My first reaction is revulsion. I mean, sure, there are some mermaids who wear things like skimpy shell bikini tops—cough, Dosinia, cough—but it’s not exactly tasteful attire. My second reaction is extreme disappointment. He heard me confess my feelings—or at least what I believed were my feelings—and he obviously didn’t care about that at all. He doesn’t care about me.
And now he knows my kingdom’s secret.
I have to take care of him. (No, not in a Mafia kind of way—remember, merfolk are peaceful people.) And if I can do it without resorting to a mindwashing ritual, then all the better. Because, seriously, the last thing I need right now is a weeklong killer migraine.
Forgetting my terror and embarrassment and humiliation, I burst out laughing, trying to joke it off. “You thought I was serious?” I giggle like this is the funniest thing in the world. “I was teasing. I was playing a joke on Shannen.”
At first Brody looks confused, like he’s not sure how he might have misinterpreted the situation. Then he shakes his head with a smile. “Nice try, Lil,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “You wouldn’t play your best friend like that. You’re too nice.”
It’s amazing how much your life can change in just a moment. An hour ago, I would have died to be in this position with Brody, close enough to feel him breathing, and with his attention fully focused on me and him finally knowing all my secrets. But now? I’ve never been so scared—for myself, for my kingdom—in my entire life. Not even when I had to lure those fishermen away from Quince.
Quince! My mind flashes back to the moment on the beach when I told him the truth, when he threw back his head and laughed. There was no fear, no humiliation, just a little relief at finally telling someone my secret. Who’d have thought two weeks ago that I’d be terrified because Brody found out but fine with Quince knowing?
My subconscious must have known he was trustworthy all along.
As if I’d conjured him with magic, the door above swings open and Quince is filling the doorway with his leather-jacket-clad self.
I practically sag with relief…until I sense the fury pounding through his blood. He felt my fear and now he’s here to protect me. By any means.
That can’t end well for anyone.
“Something going on I should know about?” he demands, not moving from the landing. Even though Quince makes no move, Brody steps back. “You bothering my girl, Bennett?”
“Your girl?” Brody echoes. “Not according to her.”
“I lied. I am his,” I blurt, desperate to keep this awful situation from going tsunami on me. Then, looking at Quince, I say, “And he’s mine.”
Even though I never thought it before, the moment I say it, I know it’s true. It’s been building and bubbling since the night he first kissed me. Maybe before.
“Does he know you’re half fish?” Brody asks me. Then, turning to Quince, he says, “You know your girl’s a—”
He doesn’t have time to finish before Quince’s fist connects with his jaw. I’m not sure how Quince made it down the steps so fast—goodness knows he’s got a corner on the laid-back-lazy market—but one second he was in the doorway, and the next he’s pummeling Brody into the pavement.
Bright lights swing across the scene. Brakes squeal against the blacktop. Shannen’s car stops in front of the scuffle, and the passenger door flies open.
“Come on, Lily!” she shouts. “Let’s get out of here.”
I stare at Quince, who has Brody pinned to the ground and held motionless beneath his knees. Quince looks at me and nods. “Go home.” He bounces Brody’s head against the concrete. “I’ll meet you there later.”
I’m tempted to nod, to let Quince beat the living carp out of Brody so I don’t have to deal with the consequences of my accidental revelation. But if this whole bond fiasco has taught me anything, it’s that I need to start taking control of my life. I’m almost eighteen, almost an adult in my world and in this one. I can’t let someone else solve my problems for me.
“No!” I shout, diving onto Quince’s back. “This isn’t going to fix anything!”
Quince lets me drag him off Brody. “It’s sure making me feel a hell of a lot better.”
“I know.” Because I felt his rush of satisfaction when his fist connected with Brody’s face. “But unless you’re planning on killing him—”
“I might.”
I release my grip on his shoulders. “No, you’re not.”
“He shouldn’t know,” Quince says.
Brody, who is moaning into a sitting position and wiping the trail of blood trickling from the side of his mouth, grumbles, “Damn, Fletcher. What’s your glitch?”
Quince ignores him. “He can’t be trusted to keep your secret.”
My heart tightens when he says your secret. As if it’s not his secret, too.
But I don’t have time to explore that feeling right now.
“I know,” I repeat. “Pulverizing him won’t change that.” Even though I know he hates feeling helpless, I have to add, “Nothing you can do will make him forget.”
Quince shrugs his jacket back into place. Then, as if my words finally hit home, he asks quietly, “But you can?”
As I nod, his brows drop into a worried scowl.
I feel compelled to reassure him. “I would never use this on you,” I explain. “I don’t need to.”