A Mermaid s Kiss (Daughters of Arianne 1)

So instead she watched him out of the corner of her gaze as she got them ready to go. The way he moved around her cottage, picki

ng up things and examining them. Interested in her life but seemingly so detached from his own. While his distaste of his human form and its physical limitations had been clear, he didn't seem to embrace himself as an angel except in terms of what was essential. The ready ability to block her attempt to heal him, for example.

But he was a creature of the sky--that much was obvious. After coming in from the rain, he'd left the glass doors open, and even now he returned to them every few minutes, stepping out under the now clear sky as if to confirm it was still there.

She had traveled before, but always where salt water was in reach. Physically, in human form, she didn't have to have the proximity every day, but some part of her needed the reassurance of it, often. So she understood what he was doing. Empathized. And tried once again not to worry about how far they would be leaving the ocean behind, or the promise Mina had tried to extract from her.

Despite the weight, she put a gallon of seawater and a few of her shells in the pack. She might need all of it before it was done, even rationing carefully. After making sure the stray cat who'd attached himself to her was left enough food and water to supplement his own hunts while she was gone, she felt ready to go.

The diner was in walking distance. Though he took the backpack from her to carry, she noticed he was having to focus on his gait, clumsily compensating for the unfamiliar absence of his wings, the different weight distribution when he turned to look at this or that feature of the landscape. It made her heart hurt, but she knew what was done was done.

He wore the jeans she'd given him yesterday and the T-shirt. They should probably stop and get him one that fit his broad shoulders better, but of course she knew the clothes were spelled to fit the wearer. Or perhaps they simply reflected the pleasure of the daughter of Arianne who offered them. A flutter of humor moved through her mind at the thought, and she wished she could share the observation with Mina. Which sobered her again.

"How long will it take to get to the shaman?" Jonah asked.

"I'm not sure. I suspect no more than a week under the worst circumstances; otherwise, Mina would have cast her transformation spell for a longer duration." Actually, Anna didn't know that for sure, but she was hoping that Mina's mind had been working far more quickly than her own during their narrow escape. "She said we can only travel by Fate, and only during the day. The daylight travel is so we don't attract the notice of people, or Dark Ones, when you return to your actual appearance at night. She warned us to stay on guard even during daylight hours, however."

"I think she just wanted me to experience blisters." As he glanced down at his feet, she could imagine his toes curling resentfully in the confinement of the athletic shoes. "There's a spiteful streak in her. You cannot deny that, for all your championing of her."

Anna smiled. "I won't deny that any more than she would, my lord."

Jonah snorted. "I'm sure the Dark Ones will be looking for a human in ill-fitting clothes, walking along a roadside carrying a backpack embroidered with flowers and . . ." He turned it, peered at the design. "What is this?"

Anna cleared her throat and focused on the pack instead of his expression. "It's Prince Eric. From the Disney movie The Little Mermaid ? And Flounder and Sebastian. Ariel's friends."

She added hastily, "A little girl gave it to me on the beach one day. I don't know why, but she was very earnest about wanting me to have it. Have you ever been to the Magic Kingdom, my lord? It's somewhat irresistible."

"I think your seawitch isn't the only one with a tormenting streak. It pervades the female species, starting from the highest upon high." He shouldered the pack and relented. "Ronin once did a flyby over the castle before the nightly fireworks show, just to make the children think they'd seen the real Tinkerbell. Of course it startled the acrobat set to slide down the wire from the castle spire half to death. The actual Tinkerbell performer. He made it his business to find her later that night and . . . soothe her feelings."

Anna suppressed a chuckle. At Jonah's narrow sidelong glance, she changed topics. "According to Mina's vision, the shaman lives in a place called Red Rock Schism, a magical fault line of sorts, in the Nevada desert. She has spelled the map into my head, so I can keep us on the right course."

"So he lives 'somewhere' in the desert," he echoed.

She nodded, studying the wildflower array as they followed the roadside. This section of road was built on a causeway, so the water of the ocean stretched off to one side, the marsh on the other. A great egret watched them pass with stately elegance, his gaze trained on Jonah. She noted flocks of seagulls that altered their courses just enough so they did not pass directly over his trajectory. He might think no one would recognize him in a human form, but she only had to watch the natural world around them to know differently. She resolved to follow Mina's instruction to the letter, despite the derision in his tone.

She didn't think even humans could mistake him for anything but an extraordinary being. Keeping things in terms they could understand, they might wonder if he was a well-known figure in a gladiator sport like football or wrestling. But each time those dark eyes settled on her, she was hit by the power behind them, just waiting for sunset. As distractions went, he was a perfect one to help keep her mind off her throbbing back, which in turn would hopefully ease the concern in the gaze he kept passing over her. She could get lost in those eyes and forget just about anything . . .

Until he knocked into her, tumbling them both down the embankment. They rolled and stopped just short of the marsh, thankfully, as the eighteen-wheeler semi roared past them. It had apparently emerged when she was in thought. Perhaps he'd been as deep in thought as she had been, but she knew the movement of ocean waters and wind tended to swallow human noise until it was right upon the unsuspecting person.

He scrambled to his feet even as the truck was passing, assuming a protective stance over her, which he held in rigid confusion as he registered what it was, what it wasn't. The utter stillness and battle readiness that existed in every line of his body, his concentrated expression, made her decide he didn't need Mina or her to warn him to be on guard. She suspected she was with a being who'd done nothing but be on guard, perhaps for centuries.

Biting her lip against her own discomfort, Anna slid from beneath his planted feet, touched his thigh, glancing up at the tense line to hip, to chest, to his face and all the things chasing across it.

"It's all right, my lord. It was just a truck."

It was an inane thing to say, of course, reflected in the irritation on his face, the clench of his jaw. "I know that." Shaking his head, he lifted her to her feet with a gentle and strong hand, but there was something wild in his eyes, like a stallion about to bolt. "I let my mind drift and it . . . startled me."

She placed a hand on his taut forearm. "We're almost there. We can walk along this bank here; it's fairly flat. All right?"

"I hate this," he said.

Jonah hated everything right now. Huge waves of red anger seemed capable of swamping him in unexpected moments, with no form or reason, no purpose. Like the angry red of her back he'd caused. "You should let me do this journey on my own," he said abruptly. "Stay here near the water. Just draw the map out for me."

She began picking her way along the bank. She tried to shoulder the backpack he'd dropped, seemed to think better of it and carried it in her hand, though it gave her an awkward gait. "They make fresh bread at this diner every morning, my lord. You can smell it, if the wind favors us and turns this way."

He stared after her. "Anna," he said in measured tones. "It's not a wise idea to patronize me."

"You'll feel better after you've eaten something," she said, her voice drifting over her shoulder like birdsong. "Most men do."

Whether she meant human males, or the male gender in general, he didn't know, but his mermaid had a clever tongue. He was finding that out. Which gave him thoughts of other uses for it. Those images made it impossible to retain his irritation with her, particularly with her up ah

ead, her hips moving with a graceful pendulum swing beneath the skirt, the movement unconscious physical evidence of her true form.

"Mothers say that kind of thing to cranky babies," he observed, stalking after her.

"Do they, my lord?" She glanced over her shoulder at him, her hair whispering across kissable lips. "It has the sound of wisdom, doesn't it? The simplest things make you feel on firm ground again. A good night's sleep, a good meal. A flower offered at just the right moment."

She'd not remarked on it at the time, but now he knew she'd noticed his earlier gesture, given it more credit than it deserved. Than he deserved. Again.

She was humming, and the sound of her voice reminded him of how she had sung him to sleep during the rainstorm. He'd drifted off remembering Ronin's laughter, the way it could transform Alexander's dry sarcasm into wit and make Diego smile that slow smile as he tested his sword blade on the edge of one of his crimson and gold feathers. In between the ghosts, he'd remembered the first time he taught David how to recover his balance if he was knocked a hard blow in the air, how to pull up before he crashed to earth . . . Why had it been so long since he'd remembered that stunt of Ronin's at Disney? He'd taken him to task over it, even as he'd done his best not to laugh. Why could he only dream of his laughter now, and only with the help of a mermaid's sweet voice?

THE diner was full of noise, but the kind that was like the rushing of surf, with a rhythm to it that could be anticipated. Clinking silver-ware, murmuring voices, occasional snips of laughter or a raised word to call out to the waitress. The aroma of cooking food was a warm blanket over it all, making it a good space. Wrapped in windows, the building provided a view of the ocean and marsh for the locals and early rising vacationers, so there was no sense of being closed in. And those smells . . . His stomach responded vociferously, so that when they slid into a booth, he eyed the platters of food on neighboring tables.

He'd taken the backpack from her again of course, but set it next to her on her side of the booth, having somewhat of a male distaste of being associated with the pretty pink and purple flowered carrying case. Anna ordered the "Hungry Man Platter" for him, which apparently would come stocked with enough food to maintain him for the rest of the day. When he got his wings back at nightfall, he suspected he wouldn't be able to get off the ground even if his newly mended wing did cooperate.