A - Immortal Sea

He half expected Dylan to take offense. His mother had taken a human husband; Dylan, a human wife.

But the selkie only pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Still, that‟s some coincidence you finding him now. Here. On World‟s

End.”

“I sired him sixteen years ago in Copenhagen.”

“Which makes him a teenager, right? Past the age of Change.”

“So was your sister when she first came into her powers.”

“You think he‟s finfolk.”

“I suspect.” Morgan tugged the black shirt over his head. “Tonight I will know.”

“Then what?”

“You do not need me to explain to you the importance of offspring.” Not when the sea lord himself had come to celebrate

the birth of Dylan‟s half-blood daughter. “Our people are dying. The finfolk are going beneath the wave in even greater

numbers than the selkie. Children are survival and power.”

“Children are children. What if the boy isn‟t finfolk?”

Morgan shrugged. “Then I have no use for him, and he has no need of me.”

A memory of Elizabeth‟s taut, white face flared in his mind. “Ben was there when it mattered. Zack is still adjusting to his

loss. He doesn’t need another disruption or another disappointment in his life. He doesn’t need you.”

Morgan‟s teeth clenched.

“And if he is?” Dylan prodded. “What will you do then?”

Morgan regarded him blankly.

Do?

Their kind flowed as the sea flowed. If fate had given him a child, he would take it, as he accepted the bounty of the oceans

or the gifts of the tide.

“I will take him,” Morgan said.

“To Sanctuary.”

A trickle of unease rolled between Morgan‟s shoulder blades. “Why not?”

“In the first place, Lucy won‟t stand for you taking the kid anywhere without his consent.”

“I do not answer to your sister.”

“Conn, then. He listens to her. And the kid is only fifteen.”

“You were younger.”

“I was miserable,” Dylan said frankly. “And I did my damnedest to make everyone around me miserable, too. Kids have

feelings, you know. The situation on Sanctuary is difficult enough. Do you really think you can run the work crew if you‟re

baby-sitting some misfit teen with a bad attitude?”

The prospect appalled him. “I do not intend to baby-sit anyone.”

“Then before you take this kid from the only family he‟s ever known, you better figure out what you are going to do with

him,” Dylan said.

Morgan regarded Dylan with dislike. All he wanted was a chance to secure his posterity and engage in a mutually

pleasurable seduction. He did not need this half-blood selkie muddying the emotional waters with his talk of feelings.

“The boy will survive,” he said shortly.

They all would survive. Conn would see to that. Would agree to it.

Survival was all that mattered.

The hearty scent of chicken asopao—garlic and onions, pepper and chorizo—rolled from the kitchen and followed Zack‟s

mom up the stairs and into his room. “ Puerto Rican comfort food, ” his dad Ben used to say whenever Mom made one of his

family‟s recipes.

Zack sniffed. Mom was really pulling out all the stops tonight. Because she thought he needed comfort? Or because that

guy was coming to dinner? Morgan. His biological father.

She sat on the end of Zack‟s bed, watching him with a sad, patient expression that made him feel about two years old and

two inches high.

“You know you can tell me anything,” she said like she believed it.

Zack wanted to believe it, too.

But he knew better. He couldn‟t tell her what was really wrong with him. And so he couldn‟t say anything at all.

They‟d already gone a couple of rounds, his mom hitting him with a combination of concern and sneaky open-ended

questions she‟d picked up from the counselor she‟d dragged him to see back home. “Tell me what happened.” “How are you

feeling?” “What do you want to happen next?”

Zack stared down at his hands. He didn‟t want to discuss his feelings, for Christ‟s sake. Or what happened next. He wanted

to be left alone. The pressure—to speak or keep silent—built in his head and chest like a scream.

In sheer desperation, in self-defense, he went for his mom‟s weak spot. “So how well did you know this guy Morgan before

you slept with him?”

His mother‟s face turned white and then red. “Not as well as I should have,” she said calmly. “We‟ve talked before about

choices. I made some bad ones. But I‟ve never regretted having you.”

Guilt pressed his ribs like a five-hundred-pound gorilla. “Until today.”

“Today was not a good day,” Liz agreed. “But you‟re still my son, Zack. I love you.”

“I‟m his son, too,” he said, hoping for . . . what? Reassurance, confirmation, denial?

Her eyes met his, straight on. “Yes.”

His sneer slipped. He wrenched it back into place. “So what am I supposed to call him? Dad?”

She couldn‟t quite hide her wince. “You‟ll have to decide that for yourself.”

A knock, sharp and imperative, sounded from the front door.

Zack swallowed the lump of nerves in his throat. Like this guy never heard of a doorbell.

His mother stood, wiping her palms on her slacks. “That‟s probably him now. Why don‟t you answer the door while I add

peas to the asopao?”

Liz looked around the dining room table, trying to snatch satisfaction from the jaws of impending doom.

Dinner so far was not a disaster. The chicken was good, not as good as Ben‟s mother‟s, but with the same desirable soupy

texture. Emily was spooning up rice with the concentration of a starving child. Zack hunched over his plate, sullen and silent.

On Liz‟s right, Morgan was dressed all in black, fitted black pants, slim black sweater. Like a jewel thief or an assassin.

Like . . . Zack, she realized. An older, Esquire version of Zack. He leaned back in his chair, a glint in his eye she didn‟t trust.

Not a problem. All she had to do was stick to neutral subjects, satisfy whatever curiosity Zack harbored about his biological

father, and then shove him out the door.

“I hear it‟s supposed to be warmer tomorrow,” she said.

The glint sharpened.

She cleared her throat. “Of course, if it‟s overcast, that will make a difference.”

“No doubt.”

Okay, so Morgan didn‟t share most Mainers‟ ability to talk for hours on end about fog and rain.

Emily raised her gaze from her plate and fixed it on Morgan. “I want a kitten.”

Morgan frowned as if she‟d announced she could grow two heads. “I beg your pardon.”

Liz fought a grin.

“There was a sign. At the police station,” Emily explained. “Free kittens. I want one.”

As if she expected him to go out and get it for her.

Liz‟s smile faded. “The kittens aren‟t really free, Emily.”

“The sign said they were.”

“Yes, but there are costs involved in owning a pet. Shots and food and—”

“You could take the money out of my allowance.”

Liz was no longer remotely amused. “Honey, we talked about this. This is a bad time for us to take on another

responsibility.”

And a worse time to discuss it, she thought.

“But—”

“Later, Em,” she said firmly and turned to Morgan. “Thank you for bringing the wine.”

A very nice Tuscan red, a Barolo. She used to like a glass of wine with dinner. It was another thing she‟d given up when