A - Immortal Sea

time of day had stopped to talk with Emily, charmed by her big brown eyes and that stupid doll she carried everywhere.

His gaze slipped past her to the man who claimed to be his biological father. Big Bad Ass in black. Zack sneered. He

hadn‟t looked so tough with Emily clinging to his leg.

The man turned his head. His eyes pierced Zack, skewered and held him in his chair like a bug pinned to a piece of

Styrofoam.

Zack‟s heart pounded. Like the man could read his thoughts, like he could see inside his head.

Shit.

He dropped his gaze hastily, his blood drumming in his ears.

Through the roaring in his head, he heard the man say, “The boy is not under your authority. This is not your concern.”

“It is if he‟s stealing,” Big Cop replied.

“He‟s not your responsibility either,” his mom said to the man in black. “Zack is my son. Let me talk to him.”

The cop leaned back in his chair. “Maybe it would be best if you both talked to him.”

His mother sucked in her breath like she did before she launched into a lecture. Emily ducked her head, hiding her face in

her doll‟s hair.

Zack couldn‟t stand it.

“Okay,” he said.

Silence descended on the room. He fought not to squirm.

“Zack . . .” His mother‟s voice was brittle and unhappy.

His hands tightened on the arms of the chair. He knew she was only trying to help. But she didn‟t understand. Nobody

understood.

But just for a second, meeting the eyes of the man who claimed to be his father, he‟d felt a flicker of something. Not hope.

Recognition.

He swallowed hard and looked at the cop. “If I promise to talk to them, can we go?”

The cop regarded him until Zack‟s mouth went dry and his palms stuck to the arms of the chair.

“For now,” the cop said at last. “I‟ve got no cause to hold you. I‟m going to ask around, see whose catch is missing. We‟re

not finished with this by a long shot.”

“No,” the man in black agreed softly. “I would say we were just beginning.”

6

THEY WALKED OUT OF THE POLICE STATION TOGETHER, Liz holding on to Emily‟s hand and Zack with his

shoulders up around his ears and Morgan stalking behind. Like a unit. Like a family.

Liz hated it.

He was crowding her. She felt him on the back of her neck and in the pit of her stomach, a tickle like lust or alarm. She

stopped abruptly and turned.

Her breath caught. Too damn close. “You‟re not coming with us.”

Morgan looked down at her, his face as cool and unimpressionable as marble, and a chill chased the tickle up her spine. He

was not a man she could boss around, which made him dangerous. And far too attractive.

She shook her head to rid it of that thought. “I need to talk to Zack alone.”

“So must I.”

“Not alone.”

“Very well,” he agreed so promptly she wondered if she‟d been set up. “Then we will talk to him together.”

She frowned. “No, I . . .” She couldn‟t think with him standing so close. She took a step back, still gripping Emily‟s hand,

and bumped into her car. “It‟s my responsibility.”

“And you are always responsible.”

Was he mocking her?

Her lips set. “Yes.”

“Responsible and . . .” The pad of his thumb hovered at the corner of her eye where the skin was thin and sensitive. “Tired.

Let me help.”

The unexpectedness of his feather contact robbed her of breath. Of speech. He traced a line from cheek to jaw, making her

throat constrict. For one weak moment, she was tempted to close her eyes and lean into his hand, to absorb the warmth and

strength of his touch.

Self-preservation straightened her spine. She was not a woman who leaned on anybody.

“I‟m not tired,” she said, ice in her voice. “I‟m frustrated.”

Unholy laughter gleamed in his eyes. “I could help you with that, too.”

Her jaw cracked. She was not swapping innuendos with this man in full view of the town and within earshot of her kids.

“No, you can‟t. Go away.”

“After I talk with the boy.”

“Not here. Not now. When you talk to my son, it will be on my terms and my turf.”

“Fine. When and where?”

“I . . .”

Their eyes locked.

Trapped, she realized, her heart knocking against her ribs. Emily leaned into her side, watching them with wide, anxious

eyes. Zack scowled from the other side of the car.

For her children‟s sake, it was important she maintain a pretense of civility. A semblance of control.

“You can come to dinner,” she decided.

“Tonight.”

She pressed her lips together in annoyance. “Fine. Six o‟clock. Eighteen Juniper Road.”

“I will see you then.” He nodded across the car at Zack. “All of you.”

Liz‟s gaze darted between them. They were nothing alike, one big, blond, commanding, the other bony and dark.

And yet something about the shape of their lips, the cant of their shoulders, those weird, pale, golden eyes proclaimed them

father and son. Her stomach sank.

“ Maybe it would be best if you both talked to him, ” the police chief had said.

Maybe.

Liz bit her lip. And maybe she was making a big mistake.

Morgan stood half-naked at the pedestal sink in his room, scraping the blade of his knife over his face to remove three days

of stubble. The finfolk‟s skin was almost smooth, but to pass as a human, he must groom as a human.

The door to his hotel room banged open.

His hand checked and then continued carefully along his jaw.

Dylan Hunter, dark and furious, blew into the room behind him. “What the hell are you playing at?”

“Next time, knock.”

“Why? You were expecting me.” Dylan tossed an arm-load of clothes onto the wide, white bed.

Morgan put down his knife and reached for a towel. “I would prefer not to cut myself.”

“I don‟t care if you slit your throat,” Dylan said.

Morgan met his gaze in the mirror. “I take it you spoke with your brother.”

“Yeah. He calls me into his office to find out what‟s going on, and I have to tell him I don‟t have a damn clue.”

“I do not answer to him. Or to you.”

A flush stained the younger warden‟s cheekbones. “This is still my territory. My charge. We‟ve had enough demon activity

around here that anything out of the ordinary makes my brother twitchy. You need to keep me informed.”

Morgan crossed to the bed and pulled a couple of shirts from the pile. Fortunately, he and Dylan were almost the same size,

though Morgan‟s frame was heavier. “The prince ordered me to stay.”

“To recuperate.”

“Yes.” He held up a white shirt with buttons. “Linen?”

“Cotton. Natural fibers anyway, like you said. Read the damn label.”

He did not need a label to know it would chafe. He tossed it back on the bed.

“So what‟s this bullshit story about a long lost son?” Dylan asked.

Morgan found a thin sweater in soft black, cashmere or silk. “Not bullshit. The boy is mine.”

“ You have a kid.” Disbelief scored Dylan‟s voice.

“You question my ability to father a child?”

“No, but . . . You, with a human woman?”

Morgan raised his eyebrows. “It is not only selkies who can fuck with humankind.”