“Right,” I say, but I’m shaking my head.

He laughs. “I didn’t come all the way to Atlantic City to make you cry.”

“I’m not crying.” I lean into him again. He doesn’t refuse my lips, but he doesn’t do them justice either, planting a measly little kiss on them before stepping back.

“Emma, I came out here to tell you that you don’t have to mate with Grom.”

I raise a brow. “Uh, I was never going to mate with Grom.”

“What I mean is, Grom is mating with someone else who has the gift of Poseidon. Which means that—”

“I don’t have to mate with Grom,” I finish for him.

“That’s what I just said.”

“I mean, I don’t have to feel like I’ve let the entire species of Syrena go extinct because I won’t mate with Grom.”

He grins. “Exactly.”

“But that doesn’t change what I am—a Half-Breed. You still can’t be with me, can you?”

He rubs his thumb over my bottom lip, thoughtful. “The law forbids it right now. But I think if we give it time, we could get it overturned somehow. And I’m not going anywhere until I do.”

He turns us toward the SUV, stopping to retrieve my heels from the side of the road. He helps me in the passenger seat of the Escalade, then hands me my shoes.

“Thank you,” I tell him as he walks around to the driver’s side.

“It’s a little late to blush,” he says, strapping in.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop blushing.”

“I really hope not,” he says, shutting his door. Taking my face into both hands, he pulls me to him again. His lips brush mine, but I want more. Sensing my intention, he puts his hand over mine and the seat belt I’m trying to unstrap. “Emma,” he says against my lips. “I’ve missed you so much. But we can’t. Not yet.”

I’m not trying to do that, I just want to get in a better position to accept his lips. Telling him so would just embarrass us both. But he said yet. What does that mean? That he wants to wait until he can get the law overturned? Or will he give it time, and if it doesn’t work out, break Syrena law to be with me?

For some reason, I don’t want the answer bad enough to ask. Images of “that girl” flare up in my head. I don’t want Galen to break his laws—it’s a big part of why I love him so much. His loyalty to his people, his commitment to them. It’s the kind of devotion almost nonexistent among humans. But I don’t want to be “that girl” either. Syrena or not, I want to go to college. I want to experience the world above and below sea level.

But it’s not like any decisions need to be made right now, do they? I mean, life-changing decisions take time to make. Time and meditation. And physical space between my lips and his.

I pull back. “Right. Sorry.”

He seizes a few tendrils of my hair and runs them along his face, grinning. “Not as sorry as I am. You’ll have to help me keep my hands off you.”

I laugh, even as a charge runs through my veins. “Yeah. No.”

He laughs too and turns to start the car, then stops. Letting go of the keys, he says, “So. About breaking up.”

“Let me think about it some more,” I tell him on the brink of giggling at his expression.

“I’ll see what I can do to help you make up your mind.”

We stay parked for another fifteen minutes. But at least we’re not broken up anymore.

*   *   *

Digging my feet into the sand, I hold my hand down to Rayna, who just got comfortable on a towel. “Come on,” I tell her. “Let’s go inside and I’ll give you a pedicure.”

She peers up at me, the moonlight catching the violet in her eyes. “That’s not a good idea,” she says, even though she takes my hand. “They said they’ll be right back.”

I sigh. “Rayna, you know the routine. They scurry to my house, don’t find anyone, then spend an hour swimming the shore to see if they sense him again. We both know Galen won’t let me get in the water for the rest of the night. And anyway, since when did you start taking orders?”

She nods. “But I want you to do it the French way, with the white stuff on the tips.” I smile at the back of her head as she passes me on the beach and jogs to the house. She’s no Chloe, but she’s not Mom either. She’s bonafide female companionship.

Rachel greets me at the sliding glass door. “Hiya, cutie. Your mom called. She’s home and would like to know why you’re not.”

I lift my chin, ready to fire off a few different reasons, beginning with the fact that I’m eighteen years old and ending with the fact that even if I weren’t of legal age, I’m still within my curfew. Then I realize Mom’s home early—which means she came home about the same time Toraf and Galen sensed the Syrena stalker. Whether it’s just a coincidence or a mother’s intuition working in overdrive is a toss-up. I didn’t believe in either until just now—but this is the third time it’s happened this week. Trying not to snatch her cell when Rachel hands it to me, I press the EMMA’S MOM icon on the touch screen.

“Hello?” she says, her voice tight.

“Mom, it’s me. You called?” Sounding casual is difficult when it feels like your heart’s river-dancing in your rib cage.

“Yes, I just wondered where you were. You didn’t answer your cell. Is everything okay?” She sighs, but I can’t tell if it’s in relief or parental aggravation.