Of Neptune (The Syrena Legacy) (11 page)

And it’s fantabulous.

Still, Reed gets most of the credit. He’s the one who isn’t shy, who goes after what he wants. The problem is, it’s becoming more and more obvious that he wants me. Small touches here, lingering glances there. Yesterday at lunch, someone even called me his girlfriend and he didn’t correct them. It was me who had to set things straight. Because until Galen says otherwise, I’m taken.

“But we’re not going to keep the fish we catch, right?” I say. “You promised.”

Reed sighs into the phone. “I was hoping you’d forget that.”

“Not a chance. I don’t kill fish.”

“How else am I supposed to prove that I caught a bigger fish than Toby?”

“Get ready to have your mind blown. There are these new things called cell phones, and they actually have a camera built in—”

“Smart-mouth.”

“Just saying.”

“I’m pulling up to the hotel now. Get your butt down here before I decide to leave you behind.”

I laugh. “I dare you.”

Reed snorts. “Just get down here, Miss Congeniality.” Then he hangs up on me. He’s going to pay for that.

*   *   *

The rickety dock is just skinny enough that two people can’t stand side by side. Reed hops in the small fishing boat, and it rocks like it’s being tossed around in a typhoon. Then he holds his hand out for me to jump in. I haven’t yet explained to him how clumsy I am. That I don’t jump into anything, let alone an unstable object floating precariously close to a dock full of potential splinters.

“I’m not a little sprite like you,” I tell him, sitting on the edge of the dock.

He snickers. “You think I’m little?” He holds out both his hands, so I can scoot off the dock without causing too much pandemonium in this tiny vessel.

Do I think Reed is little? No freaking way. He’s actually very athletic-looking, a fact accentuated exponentially when he takes his shirt off. He’s not quite as big as Galen, but he is well-defined in all the right places. Which is why I look away.

He doesn’t miss it. “Didn’t think so,” he says.

God, he’s irritatingly confident.

“Now, remember,” he says as I sit on one of the wooden planks posing as seats, “once we get to where we’re going, absolutely no talking. When we get close, I’ll give you a signal that it’s time to be stealthy.”

“What’s the signal?” I hold my hand up to shield my eyes from the sun.

He holds up a fist, a gesture a soldier might make if he wants to halt the troops behind him.

“Okay. Got it.”

Reed zigzags us along the bends of the creek, avoiding fallen logs and overgrown brush from shore. The wind breathes through the trees as if it’s telling secrets. Birds chime in with treble, and a nearby woodpecker adds percussion to the mix. Then there’s the steady, quiet hum of the boat dividing the water ahead of us. It’s possibly one of the most relaxing moments of my life.

Until I notice Reed smirking at me.

“What?” I say.

He shrugs innocently. “I was just trying to imagine you using the Gift in the ocean. And I was getting a little jealous of it.” He gently steers us clear of some drooping tree limbs that hold a masterpiece of a spiderweb. “What’s the biggest fish you’ve ever talked to?”

The answer immediately pops into mind. “A blue whale. I named him Goliath. You’ve never been in the ocean?”

“Of course not.”

“Why?”

“Well for starters, it’s against our law. And secondly, didn’t you hear what Triton did to Tartessos? Not pretty.”

No, it wasn’t pretty. I can’t imagine the same thing happening to Neptune. “Understandable.”

“Besides, I’m not trying to get speared by the almighty ocean dwellers.” The way he says it carries a sudden hardness. Like when you get to the pit of a cherry. “You’re friends with a blue whale?” Apparently, Reed can go from smug to incredulous in snap-point-two seconds. “Weren’t you afraid?”

Terrified is a closer description. But I can tell Reed is in awe of me right now, so I decide to sit back and enjoy the moment. “I was at first. It was before I knew I had the Gift. I thought he was going to eat me.”

“Blue whales eat krill. If he ate you, it would have been an accident.”

“Comforting. Truly.”

“So he didn’t eat you. You’re a horrible storyteller, you know that?”

So much for awe. “I realized that he was gentle—and that he responded to my voice when I told him what to do. I knew then that he wouldn’t hurt me.”

“How often do you see him?”

I’m aware that my shoulders sag a little as the regret broils from my stomach to my throat. “Actually, a few months ago he was harpooned by some idiot fishermen. I didn’t see him for a long time after that. Then one day a few weeks ago, he came to me out of nowhere. I could still see the scar, and I gave him some extra love. But I don’t care what scientists say about how fish have no feelings. Goliath acted differently. He wasn’t as playful as he was before that happened. It’s like he was traumatized or something.”

Reed gives a solemn nod. “Um. Whales are mammals. They definitely have feelings. But touchy-feely feelings? Not sure about all that.”

“Well, I’m telling you they do.”

“Right. So. We don’t have to fish if you don’t want to. We can turn around and go back.”

I tilt my head at him. “But you said we weren’t going to keep the fish. Did you mean it?”

“Of course I did. I would never lie to you, Emma. I’m way too scared of you.” He chuckles. “But sometimes when you’re fishing, they swallow the hook. I’ve never thought of it, but to me, swallowing a hook and having it ripped out of you could be kinda traumatizing, don’t you think?”

Of course it would. Which is why I never intended to let him catch a single fish. But I still want to see his face when I thwart his plans. “Are you trying to back out now? Afraid you can’t beat Toby after all?”

Reed sits a little straighter. “I changed my mind. We’re not turning back now. Not even if you ask.”

I’m becoming very good at baiting males. The rest of our ride is spent in silence. I can tell we’re getting close to our destination because every time I try to chit-chat, he mumbles his answer and glances over his shoulder. Guys really take this sport-fishing thing to a whole new level of weirdness.

At last, Reed holds up his fist and shuts off the engine. The lulling song of frogs and the fast-moving current over a sandbar contrast against any silence we might have had. We come to a halt in the widest part of the creek so far. Reed makes quick work of hooking two crickets on his line. I can’t help but wonder if the scientists are wrong about insects, too. What if they actually do feel pain, and here I’ve let him impale two live crickets?

“Life’s too short to use dead bait,” he says almost superstitiously. I wonder what kind of fishermen’s lore he just satisfied by telling himself that. Ridiculous.

So Reed is not in an eco-friendly mood right now. He’s all determination and focus and testosterone. He turns his back to me and casts off the back of the boat in one smooth motion.

Finally, my time has come.

With glee, I pull back my hair and shove my face in the water. I open my mouth to shout and large air bubbles escape first, tickling my face as they rise to the surface. But I will not be deterred. “Swim away!” I scream. “You’re all in danger! Swim away!” I see the backends of fishtails scatter, just as they’re told. Minnows, a water moccasin, a turtle. Other bigger, striped fish that I can’t identify make a whooshing sound with their speedy departure. When I come back up, Reed is reeling his line in with a scowl.

“I just knew you were going to do that,” he grumbles.

“I should have done it before you murdered those two crickets. See something, say something, you know?” His pouty face is borderline adorable. It makes him look like an older version of Toby. And Toby corners the market on pouty face.

“Are you going to do that every time then? Is there any use in trying to find another hot spot?”

“Pretty much, yes. And if wasting time is your hobby, by all means, look for another fishing hole.” Or whatever they’re called.

A mischievous smile stretches across his face.
Oh no
.

My startled cry never hits the air, only the water as he bulldozes me off the boat. The water is clear, more clear than any part of the ocean I’ve been in. Even through my thick skin, I register the drop in temperature from Tennessee summer day to Tennessee summer creek.

Reed grins so big his dimples look almost like holes punctured in his face. “You realize you had that coming.”

“I didn’t figure you’d take it lying down.” I laugh. In fact, I sound delighted under the circumstances.

“With you, I’ll take it any way I can get it.”

Awk-ward. Also, ew. “Reed—”

“Too much too soon?”

“Too much anytime. I’m with Galen. We’re going to be mated.” But I recognize the trace of doubt in my declaration.

He makes a show of looking around. “Really? I’m not seeing Galen anywhere. As far as I can tell, it’s me and you here.”

“That was a low blow.” I turn away from him, intent on swimming back to the boat. Within seconds, I feel his pulse grow stronger, and I know the exact moment he’s about to grab my wrist. I swirl around. “Don’t touch me, Reed.”

His face is all remorse. Genuine anguish. “I’m so sorry, Emma. I know he’ll come back. Heck, he’s probably on his way right now. If you want, I’ll take you to the hotel so you can wait for him.”

I don’t like how pitiful that sounds.
So you can wait for him.
My emotions engage in a tiny skirmish. On the one hand, I left my phone in my room, telling myself that taking it fishing would be asking the universe to throw it in the water. On the other hand, I didn’t take it because I already doubted Galen would call, and I’m sick of checking my phone every thirty seconds to see if he has at least texted me.

My phone and Galen’s empty hotel room are anchors weighing me down. Things will work out with him, I just know it. But for now, I have to let it go. Yes, Reed is morphing into a scandalous flirt. But once he realizes I won’t budge, he’ll give up.

All I really know is that I can’t stay locked away in my room waiting for a phone call that may not come for days. I have to live life. I have to have my own identity outside of Galen. It’s only fair.

“Why don’t you take me cave diving?” I say finally. “If Galen does come back and finds me gone, he’ll know that I’m exploring Neptune. He knows that’s why I wanted to stay a few more days.”

Reeds nods. “Are you sure? I’m so sorry, Emma. That was mean, what I said.”

“I’m positive. Stop groveling. It doesn’t suit you.”

He grins. “Well, then. The nearest cave is quite a swim away and against the current. You up for it?”

I eye the boat behind him. “I want to cave dive. Not exhaust myself getting there.”

“Come on, princess,” he laughs. He tries to put an arm around me, but I slither away from him. He takes it in stride. “We’ll take the boat until we have to make a swim for it.”

And that’s when I discover that getting into a boat from the water is like trying to catch a fish with my mouth. Not gonna happen.

16

GALEN WON’T
look up at his captor, which forces him to look down at his now-shredded shirt hanging like a loose net from his body. There are still small cuts on his side and on his back where Tyrden missed the fabric and connected with skin. Every time Galen adjusts in his chair, the shallow slices burn in protest, reminding him that they’re still there.

Tyrden had used the blade quickly, in quick chopping motions, stripping Galen’s shirt from his body piece by piece, sometimes forcing him to suck in or lean away to avoid getting deep gashes in his skin. Every time Galen gave an evasive answer—which was most of the time—Tyrden took to swiping the blade erratically, not caring if he hit or missed. Galen maneuvered away as best he could. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t. The scratches were mostly grazes, but some nicks here and there were just large enough to cause Galen some discomfort.

He wonders what Tyrden will use the blade for once the clothing is gone. He has come to learn that the older Syrena is very good at the art of anticipation.
It would help if I could figure out his motives
. At least then he could give him passable—though untrue—answers while also avoiding the lacerations he’d earned by being impassive.

But so far, Tyrden has asked such random questions that Galen can get no sense of what his purpose is, which is probably the point. Questions like, How many Syrena are loyal to the kingdoms? Have they started any new traditions? How far can your Trackers sense? What do the ocean dwellers do for fun? Do they still use lionfish venom for their spears? How many come ashore nowadays? What is the ratio of males to females?

All Galen knows is that Tyrden has an insatiable curiosity about the makeup of the kingdoms—and that he’s designed at least one weapon that easily cuts through Syrena skin. Not a good sign.

The sound of the heavy boots walking back toward him makes his stomach simmer. This could be much worse, Galen tells himself. He thinks of Rachel and what she’d told him about methods the Mafia used for torture. This isn’t torture, not compared with that. This is … intimidation.

Suddenly, the air is saturated with the smell of cooked fish and Galen can’t help but look up this time. Tyrden takes a seat in front of Galen and crosses his legs, careful not to spill the steaming plate of food in his hand. Galen hates his stomach for growling so loudly.

Tyrden chuckles. “Nothing like a big pile of fish to keep you going, huh, boy?” He scoots the chair closer to where Galen sits, so that their feet almost touch. Then he waves the food inches from his face, making sure the white steam undulates right into Galen’s nose. Galen’s stomach groans ferociously.
Traitor.

His last meal was at the Conway’s house—and even then, he’d barely touched his dinner. He’s guessing that was two days ago—two days that have passed with Emma thinking he’d returned to the ocean to tell Grom about Neptune. Two days since he all but disappeared from existence, with no one realizing he’s missing.