Of Poseidon

by Anna Banks

  “Well, in any way, I guess. For instance, he’s a big guy. Does he know how to fight? Does he know how to shoot a gun? And did you tell him where we were going tonight?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because he’s standing outside your window.”

  My gaze whips around to settle on Galen standing inches from the truck, arms crossed. Mark is courteous enough to roll down the window for me, since I’m too stunned to move, talk, or breathe.

  “Emma, can you please come talk to me for a minute?” Galen says, eyes hard.

  “Hey, Galen. How’s it going, man?” Mark adds a little edge to his normally friendly tone.

  “Mark.” Galen nods, jaw tight.

  “Kind of surprised to see you, man. Are you here with anyone?” Mark is good at BS.

  “In fact, I am. I’m here with Emma.”

  “Really? How’s that?”

  “She’s my girlfriend. I thought I’d made that clear before, Mark.”

  Mark chuckles. “Well, I’m not sure where you’re from, but in this country, when one party breaks up, they both do. Learned that one the hard way myself, so I feel your pain, man.”

  “Not yet,” Galen mutters.

  “I’m sorry? What did you say?” By the sound of it, Mark really didn’t hear him. By the look on Galen’s face, he wasn’t really meant to. But I heard it. And I know what he meant.

  “He didn’t say anything,” I tell Mark, finally able to move my mouth other than in the direction of hanging open.

  “Yes, he did, Emma,” Mark whispers to me, patting my leg. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle this.” Leaving his hand there, he calls around me to Galen, “Now what did you just say? Or is it not worth repeating?”

  It feels like hot lava is oozing over me. That, along with a sense of dread. When I turn back, I’m not surprised when my nose almost touches Galen’s through the truck window. But he’s not looking at me. Mark seems unaffected by the glower. Galen talks through clenched teeth. “I said not yet. You haven’t even begun to feel pain. Yet. But if you don’t take your hand off her leg—”

  I open the truck door. Galen steps back to let me out.

  “Emma, this is insane. You don’t have to talk to him. I can hold my own in a fight if he wants to push it that far,” Mark says for Galen to hear.

  Football player that he is, I doubt Mark has ever been beaten with a steel pipe, which is exactly what Galen’s Syrena fists will feel like on his face. I give him an apologetic smile. “It will only take a second. I’ll be right back, okay?”

  As I step away from the truck, Galen slams the door shut. “Actually, Mark, it will take more than a second. She’s coming with me.”

  Mark swings his own door open and meets us by the tailgate. “Why don’t we ask Emma who she’s coming with? I mean, it’s her choice, right?”

  The look Galen gives me is clear: Take care of this, or I will. Or maybe it’s more like, It would be my pleasure to take care of this. Either way, I don’t want Mark taken care of.

  Standing between them, the testosterone-to-air ratio is almost suffocating. If I pick Galen, the chances of Mark ever calling me again are as good as Galen eating a whole cheesecake by himself. If I choose Mark, the chances of Galen not wielding his built-in brass knuckles are as good as Rayna giving someone a compliment.

  My desire to salvage this date with Mark is almost as strong as my desire to salvage his face from certain disfigurement. But salvaging the date as opposed to his face would be selfish in the long run. I sigh in defeat. “I’m sorry, Mark.”

  Mark lets out a gust of air. “Ouch.” Scratching the back of his neck, he chuckles. “I guess I should be more superstitious, huh?”

  He’s right. I screwed this up. I should have salvaged the date, his pride. And I should have broken Galen’s Royal nose with my own Syrena fist. I turn to His Highness. “Galen, could you give me a minute please? You’ll have the next hour to talk to me since you’re taking me straight home.”

  Without a word, Galen nods and walks away.

  I can’t quite meet Mark’s eyes when I say, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what his deal is. He never acts like this.” Except that time he beat Toraf like a stepchild on the beach when he kissed me. But only because Toraf betrayed Rayna. Right?

  Mark smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Can’t say I blame him. I can already tell you’re worth it. I just never had the guts to ask you out. Chloe threatened my life. You know that chick could hit like a man, right? She said you were too good for me. I think she was right.”

  “Wh … what? Chloe knew you liked me?”

  “Yeah. She never told you? Course not. She thought I was a player.”

  I nod, still too stunned that my best friend also acted as my bodyguard without me knowing. “She did think you were a player. And she could definitely hit like a man.”

  “That’s what my friend Jax says anyway.” Then a little lower, “Geez, Galen’s watching me like a hawk right now. He has serial-killer eyes, you know that?”

  I giggle.

  “What do you think he’d do if I kissed you good-bye on the cheek?” he whispers conspiratorially.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” He has no idea how serious I am. As he leans in, I brace myself. At the slightest spark of electricity, I’m prepared to turn around with my fists up. But the lightning doesn’t strike. Galen is behaving for now.

  As Mark pulls away from his barely there peck, he sighs. “Do me a favor,” he whispers.

  “Mmm?”

  “Keep my number. Give me a call if he screws up again.”

  I smile. “I will, I promise. I had a good time tonight.” Did the date and Mark’s face get salvaged? Do I have a chance to redeem myself with him?

  He chuckles. “Yeah, glad we got to drive here from Middle Point together. Next time, we’ll make it a real adventure and take the bus. See you at school, Emma.”

  “Bye.”

  I turn on my high heel, which is no easy feat in a gravel parking lot. Not losing eye contact with Galen, I stare him down until I get to the door he’s opened for me. He seems unconcerned. In fact, he seems downright emotionless. “This better be good,” I tell him as I plop down.

  “You should have returned my calls. Or my texts,” he says, his voice tight.

  As he backs out of the parking space, I yank my cell out of my purse, perusing the texts. “Well, doesn’t look like anyone died, so why the hell did you ruin my date?” It’s the first time I’ve ever cursed at royalty and it’s liberating. “Or is this a kidnapping? Is Grom in the trunk? Are you taking us on our honeymoon?”

  You’re supposed to be hurting him, not yourself, moron. My lip trembles like the traitor it is. Even though I’m looking away, I can tell Galen’s impassive expression has softened because of the way he says, “Emma.”

  “Leave me alone, Galen.” He pulls my chin to face him. I knock his hand away. “You can’t go forty miles an hour on the interstate, Galen. You need to speed up.”

  He sighs and presses the gas. By the time we reach a less-embarrassing speed, I’ve abandoned my hurt for rage-o-plenty, struck by the realization that I’ve turned into “that girl.” Not the one who exchanges her doctorate for some kids and a three-bedroom two-bath, but the other kind. That girl who exchanges her dignity and chances for happiness for some possessive loser who beats her when she makes eye contact with some random guy working the hot dog stand.

  Not that Galen beats me, but after his little show, what will people think? He acted like a lunatic tonight, stalking me to Atlantic City, blowing up my phone, and threatening my date with physical violence. He made serial-killer eyes, for crying out loud. That might be acceptable in the watery grave, but by dry-land standards, it’s the ingredients for a restraining order. And why are we getting off the interstate?

  “Where are you taking me? I told you I want to go home.”

  “We need to talk,” he says quietly, taking a dark road just off the exit. “I’ll take you home
after I feel you understand.”

  “I don’t want to talk. You might have realized that when I didn’t answer your calls.”

  He pulls over on the shoulder of Where-Freaking-Are-We Street. Shutting off the engine, he turns to me, putting his arm around the back of my seat. “I don’t want to break up.”

  One Mississippi … two Mississippi … “You followed me like a crazy person to tell me that? You ruined my date for that? Mark is a nice guy. I deserve a nice guy, don’t I, Galen?”

  “Absolutely. But I happen to be a nice guy, too.”

  Three Mississippi … four Mississippi … “Don’t you mean Grom? And you’re not a nice guy. You threatened Mark with physical pain.”

  “You threw Rayna through a window. Call it even?”

  “When are you going to get over that? Besides, she provoked me!”

  “Mark provoked me, too. He put his hand on your leg. We won’t even talk about the kiss on your cheek. Don’t think I didn’t hear you give him permission either.”

  “Oh, now that’s rich,” I snort, getting out of the car. Slamming the door, I scream at him. “Now you’re acting jealous on behalf of your brother,” I say, spinning in place. “Can Grom do anything without the almighty Galen helping him?” Having a few half fish in my family tree keeps my vision from blurring through the pudgy tears—I can perfectly see the solid yellow line on the road as I walk it. When I hear him following, I rip off my heels and start sprinting. Two months ago, this kind of abuse to my bare feet would leave them bleeding and with who-knows-what embedded in them. But with the convenience of my new thick skin, running barefoot is like running in Nike’s latest kicks.

  Galen is apparently a flying fish though—his hand wraps around my arm, braking my own sad attempt at flight. He whirls me around. Pulling me to him, he lifts my chin with the pad of his thumb. When I jerk away, he grasps it tight, forcing me to look at him. The old Emma would be bruised within the next ten minutes. The new one is just pissed off.

  “Let go!” I screech, pushing against his chest. Somehow this just gets me closer to him.

  “Emma,” he growls as I stomp his foot. “What would you have done?”

  Okay, that’s unexpected. I stop flailing. “What?”

  “Tell me what you would have done if you were me. Tell me what you would do if you had to choose between the survival of mankind—and I’m talking babies and grandmothers and all your human relatives,” he says, breathless. I realize I’ve never seen that before. Galen low on air. “Tell me how easy it would be to abandon them, if it meant you could have the only thing you’ve ever wanted in your whole life? Tell me, Emma. Which would you pick?”

  “I … I don’t … under—”

  He shakes me, his grip inflexible. “Yes, you do, Emma. You know exactly what I’m saying. Answer me. Think of what you want the most. The one thing you might not be able to live without.”

  Well, that’s a no-brainer. It’s Galen, hands-down. “Okay.”

  “Now imagine how you’d feel if you were asked to trade that one thing you love so that the human race could go on. People you don’t even know. People who aren’t even born yet. Would you do it? Could you? Even if almost no one ever knew the huge sacrifice you made for them and would never appreciate what you gave up?”

  Gently, I shake free from his grasp. He lets me step away from him. The intensity in his eyes sends chills down the length of me. “It would be selfish not to trade,” I say quietly. “It’s not even a choice, really.”

  “Exactly. I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Are you saying … What are you saying?” Is he … could he be talking about me?

  He runs a hand through his hair. I’ve never seen him this emotional before. He’s always so controlled, so sure of himself. “I’m saying you’re what I want, Emma. I’m saying I’m in love with you.”

  He steps forward and lifts his hand to my cheek, blazing a line of fire with his fingertips as they trace down to my mouth. “How do you think it would make me feel to see you with Grom?” he whispers. “Like someone ripped my heart out and put it through Rachel’s meat grinder, that’s how. Probably worse. It would probably kill me. Emma, please don’t cry.”

  I throw my hands in the air. “Don’t cry? Are you serious? Why did you come here, Galen? Did you think it would make me feel better to know that you do love me, but that it still won’t work out? That I still have to mate with Grom for the greater good? Don’t you tell me not to cry, Galen! I … c … c … can’t h … h … help—” The waterworks soak me. Galen looks at me, hands by his side, helpless as a trapped crab. I’m bordering on hyperventilation, and pretty soon I’ll start hiccupping. This is too much.

  His expression is so severe, it looks like he’s in physical pain. “Emma,” he breathes. “Emma, does this mean you feel the same way? Do you care for me at all?”

  I laugh, but it sounds sharper than I intended, because of a hiccup. “What does it matter how I feel, Galen? I think we pretty much covered why. No need to rehash things, right?”

  “It matters, Emma.” He grabs my hand and pulls me to him again. “Tell me right now. Do you care for me?”

  “If you can’t tell that I’m stupid in love with you, Galen, then you aren’t a very good ambassador for the hum—”

  His mouth covers mine, cutting me off. This kiss isn’t gentle like the first one. It’s definitely not sweet. It’s rough, demanding, searching. And disorienting. There’s not a part of me that isn’t melting against Galen, not a part that isn’t combusting with his fevered touch.

  I accidentally moan into his lips. He takes it for his cue to lift me off my feet, to pull me up to his height for more leverage. I take his groan for my cue to kiss him harder.

  He ignores his cell phone ringing in his pocket. I ignore the rest of the universe. Even when headlights approach, I’m willing to overlook their intrusion and keep kissing. But, prince that he is, Galen is a little more refined than me at this moment. He gently pries his lips from mine and sets me down. His smile is both intoxicated and intoxicating. “We still need to talk.”

  “Right,” I say, but I’m shaking my head.

  He laughs. “I didn’t come all the way to Atlantic City to make you cry.”

  “I’m not crying.” I lean into him again. He doesn’t refuse my lips, but he doesn’t do them justice either, planting a measly little kiss on them before stepping back.

  “Emma, I came out here to tell you that you don’t have to mate with Grom.”

  I raise a brow. “Uh, I was never going to mate with Grom.”

  “What I mean is, Grom is mating with someone else who has the gift of Poseidon. Which means that—”

  “I don’t have to mate with Grom,” I finish for him.

  “That’s what I just said.”

  “I mean, I don’t have to feel like I’ve let the entire species of Syrena go extinct because I won’t mate with Grom.”

  He grins. “Exactly.”

  “But that doesn’t change what I am—a Half-Breed. You still can’t be with me, can you?”

  He rubs his thumb over my bottom lip, thoughtful. “The law forbids it right now. But I think if we give it time, we could get it overturned somehow. And I’m not going anywhere until I do.”

  He turns us toward the SUV, stopping to retrieve my heels from the side of the road. He helps me in the passenger seat of the Escalade, then hands me my shoes.

  “Thank you,” I tell him as he walks around to the driver’s side.

  “It’s a little late to blush,” he says, strapping in.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever stop blushing.”

  “I really hope not,” he says, shutting his door. Taking my face into both hands, he pulls me to him again. His lips brush mine, but I want more. Sensing my intention, he puts his hand over mine and the seat belt I’m trying to unstrap. “Emma,” he says against my lips. “I’ve missed you so much. But we can’t. Not yet.”

  I’m not trying to do that, I just want to ge
t in a better position to accept his lips. Telling him so would just embarrass us both. But he said yet. What does that mean? That he wants to wait until he can get the law overturned? Or will he give it time, and if it doesn’t work out, break Syrena law to be with me?

  For some reason, I don’t want the answer bad enough to ask. Images of “that girl” flare up in my head. I don’t want Galen to break his laws—it’s a big part of why I love him so much. His loyalty to his people, his commitment to them. It’s the kind of devotion almost nonexistent among humans. But I don’t want to be “that girl” either. Syrena or not, I want to go to college. I want to experience the world above and below sea level.

  But it’s not like any decisions need to be made right now, do they? I mean, life-changing decisions take time to make. Time and meditation. And physical space between my lips and his.

  I pull back. “Right. Sorry.”

  He seizes a few tendrils of my hair and runs them along his face, grinning. “Not as sorry as I am. You’ll have to help me keep my hands off you.”

  I laugh, even as a charge runs through my veins. “Yeah. No.”

  He laughs too and turns to start the car, then stops. Letting go of the keys, he says, “So. About breaking up.”

  “Let me think about it some more,” I tell him on the brink of giggling at his expression.

  “I’ll see what I can do to help you make up your mind.”

  We stay parked for another fifteen minutes. But at least we’re not broken up anymore.

  * * *

  Digging my feet into the sand, I hold my hand down to Rayna, who just got comfortable on a towel. “Come on,” I tell her. “Let’s go inside and I’ll give you a pedicure.”

  She peers up at me, the moonlight catching the violet in her eyes. “That’s not a good idea,” she says, even though she takes my hand. “They said they’ll be right back.”

  I sigh. “Rayna, you know the routine. They scurry to my house, don’t find anyone, then spend an hour swimming the shore to see if they sense him again. We both know Galen won’t let me get in the water for the rest of the night. And anyway, since when did you start taking orders?”

  She nods. “But I want you to do it the French way, with the white stuff on the tips.” I smile at the back of her head as she passes me on the beach and jogs to the house. She’s no Chloe, but she’s not Mom either. She’s bonafide female companionship.