Of Triton - By Anna Banks Page 0,64

looks like a major case of hyperventilation.

“Nobody hurts her, you understand?” she says, her voice now completely intact. “I won’t … I won’t let you.”

Some of them back away from me. Others talk among themselves. “Gift of Triton,” they whisper to one another. Toraf looks like his jaw might fall off.

Rayna has the Gift of Triton. She’s living proof that the Royals never strayed. And now I’ve blown my cover for nothing.

But there is someone who’s already recovered, someone who has already thought this through and found the result lacking to his satisfaction. And while everyone—including me—is paying attention to Rayna, he sneaks up behind me out of nowhere. Jagen’s pulse hits me just before the sharp jab in my back. I know I’ve been stabbed, but at first it just feels like a pinch. And then the pain consumes me.

“Die, you filthy Half-Breed!” he growls.

And then I do not sense him anymore. In fact, I don’t sense anyone anymore. Not my mother, not Rayna, not Toraf, not Grom.

Not Galen.

Where there used to be a gigantic valley of Syrena pulses hitting me from every direction, there is nothing. The world goes black around me and I can’t tell if my eyes are shut or they just stopped seeing. If I’m losing my sensing abilities, if I can’t see anything, does that mean I’m dying?

I’m not as brave about it as I hoped I would be. It’s one thing to contemplate the possibility of dying. It’s another thing to actually be dying. I’m not brave at all. Ohmysweetgoodness, I’m scared.

I don’t want to die.

And all at once, his pulse resuscitates me, brings me back from the ledge. Galen. His arms envelop me and we are speeding, speeding, speeding through the water. I can’t even open my eyes—it’s like gravity is forcing them shut. I want to sob into his chest but I don’t have the strength. I try to speak, but our pace snatches the words from my mouth.

We have never gone this fast. Not ever.

The pain in my back is numbed by the water rushing against it, and I hope it’s not tearing the flesh open, and at the same time I hope the salt water is somehow healing it. I know I’m bleeding. I feel warmth gather where the numbness starts. I felt Jagen’s weapon pierce me. I felt it touch bone.

I press my face into Galen’s neck. He stops immediately, cradles my cheeks in his hands. If we were going by expressions alone, I’d say he was in more pain than me. “Angelfish,” he chokes out. “I’m so sorry this happened. We’re almost to land. No one can hurt you now. Stay with me, Emma. Oh, please stay with me.”

He kisses me all over my face and all I know is that everything up until this point was worth it. The hassle of getting Toraf through security. The terrifying jump from the helicopter. Even the argument I know Galen and I will have about all this later. The agony in my back. The terrifying moment I thought I would die.

He cradles me in his arms princess-style, then picks up the pace again. For a second, it looks like Galen’s fin has more than doubled in size. That’s when I know I’m hallucinating. I don’t know if it’s the pain or the loss of blood or both, but I lose consciousness.

* * *

Right away, I recognize the scent of Galen’s house, of the lemon-scented air fresheners Rachel places strategically throughout. Of the clean linen scent of freshly washed sheets. Of the aroma of fish baking in the oven.

The light of morning creeps into Galen’s bedroom window, casting the start of a new day on the white furniture and cool blue-painted walls. I feel him beside me, hear the even sound of his breathing, smell the delicious saltiness of his skin.

I have missed him.

I move to face him, and that’s when the pain reminds me that I’ve recently been stabbed. I bury my face in the pillow, but it doesn’t quite muffle my yelp.

“Emma?” Galen says groggily. I feel his hand in my hair, stroking the length of it. “Don’t move, angelfish. Stay on your stomach. I’ll go tell Rachel you’re ready for more pain medicine.”

Immediately I disobey and turn my face up to him. He shakes his head. “I’ve recently learned where your stubbornness comes from.”

I grimace/smile. “My mom?”

“Worse. King Antonis. The resemblance is uncanny.” He leans down and presses his lips to mine and all too quickly springs