children did survive and reproduced? Could Emma somehow be a descendant of those offspring? She says her father had fair skin, light hair. Could he be the link they’re looking for?

And what if he is? Which would be more important to Grom—upholding the law by not mating with a Half-Breed, or mating with one to ensure the survival of the Gifts? Galen doesn’t know. But even if Grom chooses not to reproduce with Emma, will he allow Galen to take her as his mate? Because if Romul and Atta are right, Emma will never sprout a fin. Which means Galen will have to live with her on land.

Is it worth it? To give up years of my life to be with her? Galen thinks of the curve of her hips, the fullness of her lips, the way she blushes when he catches her looking at him. And he remembers how sick he felt when Dr. Milligan indicated Emma would die before him.

Oh, yes. It’s absolutely worth it.

23

OFFICER DOWNING pulls into the driveway next to Mom’s car. Of course she’s home. I don’t know why I even wasted hope that she wouldn’t be. Maybe because I’m eighteen, which means they don’t bother calling your parents to the scene. But even if I’m not a victim of the law, I’m a victim of the small-town grapevine. A victim of flashing blue lights, whispered scorn, and heads shaking in disapproval. And, boy, do I feel like a victim, because not only is she home, she’s standing on the front porch, arms crossed. Waiting.

Officer Downing opens the back door to the low-budget cop car that smells like vinyl, BO, and humiliation. I step out. He hands me my backpack, which Rachel was so kind to bring out when we dropped Rayna off at Galen’s house. She was also kind enough not to kill me for showing up at her house with a cop.

“You get some rest, young lady,” Officer Downing says. “You’ll likely be sore tomorrow. It usually takes a day or two to feel the effects of an accident.”

“Thanks for the ride home, Officer Downing. I appreciate the help,” I say sheepishly.

“You’re certainly welcome, Miss McIntosh. Have a good evening.” He waves to my mom in sort of a clipped salute, then gets in the car and backs out.

I trudge toward the porch, entertaining the idea of running the other way. But technically, I shouldn’t be in any trouble. It wasn’t my car. I’m not the one who got a ticket. Samantha Forza did. And the picture on Samantha Forza’s driver’s license looks a lot like Rayna. She told Officer Downing that she swerved to keep from hitting a camel, which Officer Downing graciously interpreted as a deer after she described it as “a hairy animal with four legs and a horn.”

Since no one formed a search party to look for either a camel or a unicorn, I figured we were in the clear. But from Mom’s expression, I’m miles from clear.

“Hi,” I say as I reach the steps.

“We’ll see about that,” she says, grabbing my face and shining a pen light in my eyes.

I slap it away. “Really? You’re checking my pupils? Really?”

“Hal said you looked hazy,” she says, clipping the pen back on the neckline of her scrubs.

“Hal? Who’s Hal?”

“Hal is the paramedic who took your signature when you declined medical treatment. He radioed in to the hospital after he left you.”

“Oh. Well, then Hal would have noticed I was just in an accident, so I might have been a little out of it. Doesn’t mean I was high.” So it wasn’t small-town gossip, it was small-county gossip. Good ole Hal’s probably transported hundreds of patients to my mom in the ER two towns over.

She scowls. “Why didn’t you call me? Who is Samantha?”

I sigh and push past her. There’s no reason to have this conversation on the porch. She follows me into the house. “She’s Galen’s sister. I didn’t call because I didn’t have a signal on my cell. We were on a dead road.”