Back to Neptune, where he hopes he’ll find Emma.

He slows his pace just long enough to bring up Grom’s name on his cell phone. It’s difficult to focus on multiple tasks when both of your hands are full, he decides. In one hand he holds Tyrden’s large knife; in the other, his cell phone. Dialing with his thumb and only half his concentration, he speeds up again, trying to put as much distance between himself and Tyrden as possible. No telling how long he’ll be out.

Galen had taken care to use the remnants of rope to tie Tyrden’s hands and feet together, but he’s no expert in tying effective knots, and Tyrden is undeniably strong—not to mention too heavy to carry through the woods. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have left him behind at all.

The phone rings and rings, but Grom doesn’t answer. Galen hangs up and tries again. And again. Finally he leaves a message on voice mail. “Grom. Call me back. Don’t go to Neptune. Just … Just call me back!”

After a few more minutes, he stops and rests against a tree, trying to put most of his weight on his right ankle. He works his left in a circular motion in an effort to stretch out the soreness. Triton’s trident, but he’s lucky there are no breaks, that he came through the scuffle without more alarming injuries. Groaning, he points his big toe at the ground to stretch out his aching calf muscle—another excellent reason to find a water source. It had felt good to shape a fin, even with the ropes constricting around his tail. He stands on the other foot then, repeating the stretches.

That’s when he hears shouting behind him.

Shouting. And dogs.

Rachel told him once that humans use dogs to sniff out other humans when they’re missing—or wanted. All these dogs need to find him is an item from his SUV or his hotel room, and they will be able to hone in on his scent. Galen pushes away from the tree and breaks into a jog, grimacing with each stride. Has Tyrden already sent a search party after me?

He flies past trees and bushes, scraping his forehead on low-hanging branches and reopening his busted lip on one of them. It’s difficult for his swollen eyes to adjust to his pace and after a time, one of them closes altogether. Perfect.

Still, he presses onward as fast as he can, the sun both helping him and hurting him as he becomes more visible in the woods. In the distance, a glint of white stops him in his tracks. It’s the unmistakable hair of a Half-Breed.

Galen crouches down, crunching twigs and sticks and leaves beneath his heavy, clumsy feet. Fish were not meant to be stealthy on land, he decides. But there could be more behind me than there are in front of me. If I can just sneak past this one …

He resorts to crawling on the forest floor, ducking behind anything that will shield him and cursing himself for making so much noise in the process. When he’s several fin lengths ahead of the Half-Breed, he hears a new sound.

The roar of rushing water. He takes off in a sprint—or as close to a sprint as he can manage—and heads toward the noise of his salvation. In his haste, he drops the knife he’d confiscated from Tyrden. I can’t go back for it. I won’t need it if I can just reach the water.

Behind him, the Half-Breed calls out to him. “Galen? Is that you? Stop!”

Not in a million years.

He doesn’t stop until he reaches the rocky bank of the river. Hastily, he removes the remnants of his jeans and ties them farther up on his waist to use as a covering for later. His muscles scream at him to change, to shift to his fin. But he’s afraid of what he’ll find when he does. Back in the shed he was in fight mode. Now, his fin may not hold up as well.

Still, there are more voices behind him, and they’re growing louder by the second, calling him by name. He wades in. If they haven’t spotted him yet, they will soon. Just as he’s about to dive in, his phone rings on the bank behind him, where he had to ditch it in favor of escape; the water would destroy it anyway.

But there is no time to go back.

As Galen dives in, he hears a gunshot in the distance.

29

REED ISN’T behind me.

Reed isn’t behind me.

I’m too terrified to scream, which will only alert Mr. Kennedy to my location. So I keep running. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what happened to Reed. I pray and beg and pray for him not to be shot. But I’m not brave enough to turn back.

Suddenly, voices tickle my ear. Voices and barking and shouting. Hunters, maybe? There is a chance they could be with Mr. Kennedy, but so far I haven’t seen Mr. Kennedy warm up to anyone else. I have to assume he’s working alone—on whatever he’s working on. And couldn’t it be another search party looking for Galen?

“Help me!” I screech, changing my direction slightly. “Help me—I’m over here!” Voices, shouting, barking. The roar of the river. If my heart beats any faster, my chest will explode. At this point that would be mercy. “Help me!”

My knees almost give out as I recognize the sheriff of Neptune standing barefoot on the water’s edge. “Sheriff Grigsby!”

He turns toward me, startled. Bet he’s even more surprised when I pitch myself into his arms and cling for what’s left of life. “Sheriff Grigsby. Mr. Kennedy. Reeeeeed,” I cry into his chest.

“Emma, what are you doing here? Do you know how dangerous it is to be in the woods by yourself?” The sheriff would sound really stern and uncaring if not for the fact that he’s shaking beneath the security of his uniform.

I shake my head. “Not … Alone … Mr. Kennedy…” I’ve never been so breathless in my entire life, not even underwater. “Took … Reed … Hehasagun.”