Of Poseidon

utilizing this particular 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 find a suitable mild-tempered female to mate with? Live a peaceful life, produce offspring, grow old, and watch my own fingerlings have fingerlings 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 whatever 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 secret purpose she has, or shoves a handful of chocolate mints down his throat if he lets his guard down. Not some white-haired angelfish 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 inconvenience 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 floating, 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 nervous to leave her unattended. But lingering around her balcony makes him just as uneasy—Mark has called her three times this week, according to Rachel’s phone-tap records. And she’s never mentioned Galen to him once.
    As he shakes his head at himself for being a lovesick seal pup, he finally 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 five hours, but you were moving too fast. Where are we?”
    “England.” 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 fine 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 fine 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.”
    “Did you find her?”
    Toraf nods.
    “And?”
    Crossing his arms, Toraf smirks. “Are you sure you want to know?” When Galen clenches his fists, Toraf laughs. “All right, all right, minnow. I can see you’re in a fighting mood, but I would rather save my energy for your sister.”
    “I swear by—”
    “She has