Of Poseidon (34 page)

At lunch, Emma once again blocks his access to her by sitting between people at a full picnic table outside. He chooses the table directly across from her, but she seems oblivious, absently soaking up the grease from the pizza on her plate until she’s got at least fi fteen orange napkins in front her. She won’t acknowledge that he’s staring at her, waiting to wave her over as soon as she looks up.

Ignoring the text message explosion in his vibrating pocket, he opens the container of tuna fi sh Rachel packed for him. Forking it violently, he heaves a mound into his mouth, chewing without savoring it. Mark with the Teeth is telling Emma something she thinks is funny, because she covers her mouth with a napkin and giggles. Galen almost launches from his bench when Mark brushes a strand of hair from her face. Now he knows what Rachel meant when she told him to mark his territory early on.

But what can he do if his territory is unmarking herself ? News

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of their breakup has spread like an oil spill, and it seems as 0—

though Emma is making a huge eff ort to help it along.

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With his thumb and index, Galen snaps his plastic fork in half as Emma gently wipes Mark’s mouth with her napkin. He rolls his eyes as Mark “accidentally” gets another splotch of Jell- O on the corner of his lips. Emma wipes that clean too, smiling like she’s tending to a child.

It doesn’t help that Galen’s table is fi lling up with more of his admirers— touching him, giggling at him, smiling at him for no reason, and distracting him from his fantasy of breaking Mark’s pretty jaw. But that would only give Emma a genuine reason to assist the idiot in managing his Jell- O.

When he can’t take anymore, Galen plucks his phone from his pocket and dials, then hangs up. When the call is returned, he says, “Hey, sweet lips.” The females at the table hush each other to get a better listen. A few of them whip their heads toward Emma to see if she’s on the other end of the conversation.

Satisfi ed she’s not, they lean closer.

Rachel snorts. “If only you liked sweets.”

“I can’t wait to see you to night. Wear that pink skirt I like.” Rachel laughs. “Sounds like you’re in what we humans like to call a pickle. My poor, drop- dead- gorgeous sweet pea. Emma still not talking to you, leaving you alone with all those hormonal girls?”

“Eight- thirty? That’s so far away. Can’t I meet you sooner?” One of the females actually gets up and takes her tray and her attitude to another table. Galen tries not to get too excited.

“Do you need to be checked out of school, son? Are you feeling ill?”

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Galen tosses a glance at Emma, who’s picking a pepperoni

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off her pizza and eyeing it as if it were dolphin dung. “I can’t skip school to meet you again, boo. But I’ll be thinking about you. No one but you.”

A few more females get up and stalk their trays to the trash.

The cheerleader in front of him rolls her eyes and starts a conversation with the chubby brunette beside her— the same chubby brunette she pushed into a locker to get to him two hours ago.

“Be still my heart,” Rachel drawls. “But seriously, I can’t read your signals. I don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”

“Right now, nothing. But I might change my mind about skipping. I really miss you.”

Rachel clears her throat. “All right, sweet pea. You just let your mama know, and she’ll come get her wittle boy from school, okay?”

Galen hangs up. Why is Emma laughing again? Mark can’t be that funny.

The girl beside him clues him in: “Mark Baker. All the girls love him. But not as much as they love you. Except maybe Emma, I guess.”

“Speaking of all these girls, how did they get my phone number?”

She giggles. “It’s written on the wall in the girls’ bathroom.

One hundred hall.” She holds her cell phone up to his face. An image of his number scrawled onto a stall door lights up the screen. In Emma’s handwriting.

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Dividing waves as he tears through the water, his path leaves a 0—

frothy white line on the surface. Submerging when he sees a boat

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on the horizon, he pushes so hard he might not even appear on their fi shing radar if they have one.

This is his second swim to Eu rope and back this week. Since tomorrow’s Friday, he’ll probably be doing it again. But no matter how far he swims, no matter how fast, it doesn’t relieve him of his tension. And it doesn’t change the fact that Emma has a date with someone else.

He senses other Syrena as he goes, but he doesn’t recognize them and besides that, he’s not in the mood to chat. In fact, solitude is more important to him right now than his next fi ve meals. Trying to navigate the halls at school has been like wad-ing through high tide wearing hiking boots fi lled with rocks—

the human females have lost their minds. They locked around him in waves, grasping at him, shouting over each other, calling each other names that Rachel later clarifi ed meant mating with more than one male— a lot. They only displayed unity when he tried to escape into the men’s restroom— or when he attempted to head in Emma’s general direction.

But he isn’t just tired of humans— it would be unfortunate for any Syrena to press him into a conversation at this point.

And any passerby would inevitably be curious as to what brings a royal this far from the caverns. His response right now wouldn’t win his brother the support he needs as a new king—

and it just might push his father to cut out his tongue after all.

And groveling at Emma’s feet without a tongue would be inconve nient.

Gritting his teeth, he pushes even harder, ripping through

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the water faster than any man- made torpedo. Only when he

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reaches what the humans call the En glish Channel does he slow and surface. As he approaches a patch of land he recognizes, he can’t even muster a half smile for the new personal record. From New Jersey to Jersey Island in less than fi ve hours. The three thousand miles in distance he put between himself and Emma to night is nothing compared with the enormous chasm separating them when they sit next to each other in calculus.

Emma’s ability to overlook his existence is a gift— but not one that Poseidon handed down. Rachel insists this gift is uniquely a feminine trait, regardless of the species. Since their breakup, Emma seems to be the only female utilizing this partic u lar gift. Even Rayna could learn a few lessons from Emma in the art of torturing a smitten male. Smitten? More like fanatical.

He shakes his head in disgust. Why couldn’t I just sift when I turned of age? Why couldn’t I fi nd a suitable mild- tempered female to mate with? Live a peaceful life, produce off spring, grow old and watch my own fi ngerlings have fi ngerlings someday? He searches through his mind for someone he might have missed in the past. For a face he overlooked before but could now look forward to every day. For a docile female who would be honored to mate with a Triton prince— instead of a temperamental siren who mocks his title at every opportunity. He scours his memory for a sweet- natured Syrena who would take care of him, who would do what ever he asked, who would never argue with him.

Not some human- raised snippet who stomps her foot when she doesn’t get her way, listens to him only when it suits some

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secret purpose she has, or shoves a handful of chocolate mints 0—

down his throat if he lets his guard down. Not some white- haired

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angelfi sh whose eyes melt him into a puddle, whose blush is more beautiful than sunrise, and whose lips send heat ripping through him like a mine explosion.

He sighs as Emma’s face eclipses hundreds of more mate-worthy Syrena. That’s just one more quality I’ll have to add to the list: someone who won’t mind being second best. His jaw locks as he catches a glimpse of his shadow beneath him, cast by slithers of sterling moonlight. Since it’s close to three a.m. here, he’s comfortable walking around without the incon ve nience of clothes, but sitting on the rocky shore in the raw is less than appealing. And it doesn’t matter which Jersey shore he sits on, he can’t escape the moon that connects them both— and reminds him of Emma’s hair.

Hovering in the shallows, he stares up at it in resentment, knowing the moon reminds him of something else he can’t escape— his conscience. If only he could shirk his responsibilities, his loyalty to his family, his loyalty to his people. If only he could change everything about himself, he could steal Emma away and never look back— that is, if she’ll ever talk to him again.

Tired of fl oating, he changes into human form and stands in the knee- deep water, squinting into the horizon as if he could see her if he just looked long enough. He should be getting back.

Though he hasn’t sensed the stalker in front of Emma’s house for an entire week, it still makes him ner vous to leave her un-attended. But lingering around her balcony makes him just as uneasy— Mark has called her three times this week, according to Rachel’s phone-tap rec

ords. And she’s never mentioned

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Galen to him once.

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As he shakes his head at himself for being a lovesick seal pup, he fi nally senses a Syrena he recognizes. Toraf. He waits for him a good ten minutes before his friend eventually surfaces.

Giving him a stout punch to the shoulder, Toraf says, “So, you decided to hold still for more than two seconds, minnow.

I’ve been tracking you for the last fi ve hours, but you were moving too fast. Where are we?”

“En gland.” Galen grins. He needs a good diversion, and distraction happens to be one of Toraf ’s many talents.

Toraf shrugs. “Wherever that is.”

“So,” Galen says, crossing his arms. “What brings you across Triton territory this fi ne morning? You miss me?” Toraf glances up at the moon and raises a brow. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Galen shrugs. “It’s a lot quieter without all the obnoxious background noise.”

“Aw. You did miss me. That means a lot, minnow. I missed you, too.” He glances around the shore. “Where’s Emma? She doesn’t like Eggland?”

“Eng- land. She’s at home, probably sleeping peacefully. You didn’t sense her did you?” For a half second, his pulse spikes.

She’s been getting in the water without him. Every time he gets close enough to sense, she gets out. Which is just fi ne with him.

“Oops. Was it my turn to keep an eye on Emma? I kind of thought you’d give me a break since you sent me to look for Paca and all.”

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“Did you fi nd her?”

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Toraf nods.

“And?”

Crossing his arms, Toraf smirks. “Are you sure you want to know?” When Galen clenches his fi sts, Toraf laughs. “All right, all right minnow. I can see you’re in a fi ghting mood, but I would rather save my energy for your sister.”

“I swear by—”

“She has the Gift, Galen.”

Instead of spiking, Galen’s pulse sputters. “Paca has the gift of Poseidon? Are you sure?”

Nodding, Toraf says, “I saw it myself. She can communicate with fi sh. They do what she says. She demonstrated it to me and Grom and her father. She made a dolphin do tricks for us.”

“What kind of tricks?”

Toraf shrugs. “Anything she wants, I guess. After the fi rst few, we were all satisfi ed. Amazed, actually.” Galen crosses his arms. “Where has she been all this time?”

“Triton territory, staying on the coast of the long land.

Said she hid out of the water in case King Antonis sent trackers after her. I only found her after she submerged to hide from some humans who caught sight of her camp on the beach. She seemed happy to see me.”

The Syrena know it as the long land. Humans know it as Florida. Where we found Emma. Galen is beginning to think Florida has some sort of power to create Poseidon’s Gift. “What does Grom say?”

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