He rested a palm on the doorframe and leaned over her. “Running away?”
Her nostrils flared and her pupils dilated.
As he’d learned on the beach, even though she refused him, her body remembered their love. If only her body remembered, he would start there. Slowly, he would rebuild her trust until all of her was filled with love.
Her hot gaze trailed down his arm, across his flexed pectorals, across his bare torso. “There’s no reason to stay.”
He dropped his voice, pushing and teasing her. “This is your room.”
Her lips parted. Her tongue slid across her lower lip as if she were remembering how he tasted.
His manhood pulsed hard. He leaned closer, tempting her.
Suddenly, she blinked and leaned back. “I’m sorry?”
He wasn’t. Hunger was a look he needed to see in her eyes again. “We were talking about where you will sleep.”
“Yes. Upstairs. While you sleep here.” She frowned at the seaweed. “Is that Zain’s blanket?”
He had created it to shelter Zain from view, but their son was a big fan of curling his fingers in the woven threads. “He does enjoy holding the plant.”
“It’ll dry out if we don’t keep it damp.” She bit her lip. “Put it in the bathroom.”
Elan placed the seaweed — and a very determined-to-hold-onto-it Zain — in her chipped white tub. Zara added an inch of water to dampen the green fronds. Zain reached for the gushing water and gurgled adorably, splishing and splashing, as though he’d never been in shallows before. His baby fins scooped the liquid.
She softened. “He looks so natural. Are you sure he’s okay in the air?”
“Yes.” Elan eased behind her, and when she did not pull away, he slipped his fingers into her lax hand. “He is half human.”
“When will he be able to shift to feet?”
“He must practice.”
Elan slid an arm around her waist and cinched her against him.
His plan to start with her body began now. Would she allow him this much touch?
She stiffened and then melted, even settling her hand on his forearm.
Yes.
He nestled his chin in the fluffy, dark hair on the crown of her head. The attractive dimples in her back were covered by her shirt, but he felt their dips. Her shoulder blades flattened against his chest.
He curled his fingers around her waist and breathed in her warmth.
She fit. Her soft pieces into his hard ones. His. She was the reason he had done everything. She was the only one who mattered.
He teased her sensitive neck with feathery kisses.
Her soul light flared and then darkened in warning.
He tried to pull himself back. Reel in his control, release her, and give her the distance her soul light said she wanted.
Instead of pushing him away, in a soft voice, she asked, “Did they hurt you for wanting to come here today?”
“No.” He hugged her for asking, for caring. For not — his greatest fear — forgetting him and moving on. “Not for today.”
Her fingers curled around his.
He closed his eyes. This. He’d wanted only this.
Her soul light dipped, and she pulled away. “But you took a year to come to the surface?”
This time, he did let her go. “I was delayed.”
“By what?”
“Many things.”
Her sharp eyes narrowed.
His body felt cold from her absence. How strange that he barely noticed the frigid temperatures at the bottom of the ocean, but after holding Zara, a gentle breeze lifted a shivery prickle.
Her question and hurt gaze edged with accusation.
She rejected him. She rejected the mer. And her rejection felt like ice needles in his veins.
Footsteps approached the bathroom doorway.
He moved swiftly in front of Zara. His hands flexed for his trident; he placed his palm on Zara’s chest to keep her safe.
“Hi. I found … uh …” Milly trailed off. Concern colored her face, and she looked between him and Zara. “Is something wrong?”
Zara placed a gentle hand on his arm. Her touch soothed his tension. “You found what?”
“This shirt.” Milly held up a billowing white covering of short sleeves. Blue and yellow marked the front. She pushed it at him. “If it fits, I can stop by the consignment shop for more.”
He made no move to take the shirt. Milly was not his bride. An honorable warrior touched no other female.
After a brief hesitation, Zara reached around Elan and took the shirt. “Thank you.”
Milly frowned. “Sure.”
He accepted the shirt from Zara and pulled it on. It squeezed his shoulders and flapped an inch above his waist, brushing the hem of his tight orange shorts.
Zara eyed the gap of skin between his articles of clothing. “A larger size.”
“Got it.” Milly punched a note into her phone. “And I’m heading to the market. Does Zain need formula?”
Zara turned to Elan for the answer.
“Formula?” Elan repeated.
“Baby formula,” Milly said. “You know, like milk.”
“What is milk?”
Milly’s mouth opened and closed. She looked at Zara with consternation.
Zara’s mouth set in a thin, hard line. Her tone was sharp, judgmental. “How did Zain ever survive?”
“Easily.” Ridges of irritation crawled up his back. Having her so close in front of him but so far out of reach crushed his patience. “He is well-fed and healthy as you see.”
She tsked. “Clearly that’s a miracle.”
“It is no miracle. Young fry are our treasures. Just because our ways are different does not make them wrong.”
“Yes.” She tapped his chest. “It does.”
Her accusation dug into his deepest, darkest fears. She couldn’t know, but undercutting Zain’s raising was one of the most painful ways she could hurt him.
“You would have seen our ways in a different light if you had stayed,” he said stiffly.
“Since your ‘ways’ involve pulling a newborn from his mother’s breast, that wasn’t an option for me. And it was wrong.”
“That is only one practice.”
Her soul light shuddered. “Do you dare to defend it?”
Behind them, Zain whimpered.
Zara started forward.
Zain lifted his arms to Elan and whimpered again, urgent.
Zara stopped. Pain flashed across her face.
Elan lifted Zain, soothing the anxious baby. “Shh. Calm.”
Zain quieted.
Zara stared at them both with white, pinched lips. Elan’s irritation only increased. He did not wish to antagonize Zara. She was still so unstable. It seemed as if she were barely holding onto control.
If only she would turn to him, touch him, and accept his touch in return. Her soul light would calm and she would regain her happiness. And he, too, would reach the absolution he craved.
“The, uh, point, if you don’t mind, is food,” Milly said awkwardly. “What can we feed Zain?”
Elan turned to the slender female. “He eats as I do.”
Milly looked at Zara.
Zara glared at Elan.
“I will eat as a human,” he said.
“So, do you mean the fish market? Or do you mean fast food?”
“What you eat, we will eat.”
“Fruit? Sausage? Frosted Flakes?”
He had no idea. “Yes.”
Milly looked less and less reassured.
Zara finally turned to Milly. “Get whatever you were planning for your weekly shopping trip. Just more.”
“Are you sure? He’s only a year.”
“If he can’t eat what you get, Elan will hunt.”
At least she still had that much faith in Elan’s abilities. Even if she doubted his ability to raise Zain, she knew he would provide for his son.
“I will hunt,” he confirme
d.
“Or they’ll starve,” Zara muttered, undercutting her earlier faith. She raised her voice to catch Milly. “And diapers!”
“Got it!” Her voice floated from the kitchen. The back door opened and closed, and it was quiet in the house.
Zara frowned and turned away.
Doubts and irritations still prickled his chest. He followed after her. “Diapers? What are these?”
“Absorbent cloth. Like the shorts you’re wearing, only for babies.”
“He has never worn such things under the water.”
“We’re above water now.”
“But your son is mer.” He followed her across the living room.
She focused too much on judging mer traditions. Some traditions, like the ancient covenant, were bad. Others were good and deserved defense.
“Forcing on human clothing when he had not shifted could unnaturally constrain Zain and cause injury.”
She stopped and turned to face him. Her expression was non-negotiable. “Diapers will not ‘cause injury.’ He’s above the water now, Elan. You don’t know everything that you think you do.”
“I know what Zain needs.”
She cocked a brow and crossed her arms over her chest in a fighting stance. “And I don’t?”
“I have raised him longer.”
Sharpness slashed her expression like a knife. “Whose fault is that?”
Curse his words. But he had more knowledge of Zain’s upbringing. “Not all our traditions are bad, Zara. Withhold your judgment.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Same to you.”
“I am his father. I know this ‘diaper’ is unnecessary.”
A trickle of warm-body-temperature liquid soaked into Elan’s shirt, shorts, and trickled down his thigh to stain the smooth floor. Zain emptied his small bladder as though intent on proving Elan to be a fool.
Zara’s eyes remained narrowed but her lips suspiciously twitched. “You were saying?”
“He has released his liquid.” Elan couldn’t contain his surprise. Mer on land were always much older, well past the age when they gained control over their bodily functions. “Inside your house.”
“Babies often do. That’s what diapers are for.” But her tone was completely different from moments ago.
“You knew he would do this?”
“Of course I did.” Her lips quirked to the side as though she was suppressing a told-you-so smile. “Don’t doubt me, Elan. I might not have your experience yet, but I do have something you’ll never possess.”
A curl of dread rose in the pit of his belly. “That is?”
“Maternal instincts.”
“What are those?”
Her mouth opened and closed. Her anger drained and a familiar kindness softened her features.
He craved her kindness. But he did not trust its sudden appearance. “Why does my question make you sad?”
“No reason.” But she actually reached out, on her own, and cupped his cheek. “There’s a hose on the patio. Go outside and clean up.”
“You will join us?”
“In a moment.”
He hesitated. Something was wrong. He didn’t understand this new feeling.
She dropped her hand and urged him out. “I’m not going anywhere.” But her tone flickered. She turned away before he could press her on her unspoken words. For now.
4
While a dripping Elan carried their son out to the back patio to clean up and dry off, Zara got out the cleaning supplies and scrubbed the living room tile.
She suddenly realized she was humming. She paused.
What was this feeling?
Not irritation. Probably other people would be irritated, but she had missed the first year of Zain’s life and he feared her like any stranger. Taking this small action to care for him felt … how did it feel? Like a first step?
Then, maybe she felt happy. It had been so long since she’d felt anything, and now the feelings surged in like unsettling ghosts that turned out to be long-lost relatives. It was hard to identify them.
The look on Elan’s face had been priceless.
She smothered her smile and sat back on her heels.
Out the living room doorway, she could see his chiseled, water-dappled, aquamarine-swirled torso. He leaned against the back wall, made of waist-high piled stones, and stared through junipers at the startling blue sea. His brow firmed into a pensive frown.
His massive aquamarine-swirled member was lax, but she knew its pleasures.
She jerked her gaze from his manhood to his face.
He’d had the same expression when she’d first met him.
Like a hero, he’d swept in and saved her and Milly from their worst terror. And, instead of falling for her more attractive sister, Elan had focused his heart-stealing attention on plain, chunky Zara. His pure soul had felt so familiar; he’d eroded her natural caution. Combined with cocky rightness, unimpeachable justice, and gentle tenderness-mixed-with-heat, his plea to become his bride had tangled around her heart and tugged.
Just a few minutes ago, his unguarded question had tugged her heart again.
What are maternal instincts?
That question displayed both the brokenness of the mer culture and the reason Elan had so easily captured her heart the first time. Zara had wanted to save and heal his race — and him.
And now he’d come to her, a year later, but still just as broken. She needed to—
Wait.
She slapped the soapy rag into the bucket.
Forget it.
She was not falling for him again. Forget every feminine body part cried out as if only an hour had passed since they were last together. Zara would not allow herself to be betrayed. Not by Elan and not by her own heart.
She stowed the cleaning supplies, pulled out a blue and white sailor suit onesie for Zain, and prepared a tray of refreshments for her guests.
Temporary guests.
Outside, Zain lay on his belly on shaded terracotta tile beneath the sheltering limbs of a young juniper. He stretched his rounded, dimpled limbs and reached for bright yellow wildflower petals, his legs kicking the air as though he intended to swim across the tile.
Elan stood a few feet away at the wall. In nude profile, his sculpted body — powerful shoulders, narrow torso, grippable buttocks, and rippling limbs — were hard and dreamy and still, even after a year, all hers.
No, not hers!
She turned away from the mouth-watering sight and set her wooden tray on the homey glass table. She poured creamy, peach-colored passion fruit juice into a plastic sippy cup, debated watering it down, and then handed the whole calorie-rich blue cup to Zain.
Zain pushed away from her in refusal.
She sucked in a breath. Give him time. She repeated that as she poured a tall glass for Elan, then spread out a tub of soft cheese, crunchy crackers, and slices of fresh island bananas.
He thanked her absently as he studied the ocean. She recognized his stance. Intense concentration meant he was assessing dangers.
Zara set her drink untouched on the small table and sat in one of the white-washed wooden patio chair. “You’re expecting a fight.”
He flicked to her. “I prepare for any possibility.”
A weasely answer. And unlike him. She studied him for the truth.
The dark shadows under his eyes lengthened, and he angled away.
She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her scarred knees. “I see. Does that ‘possibility’ include lying to my face?”
“I do not lie to you, Zara.”
“Then what are some of the possibilities? You must have approval to come here because I know you’d never disobey your king.”
He evaded her, silent, and resumed his intent stare.
Wait.
“You disobeyed your king?” Zara stood. “You didn’t convince him? Or the elders? Anybody?”
His teeth clicked together, and he squinted at her from under his brows.
�
��What happened to your great lectures about the ‘wisdom’ of your elders? Or your belief that even if one abuses you, you should still respect them?”
He turned back to the ocean.
“Did you really rebel?” Zara confronted the male who had not only enforced his city’s laws; he had lived them in his bones. At his prolonged silence, she licked her lips. “Is it my fault?”
“No.”
Okay, an answer. She put a hand on her hip. “Are you sure? You were supposed to convince your elders and your king to let me stay.”
“That was not possible.”
“Why not?”
“There was no opportunity for such a dialogue.”
“What does that mean?”
He gaze flickered. “They changed and then I changed. Words … were not possible.”
Another weasely answer. Unusual for Elan, who was so honest. But then again, she’d never dreamed he’d break his laws. “So you are expecting trouble. Not just from ‘someone’. From your own people.”
“The elders will not allow their prize warriors to defect. Not in such a public way. And certainly not with their city’s young fry.”
“The human world knows about mermen now.”
“Our elders deny the change.”
Zara felt … how? Standing upright made her feel as though there was too much distance between her and the terracotta. Even the sunlight weighed on her shoulders. What was this feeling?
She sat abruptly in the wooden chair. “When are you expecting them?”
“I do not know. Soon.”
She watched Zain wiggle under the shade.
The truth hurt. That feeling she identified.
Not only did Elan come to her in defiance of his laws, but he expected their family to be ripped apart. He prepared for it.
A scream echoed in her memories. Zain sobbing, Elan streaming blood, the tight bonds rendering her powerless—
“Why did you come here?” she demanded.
He turned to her fully. “Why?”
“Yes!”
“To be with you. And reunite you with your son.”
“Why?”
“Can we not…” Raw emotion fought for a place on his tortured face. “Can we not be a family?”
She tightened her grip on herself. Her tongue almost snapped like glass. “I asked myself that for a year.”
“And then?” He sniped at her with uncharacteristic bitterness. “You became accustomed to the air world, and no longer cared for your husband and child?”
Sirens and Scales Page 56
