Forgive My Fins

“And that is…?”

“Breathing water.”

His dark blond brows furrow over stormy blue eyes. He’s skeptical. Who wouldn’t be? It’s not like breathing liquid is a normal, everyday thing for humans. In fact, it’s so abnormal that their brains usually make them do just about anything to keep from inhaling water, even fighting to the death. Literally.

“Follow me.” I sink under the waves, letting my fins appear, lime green and gold scales covering my body from the waist down. My gills fill my throat, and I take a deep breath.

Quince doesn’t follow.

I pop back above water. “What’s wrong?”

“Kiss me.”

“What?!?”

That’s what got us into this mess in the first place.

“Kiss me,” he repeats, stepping closer. “I trust you, but what do I know? If this is going to be my last breath, I want it to be a good one.”

Then, before I can react or argue or escape, he slips an arm around my waist, yanks me closer, and presses his mouth to mine. Instinctively, my arms wrap around his neck, holding on for everything I’m worth. It’s just like last night’s kiss, only this time I know who I’m kissing. And this time the bond magnifies my every emotion. I can’t think of anything but his lips moving over mine, of staying in his arms forever.

Thankfully, he’s not so consumed by the bond. He’s probably more experienced than me in the love department. It would be hard not to be more experienced than me, right?

He pulls back, leaving me breathing heavily.

“Okay,” he says, his voice a little raspy. “I’m ready to go.”

As he slips below the surface, I recover enough to say, “The first breath is the hardest.”

9

“You have to breathe.”

Quince shakes his head, mouth clamped shut.

“If you don’t,” I argue, “you’ll die.”

He shrugs. As if he’d rather die than breathe water. Well, I’m not about to let him croak before we separate. I’ve heard stories about merfolk who’ve lost their bonded mates. They feel the connection forever, knowing they will never see their mates again. Without magical intervention, eventually some go mad.

I’m not about to go mad over Quince Fletcher.

He starts to push back to the surface. Before he can react, I dart behind him and wrap my arms around his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “but this is the only way.”

Then, before he can fight, I squeeze with every ounce of my strength. The last bit of air whooshes from his lungs, bubbling up to the surface above. He starts to struggle, twisting around and trying to yank my arms away. I squeeze tighter.

He goes limp. For half a second I think he’s passed out.

“Breathe,” I order, relaxing my hold a little so I can swim around to his front.

His eyes are wide open. Trying to take advantage of my slack grip, he pushes off the bottom and lunges for the surface. At the last moment I dive over him, forcing him down to the sandy bottom on his back.

“I know this is hard,” I say, though I don’t really know. I’ve always been able to breathe water.

But I can imagine it’s pretty tough on the brain.

I stare directly into his eyes. “Trust me.”

He blinks once and then nods slowly.

I watch as he opens his mouth, hesitates for a second, and then draws in a lungful of ocean. A look of uncertainty crosses his face as the water passes over his new gills for the first time. He holds the breath for a second and then releases. Then takes another. And another.

“Perfect,” I say, smiling. “You’re breathing like a pro.”

He smiles back, a boy-am-I-happy-to-be-alive smile. His mouth moves like he’s trying to say something.

“Oh, I forgot about that,” I say. “We can’t just talk like normal underwater.”

He looks confused. And tries to speak again.

“Sound doesn’t carry as well through gills. You have to use a different level of your vocal cords.” I point to the spot just above his Adam’s apple. “Higher.”

He just stares at me, looking confused—but breathing like he was born to it.

“Pretend you’re talking like a girl.”

No way, he mouths, shaking his head.

Stupid male ego.

“You won’t sound like a girl,” I assure him. “Because sound travels slower, the register of everything shifts lower. Just raise your pitch—”

“Like this?” he says, in a super-squeaky voice.

“Maybe a little lower,” I suggest.

“Here?” he asks, sounding like his normal self.

I grin. “Perfect.”

For a second I wonder how this whole thing would have gone—correction, will go—with Brody. As soon as I explain this whole mess to Daddy and we get our separation, I’m going back and confessing everything to Brody. And you can bet I won’t hesitate this time. He’s still my true love.

I bet he doesn’t argue nearly so much.

“You know,” Quince says, that dreaded honey in his voice, “you are in quite a compromising position.”

That’s when I realize I’m still lying over him, holding him against the sand so he can’t escape to the surface.

I feel his hand curl around my waist and down over my—

With a swift flick of my fins, I shoot out of his grasp. “Uh-uh, buster.” I laugh. “No more funny business. We need to get to Thalassinia immediately.”