“You see, boy, rhino skin can get up to two inches thick.” He displays an estimate of two inches between his fingers. “And this blade here? This blade can cut right through it.”

Satisfied with himself, and with Galen’s newfound attentiveness, the rotund Syrena wraps the T-shirt material tightly around his wound and sits back down. “Now, Highness,” he says, turning the blade over and over in his good hand. “Let’s talk, shall we?”

15

GALEN NEVER called me back yesterday. I left two more messages after I got back from my afternoon with Reed. If I’m being honest, I did expect him to call by now. I expected us to be talking about how dumb we both were—me especially—and telling each other ridiculous things like how we’ll never fight again.

I can feel myself growing desperate. I don’t want to be one of those girls who can’t get over a relationship when the relationship is clearly over. Still, the relationship, how hard we worked to have it … It can’t be over. In fact, I always thought nothing could ever truly come between Galen and me. I never thought we’d have a last kiss.

It’s been two days. I’m not about to give up. I sit on the edge of the bed and dial his cell. This time it doesn’t ring but instead sends me straight to voice mail. Have I left that many messages? Or is someone else trying to get hold of him?

“Galen, please. Please hear what I have to say.” I bite my lip, because if I don’t, my voice will crack. Finally, I say, “I love you. We can fix this.” And I hang up. What else can I tell him? I’m practically begging now.

My fear is that he really is becoming just like Grom. A hard outer shell that won’t let anyone in. Except—Grom let my mother in. Surely, Galen won’t barricade himself from me. Right?

When the cell rings in my hand, I nearly fall off the bed. I scramble to answer it, but let it ring one more time when I see that Reed is calling. Reed. Not Galen. Again.

“Hello?” I say, trying to sound cheerful.

“Hey, Ms. Popular, ready to go fishing?”

Now I am genuinely enthusiastic. Reed introduced me to practically the entire town yesterday. I’d left the hotel room last night to walk down the street and grab some snacks and got nothing but kindness: “Hello, Emma! Good to see you again” and “Can I help you carry anything?” These people, these Half-Breeds, these humans, these Syrena. They’ve made me one of their own in the space of two days. It’s just the opposite of what I’m used to. Back home, I had to fight for any freaking tidbit of recognition or acknowledgment. Here I’m some sort of celebrity.

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.