Stuffed with sushi and ice-cream, the kids and I bid my parents a fond and lingering farewell. As I hug my mom, it seems as if there's something more she wants to say, but she only shakes her head and ruffles my hair — the way she did when I was young, and simply couldn't help being a small, exasperating boy.

"It's good to see you smile, Marty," is all she says. "You call me anytime you want to talk."

I promise that I will (while suffering another pang of guilt for keeping my latest troubles to myself) and then my parent's ride-share pulls up at the curb, and we say goodbye.

"Is everything alright?" Sky asks, as we walk down the street to his van with the kids. "You got quiet all of a sudden."

"Just tired," I say; my new excuse for everything.

He makes a small, noncommittal sound, but lets it lie.

At home, I have one more birthday surprise for Flora and Miguel, and present them with a single, carefully wrapped gift — though from the way their eyes light up, I don't know why I bothered with the wrapping paper.

They tear it off carefully, nonetheless, as if hardly daring to hope, and reveal a brand new Nintendo Switch bundle and two gift cards, each with enough cash on it for them to buy a game of their choice. Amid the ensuing exclamations of delight and barrage of hugs, I laugh.

"You should thank Sky, too," I say. "He's at least partly responsible for this."

In that, without his help, I'd have missed my deadline for sure, and no more advances would mean no more money, which would mean no Nintendo Switch.

Sky waves the children off with a laugh as they turn their gratitude on him.

"Don't thank me yet," he says. "I have something for you both, as well." Rising, he leans down and pulls two wrapped gifts from beneath the couch, handing one to Flora and one to Miguel. "Go on — open them."

With an exchange of curious glances, the pair obey, and sit in stunned silence for a moment at what each reveals.

Miguel holds a professional-grade art supplies kit, and Flora a beautiful leather-bound journal and a gift-certificate to the local bookstore.

"A fine artist deserves fine tools," he says to Miguel. "And Flora, from what Ms. Buckley tells me, you share your father's talent with words. A writer should read, and read widely."

"Sky..." I shake my head at him, imagining what he must have spent.

"Don't look so alarmed," he says, laughing. "I've not broken the bank. That art kit is made largely of my own supplies, and the cost of a few books isn't much. The library is wonderful, but there's nothing like owning a copy of your favorites. Besides, some would say that supporting a local book-seller is its own reward."

I can't exactly argue with that. Spring Lakes is fortunate to have several independent bookstores, and my own brother manages one.

After thanking Sky, Flora and Miguel occupy themselves with setting up the Switch while Nico and Rio look on eagerly.

With the kids thus entertained, I beckon to Sky and he follows me outside to the garage.

"You're upset," he observes, frowning. "Should I not have given the children gifts? I only thought—"

"It's not that," I say quickly. "The gifts were very thoughtful. In fact, they were perfect."

Too perfect. Just like you.

"What, then?"

I turn away, afraid I won't be able to keep the muscles in my face from betraying what I feel, and examine the tall, French windows Sky had recently installed. He'd set up an easel in front of them, and a half-finished painting rests on the board. It's an abstract swirl of blues and greens, like a restless sea, and it leaves me with an unsettled feeling.

"According to Google, your kingdom doesn't exist," I say.

"Ah. You looked me up."

He sounds amused, and I shrink inward defensively.

"Can you blame me?"

"Not at all." His amusement isn't unkind, and he enters my personal space carefully, resting a hand on my shoulder.

"According to Google, werewolves don't exist, either," he points out.

I face him. "What are you saying?"

He smiles. "My home is not on any maps, and my people... Well, my people are as much the stuff of stories as are yours."

"Please don't play games with me," I say, hating how vulnerable I sound. "Just tell me the truth."

His smile fades and he lets his hand drop to his side. "Very well. You won't find Thassos on a map because it's not on land. It's beneath the sea. My people are merfolk. I, specifically, am a siren — one who carries magic in his voice — though, as I've said, my mother is several magnitudes more powerful. Magic tends to favor the female line."

I stare at him as I absorb this. "That's what you would have shown me at the lake?"

"Yes. Like you, I have two forms. Neither is my 'true' self, as both are true: my land, and aquatic, shapes. You may think of merfolk as 'Fae of the sea,' though we have our own magic and our own unique gifts. I, moreover, like many of my kind, am half-human in nature."

I think about this and all it entails, and he gives me the time to do so.

"You use your voice to hypnotize people," I conclude.

He frowns. "I suppose you could say so."

"Every time you speak?"

His brows lift as the strain in my tone betrays my meaning. "No, certainly not. The Voice can be an instrument, a tool, or a weapon, but it must be used carefully and with intention. Martin, I'd never use it on you, or your children."

"Then that lullaby you sang for Nico and Rio — that wasn't magic?" The accusation in my voice is unintentionally sharp, and I flinch.

Sky frowns. "I... Yes, I suppose it was, but only the tiniest bit. Surely there is little as harmless as a lullaby."

Irrational tears sting my eyes and I turn away again, willing myself to speak evenly despite the tightness in my throat. "It worked on me, too."

"Of course it did; you were tired."

"You don't understand."

"Then tell me, Martin. Help me understand. I swear I wasn't keeping anything from you to trick or hurt you. I fully intended to tell you everything. You have my word."

"And what is the word of a siren worth?" I ask, not bitterly, but with a bleak hopelessness in my tone.

"I would never make you do something against your will. If I tried, you'd know it."

I don't answer, and after a moment I hear him release a breath.

"Martin, what is this about?" he asks quietly. "As a Wolf yourself, and given the eccentricities of your extended family, you can't be that surprised to learn that merfolk exist, or hold it against me for being cautious about to whom I reveal myself and how. Unless you have something against fish."

A ragged laugh escapes me, and I face him again, having at least partly collected myself. "It's not you; it's me," I say.

His brows shoot up. "Well now, there's a line no one wants to hear from their date."

"That's not what I mean," I say quickly. "What I mean is... I'm broken. Elena broke me, and she's still fucking with my head. I've been thinking, and I'm almost hoping the paternity test comes back negative. Because if Nico and Rio are mine, then it means..." I cover my eyes with my hand, unable to look at him.

"She took away your power; she used you without your consent."

I nod, still covering my eyes, as if unwilling to see the truth. "Sometimes she'd give me pills to help me sleep; sometimes for pain. Sometimes I think she just slipped them in my food or my drink. I don't know what they were, but I'm pretty sure she drugged me more than once. I trusted her — at first because she was a doctor and my mate, and then because I didn't have a choice. How can I trust someone who can sing me to sleep after that?"

He doesn't say anything for so long that, at last, I'm compelled to look at him.

He's just watching me, his sea-green eyes (it makes sense now, why I'm reminded of the sea every time I look at him) lit with a curious and thoughtful expression.

"What?"

"You know, I think I'd be willing to give up my Voice for you, Martin Hunter," he says.

I can't help laughing. "Like the Little Mermaid?"

His expression remains serious. "Perhaps. Can I convince you that I love you without words?"

My own expression goes a bit slack. "... Love me?"

He nods, but keeps his mouth shut.

"I... I suppose you can try," I stammer.

Smiling, he closes the distance between us and rests his hands on my hips. Heat floods my body, the sudden warmth almost shocking compared to the chill that seems to have infected me.

"Your magic... It's really all in your voice?" I ask suspiciously.

He nods.

"But in the sound, right? Not in your mouth?"

Amused, he shakes his head and draws me closer, but he doesn't kiss me. Instead, he just holds me lightly in his arms, giving me plenty of room to decide what to do next. If I want to step away, he'll let me go; if I want to move closer, he'll welcome me. And in that gentle, undemanding space, I find a seed of trust.

I press my body to his and rest my head on his shoulder. His arms tighten around me, not possessively, but as a protective cage in which to rest.

Like I told him, I'm already broken. If he thinks he can hold the pieces together, I suppose I could do worse than to let him try.