“So how did you get free this time?”
“The warriors on duty felt pity. They allowed me to escape.”
Her gaze flicked to the bathroom where Zain was sleeping.
Bitterness welled, forced out of the ugly cracks in his heart. He had once been whole, but was now fractured by the violence he had been forced to commit, the tortures he had endured, and the unspeakable deeds which, even now, pretending to tell her the whole truth, he could not confess.
“And now I am here. You do not wish for me.”
Her gaze returned to him.
His soul ached. “You only wish for our son.”
She hardened into granite. “Of course I do. It’s my turn.”
Attacking her with pain would never reach her. He knew better. Patience and gentleness soothed her; honor and honesty opened her well-guarded heart.
But he did not have patience and gentleness. He had been broken, and she had forced him to face his sharp edges. The shadows under his eyes had not been there before. The gouges to his honor had not been there either.
“You refuse the water,” he continued, enumerating the empty litany of her crimes — how she had betrayed him by refusing to heal, refusing to reunite them, refusing to try like he was. “You run from your power. How can you protect Zain? I was wrong in coming here.”
She went ramrod straight, reacting just as he predicted. “I already said you shouldn’t have come.”
“You did not miss me. My elders were right. Only the mer remember.” Truth cut him with hot pain. “But also you do not truly wish for Zain. You did not miss him at all.”
The blood drained from her face. Her soul light darkened to utter blackness.
Mer did not experience the violent changes of humans, but in this moment, Elan felt the hole in his own chest as if he mirrored her.
She turned and stomped into the kitchen.
Abandoning him without a word? Then, she really was running away.
The world tilted. His knees folded, abruptly unable to hold his weight. He dropped onto the couch.
The things his elders had insisted — human brides didn’t remember the mer, they were grateful to escape and would never wish to become queens — was proved.
Zara, his fierce, brilliant, undefeatable bride, had never wished to see him again. Her inner turbulence was proof. Their love was dead.
Perhaps his own love had blinded him. Perhaps she had never loved him at all.
He rocked forward onto the balls of his human feet. He needed movement. To get out, to transform, to swim.
Outside, rain pounded the house and a wet breeze shook the trees and scraped the glass.
He needed to dive into the storm and escape this pain threatening his soul—
Zara stomped back into the room carrying two large paper bags. She dropped them in front of him with heavy thumps. “You think I didn’t care. You think I didn’t care?”
Her soul light burned like the sun. Hurt tinged its amber-gold light. More importantly, righteous indignation made her hot and strong. Like he remembered from their first meeting when she had braved what she thought was a trafficking cartel to rescue her sister from a terrible fate.
Zara dropped to her knees and rummaged in the first bag. She pulled out a small green baby shirt with snaps in the crotch; a smaller version of the much larger one Zain wore now. Attached to the shirt were matching socks and a hat. Blue fish swam across the green background.
“There.” She set it on the table beside her. “I didn’t care?”
He touched the fabric. It was shiny and new, soft to his fingers, and a small tag stuck out. “What is it?”
“A layette.” She pulled out a matching blanket decorated with green and blue fish. “It’s for the first few days after birth, when you bring a baby home from the hospital.”
A hospital was the location most humans birthed their young fry.
She pulled out another outfit — a larger size, blue and fuzzy, decorated with long-necked yellow creatures with brown spots. “Newborn.” And another one after that, even larger, in red. “Three months.”
The outfits filled the table. Little shoes, sun hats, booties, jackets. Six months, nine months, and finally sizes like the outfit Zain was wearing now. And other things — tiny plates and silverware, lidded containers she called sippy cups, fuzzy fish toys and clinking rattles — piled up, until the bags were empty and Zara gazed across her collection with flushed cheeks. A distant, dreamy expression suggested even she was dazed by the mass.
“I didn’t realize there were so many.” She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ears. It immediately popped out again as she shook her head and laughed harshly. “It’s kind of stupid. I was so numb this year, but when I was at the store and something caught my eye, I’d calculate Zain’s age and consider whether to pick it up for him. Just in case.”
Just in case her baby ever came back to her.
The hair bounced against her cheek. She shook her head again. It seemed to tickle her.
He leaned forward and tucked the strands gently, securely, behind her ear.
She took a deep breath and rested her hands on the outfits. Her forearm brushed his knees. Taking strength from his nearness. Trusting him with this vulnerability that she would never dare show to another.
His bitterness melted away.
He had misjudged her. She had never forgotten. Not for a moment.
Just like him.
Perhaps she could not express herself. Perhaps she was too broken to take the steps to heal them. To become a destined queen.
She needed his help.
Where had his patience gone? Since seeing her, all he had done was want her desperately to heal him. How selfish. But even knowing that, he still craved her mindlessly. He needed her kiss, her silky skin under his lips, her moans in his ear, her tight embrace. He needed her.
But he needed to be there for her. Fully. As a warrior trying to recapture the self that had once possessed honor.
She looked up at Elan. Grief turned fierce. “This was my last year, Elan. These unworn onesies and unused cups. This is the proof of my heartbreak.”
He hooked an index finger under her chin. “I understand.”
She blinked. Her features relaxed, her lips parted, and her gaze trained on his mouth.
It was the invitation he needed.
She understood. They were both broken. Only together could they stumble toward wholeness. Together, they would find the strength and courage to succeed.
He tugged her into his kiss.
9
There were so many reasons not to get physical with Elan, and Zara had enumerated them in her head while fighting her body’s reactions to his nearness. She craved to hold him gently and heal the hurt tearing him apart. Anger was her shelter. Anger and reason.
Elan’s kiss swept both aside like a crashing tide.
She clung onto his hard shoulders, gripping onto the only stable rock in her passion-swept mind.
His mouth opened and his tongue thrust into hers, branding her. Desire twisted into her center with a sweet, hot ache. It had been so long. A salty, ocean-male scent clung to his stubbled jaw.
She moaned.
He kissed into her jaw, her neck, her breasts. Forced her shirt over her head.
She stopped. “Wait.”
He gave up with making her naked and tugged her into his lap. “Zara. We need this.”
Heat and desperation roughened his voice and tugged her to give in. After all, he was right. He needed it. And she needed it too.
He was irresistible.
They could forget, go back in time, and she could lose herself in desire. Burn off the raw pain in his passion.
Her body heated, flowering beneath his expert touch as though it knew exactly the way back to the safe, happy, settled place in Elan’s arms.
But she had to be realistic. She had to protect herself from the inevitable separation. Elan was so certain she had magical powers. He refused rea
lity. And if she believed and lost him a second time, she would never survive.
She refused to give him the assurances he craved, seeking instead to draw clearer lines between them. “This will make it harder.”
“Good.” He nuzzled her swollen breasts through her shirt. “We belong as one.”
That certainty, cocky and yet heroic, melted her resistance like an echo from the past melting through the barrier of time.
This was Elan. Her husband. The only male who ever knew her body.
And he knew it.
Tonight, only for tonight, she surrendered.
He must have felt her letting go because he pressed his advantage. Forcing her shirt up, he splayed her breasts to his hungry mouth, sucking in first one pearl with hot possession and then the other. Heat combusted. Twin peaks of desire twisted in her belly and the hot bud between her legs throbbed. She arched her back, baring herself to him, and moaned.
While his mouth was busy, he reached up. His fingers knotted into her hair, raising familiar shivers.
She gasped.
His masculine desire pressed insistently against her thighs.
Once she had thought they would never be apart. Now, she had a chance to recreate that fantasy. She wanted to see him above water. Put him in her mouth, taste him. Become one.
Zara tugged down the shorts. He helped her, shifting his hips until the cloth released and his member sprang free. It was also as she remembered. Long, gorgeous, and covered in the same aquamarine swirl tattoos that crossed the rest of his body with scroll artwork. She touched it, cupping the length.
He watched her with dark, passion-heavy eyes.
Zara wanted to mess him up. Watch him lose control the way he pushed for her to let go. She stroked him. He closed his eyes and groaned.
Then, he reached under her pants and cupped her feminine warmth.
Pleasure pierced her with swift longing. She rocked against his hand. He ripped the offending fabric out of the way and gripped her hips. She balanced on her knees, steadying palms on his broad shoulders. He filled her with wholeness once more.
They were one.
His eyes closed and his head threw back, his fingers digging into her hips. Savoring the contact like she was. She stroked his hard cheekbones. He opened his eyes, desire mixed with hunger and fear. A fierce possessiveness, unlike the gentle patience he usually wore, flared with even hotter heat.
And she felt truly warm. It was exactly what she needed. What she’d been waiting for.
But getting what she needed after such a long drought frightened her.
She tried to catch her breath. “Elan—”
He thrust.
She went up in flames.
Desperation, like he could hear her pulling away, made him thrust faster. Her heat stoked higher. The roughness was unlike him, but it was also what she needed. He stole her breath. Passion swept over her again. An orgasm broke, squeezing her body with wonder.
And then her short flight was over and she was back on Earth where their problems remained and nothing was resolved.
It was over too fast.
But Elan didn’t slow. He pushed on. And on. The aching deliciousness built pressure deep within her, more intense than anything they’d ever shared before. If lifting her to new heights of pleasure could convince her to stay, to trust in him, then he did it now. They knew this union could be lost and so entwining as husband and wife tasted even sweeter.
Zara clutched him, crying out, as the release rushed past.
And still, he thrust. A third hard, hot, soul-shattering orgasm crashed over her. She tumbled through it, carried in his arms to a place she’d never been.
“Elan!”
Wet and hot, unstoppable and eternal, his passion surged into her. His whole body tensed, fighting, as though he was suddenly as terrified of sex being over — of this moment passing — as she was.
She stroked his cheekbone gently.
Her gentleness triggered his release. He shuddered, collapsing on her shoulder and squeezing her tight.
As her heart returned to normal and the dampness of their sweat cooled in the rain-scented night breeze, reality returned to her in a short, cold realization.
The rightness she felt holding onto him was wrong. A trick. They hadn’t gone back into time. And they never could. Just because it felt better than she remembered, hotter and more intense, didn’t mean she could let herself forget the pain and heartbreak that awaited her.
He clung on as though he could feel her slipping away.
Being in his arms made her feel more awake, energized, and aware. And that was terrifying.
If he wormed under her skin, she would never be able to make him leave. She would never protect herself. She would be raw and vulnerable for the rest of her life.
She gathered her strength and pushed free.
He let her go reluctantly.
She stood on bare feet, her thigh muscles shaking from unexpected use.
“You are cold.” He moved to get her clothing.
“No.”
His aquamarine eyes fixed on her. For a moment, he had been her familiar hero. Her knight. Now, as she moved further back, shadows swept over him like a tide coming in. His face darkened into someone she didn’t know.
“That was a mistake,” she warned, “and it won’t happen again.”
His expression tightened. Again, his silent resistance told her that he disagreed.
But he never fought her head-on, where it would be easy to draw an ultimatum. He made her feel secure, relaxed and seduced her. She’d float into his arms without resistance.
No longer.
She backed away, ran into the kitchen, and dampened cloths for a sponge bath. Outside, the rain had stopped, and the house smelled like the distant crackle of electricity after a storm.
After sex clean-up was easier in the ocean.
Sex was different above the water. Frighteningly pleasurable … no! No, it was just different.
She returned to the living room and dressed awkwardly. Elan, sensing her wish, also pulled his clothes back on without a word. She packed away the too-small baby clothes. The cutlery could go in the kitchen; she’d stack the outfits that fit in her closet.
Elan watched her work. Frowns chased hidden emotions as though he tried on different sentences. “Your light darkens every time you run away.”
She did not flinch. She did not. “I’m not running away from what just happened.”
“What is this?”
“Cleaning.” She refolded the same outfit a third time. Anything to avoid his gaze.
“Your relationship with Zain will improve if you stand your ground and grow your power.”
“I don’t even believe this ‘power’ exists.”
“You must. Not only for me. For Zain.”
Her anger flared at him, taking an easy conduit. “You’re just trying to trick me into getting back into the ocean.”
“It is no trick. The queens’ power is well known.”
“Oh, yeah? How?”
“Because of what happened at the Battle for Atlantis.”
She paused removing tags and folding clothes. “Atlantis? The ancient city Kadir was looking for where humans and mer lived in harmony?”
“It’s a ruin. Kadir founded a new Atlantis next to the wreckage of the old.”
“From prison?”
“After Soren left Dragao Azul in exile, he gathered an army and freed Kadir from the All-Council prison. Three modern brides have embraced their power and rule Atlantis as the legendary mermaid queens.”
Her heart leaped into her throat. Perhaps it was the vulnerability after sex, but she found it easier to want to believe. Ruling in a city where she and Elan were allowed to be together was exactly the kind of thing she had dreamed about while she was pregnant in Elan’s castle at Dragao Azul. She wanted to live where her presence was celebrated. Where she was treated as a queen.
But his utopian tale didn’t add up. “I though
t you were under ‘house arrest’ in Dragao Azul. How do you know this city or these ‘queens’ exist? And Kadir was locked into an ‘unbreakable’ prison where no one has ever escaped. Isn’t this propaganda or exaggeration?”
“No. I saw it and him.”
“When? How? Where?”
Elan’s jaw set.
He didn’t want to tell her? Because he hadn’t seen it. He didn’t know.
It was his wishful thinking. Again. She had to be the practical one for both of them. Their future — and happiness — depended on it.
Zara stood, lifting the baby bags intended for storage. “If we don’t go in the water, your warriors can’t attack.”
“But you must.” He rose, towering over her with his masculine strength. “You must fully transform. Shift to fins and embrace your power.”
“Now that’s crazy talk.” She carried the bags back to the closet. “I was swimming in your city, underwater, a year and I never grew the ability to make fins.”
“Because we thought brides were capable of little, but now we know the truth. You must finish transforming.”
She shook her head. It wasn’t like she’d never dreamed or tried. She had tried. Mostly when Elan was out hunting or conferencing privately with the other males; things she wasn’t allowed to participate in because as a bride she’d been sequestered in his castle.
Well, she’d been supposed to be sequestered…
Zara returned to the point. “Impossible.”
“If you will believe, it is possible.”
Mind over matter?
Ridiculous.
Her mind hadn’t transformed her before. It hadn’t saved her from being ripped away from her husband and baby son. Her mind hadn’t overcome the matter of Soren and the other warriors forcing her to the surface, tearing their family apart and destroying her choice, her personhood, her sense of self.
Before that, her mind hadn’t saved Milly from nearly being sold into slavery. It hadn’t saved either of them from abuse as kids. Zara got decent grades but sometimes she thought her test scores were luck. Because clearly she was stupid when it mattered most.
Optimism was for idiots.
Mind hadn’t done anything. Elan’s hope was misplaced. He came here without a plan.
Sirens and Scales Page 60
