Legacy Lost

access to itself, replaced by the suffocating pulse of her .
    Deciding the meeting is inevitable—he knows she senses him just as clearly as he senses her—he chooses the diplomatic course and follows her pulse until he finds her draped over a stone tablet in a far corner of the cave.
    Nalia is all grown up.
    From head to fin-tip, she takes up the length of the tablet and then some. She’s twisted her long black hair into a braid and tied a knot at the end to keep it in place. Though a strand of seaweed is wrapped tightly around her torso in the traditional female cover, it doesn’t quite hide the swell of her breasts. Without looking up, she says, “What are you doing here?”
    Though her voice is full of disdain, it’s not unpleasant. In fact, it has a rich texture to it, velvety as a fin, and it fills up the cave with her presence. He doesn’t like it. Not at all. Grom clears his throat. “I might ask the same of you, princess.”
    She huffs, but still won’t look at him, which is sure to drive him mad. “Yes, you might.”
    It occurs to Grom that he really does want to know why she’s here. Is she here for the same reason I am? Does she seek a way out of this arrangement too? Hope licks at his insides, but then a sense of rejection instantly quells it. After all these years, she still dares to snub him.
    I won’t have it, not again. Not with all the females I have throwing themselves at me at every change in the current. What makes her so special?
    Then Nalia, firstborn, third-generation Poseidon heir, looks up.
    And Grom almost falters. “You’ve…you’ve changed, princess.”
    Yes, it’s the same pulse he remembers from years earlier. But it’s not the same face. Not the puffer fish face with hammerhead tendencies. No, this face, this new Nalia, this grown-up Nalia, is breathtaking. Her eyes are still huge, yes, but in a way that makes his mouth go dry despite the ocean around him. And the color of them! Didn’t he remember them being dull and plain? Could they always have been this vibrant, this crystalline violet? And her lips. So full. So alluring. So pouty.
    So contrary.
    “You haven’t changed at all,” she counters, crossing her arms. “Except, your mouth hangs open wider than I remember.”
    Grom clamps his mouth shut.
    “And you still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?” she says.
    Grom offers his most charming grin, but from the look on her face the effort is wasted. “Surely you know. I’m here to make sure there is no mistake in the records. That I am the only Syrena lucky enough to be your mate.”
    Her eyes declare him full of whale dung. “Liar,” is what she says out loud.
    “I swear by Triton’s trident.” He places three fingers on his Royal birthmark, the small image of a trident embedded into his skin just before stomach turns into fin. “I had to make sure you were mine.”
    She uncrosses her arms. “You and I do not like each other.”
    “Is that so? I didn’t realize.”
    If Nalia narrows her eyes anymore, they’ll close. “You were mean to me when you came to my mother’s entombing ceremony.”
    Beautiful, but dumb as a clam. Such a shame . Grom cocks his head at her. “Was that before or after you attacked me?” Attacked me, then bit me when I tried to restrain her. How convenient that she doesn’t remember. Their parents had found them wrapped up in each other, her in his best headlock, him trying to pry her vicious little teeth from his stomach. That’s when the ridiculous rumor had started that they had taken a liking to each other. Complete nonsense.
    “You told me I killed my mother.”
    “I didn’t say that. Not exactly.” Pretty close, though, he recalls. “We could start over, you know. Forget about the past.” Over my lifeless fin .
    Nalia must notice that he’s making his way closer, because she presses herself against the tablet. Grom swears she swallows with the familiar vulnerability of an awestruck female. “Why would we do that?” she says.
    He stops within a fin’s length of her.
    “Why are you looking at me like that?” she says, her hand flitting to her throat. But he can tell by her face that it’s the same kind of reflex of alarm he’s feeling—and it has nothing to do with danger. Her eyes, too, are full of the same kind of whirlwind he feels tightening in his chest. And he doesn’t like it. Not at all.
    Grom floats closer, growing more delighted as she allows him to devour the distance