"I don't deserve you," I groan as Sky positions himself in front of me.

"You'll have to earn me, then. Open your mouth."

I shut my eyes and obey.

Carefully, he feeds me a bite of homemade chili, which he'd cooked in a Dutch oven over hot coals. An involuntary sound escapes me as flavors and textures burst across my tongue — spicy, salty, savory, and succulent — and I'm glad the kids are still entertaining themselves in the nearby dunes, too far off to hear their father make embarrassing noises, or to hear Sky teasing me for making them.

"If I have to cook to hear you moan like that, I'll gladly cater to your appetites," he says.

I grimace and wipe my lips. "Do you have to make it sound so dirty?"

He winks. "You made the dirty sounds, my dear," he says, and, apparently pleased with himself, saunters back to the fire and his large black pot.

"Where did you learn to cook like this?" I ask, following him.

"Cook chili, or cook in general?" he asks, lifting the lid with a leather glove and a special hook and stirring the contents within.

"Both, I suppose."

He wears his hair in a braid to keep it out of the food and the fire, but even bound it shimmers like golden silk. The closer we'd gotten to the coast, the more his Mer features stood out.

He looks up at me, green eyes glittering like sea glass, and lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "As I told you, I hated human food, at first. But my mother taught me not to hate. 'Hate is thoughtless, Scyllian,' she'd say. 'If your first instinct is to hate something, then the first thing you ought to do is to learn something about it. More often than not, the root of your dislike goes no deeper than the fact you find it strange and unfamiliar, and unfamiliar things make us uncomfortable. Some things may, indeed, deserve your hate, but they are few and far between."

"Sounds like a wise lady," I say, smiling. "Reminds me of my mom."

Sky nods. "I took her advice, fortunately, and decided to make a study of human foods and to keep trying new things. My dislike of heat and cooked textures was, indeed, a product of inexperience. Flavor became a path I followed around the globe. As for chili, I learned this recipe — and this method of cookery — on a ranch in Texas. I still prefer seafood, of course, and at first the idea of spice was anathema to me. I couldn't understand why anyone would want their food to hurt them, but eventually I came to understand; in the right measure, a little pain enhances pleasure."

Deliberately, he licks some sauce from the spoon and winks at me. Blushing furiously, I pretend not to see and turn away, busying myself with setting the table.

We're parked in a camping spot close to a beach, and the booming sound of the waves is as constant as the cool, sea-misted breeze. A dense cluster of wind-blown trees provides some shelter, and the sandy dunes lie just beyond this barrier.

The children had never seen a stretch of seashore like this before, and their excitement is infectious. I can hardly believe we're here myself — a fact I largely owe to Sky.

After several rounds of 'hold, please,' I had finally booked a last-minute Friday afternoon appointment with Dr. Howard's office. Today is Thursday, and after packing and planning, and excusing the children from school, we'd piled into Sky's van and embarked on a five-hour journey to the coast.

Arriving in the late afternoon, Sky had somehow secured a camping spot for us (I suspected he may have used his Voice, given the 'campground full' sign and the grumpy-looking host), and introduced the kids to all the wonders of 'van life.'

Nico and Rio were thrilled by the prospect of sleeping in a tent, while Flora expressed dismay at the lack of shower facilities. Meanwhile, Miguel clutched his sketchbook and picked out places to draw before we'd even parked.

As soon as we'd set up camp, the kids dashed off to explore while I called after them to stay within sight and shouting distance. Then Sky had set to work on supper. I tried to help, but mostly got in the way.

"Nearly done, now," Sky says. "Just have to let the corn muffins cook; then I'll whip up some honey-butter, and we'll be all set. Shall we call in the troops?"

I laugh, and my lips stretch in an easy grin — an expression my facial muscles find strangely foreign, being so seldom thus employed.

"What's funny?" Sky smiles back at me, bemused.

"Nothing. It's just... I never imagined I'd do something like this."

"Go camping?"

"Go camping in a van with a man who..." I trail off and shake my head at him as my fleeting amusement swiftly fades. Suddenly a little shy, I swallow and force myself to continue. "With a man who's too good for me. I didn't lie; I don't deserve you. But I want to, Sky."

Setting his cooking utensils aside, he approaches and slips his arms around my waist, smiling down at me with his head tilted a little to the side. Up close, I see the golden stubble dusting his face, the dimple in his chin, the individual hairs of his arched brows, and the flecks of gold in his sea-green eyes.

"What if I'm the one who doesn't deserve you?" he asks.

I scoff. "You're a prince. Of course you don't deserve 'used goods.' Especially if the goods come with truckloads of baggage."

"You still look at yourself through her eyes," he says. "Stop. Look at yourself through mine. I see a treasure. And a treasure that comes with four smaller treasures isn't a burden; it's a bargain." He winks and grins lopsidedly as he kisses me.

I give in and allow myself to relax in his arms and laugh, but I still shake my head. "A werewolf and a merman... Sounds like the start of a joke."

He lifts a brow at me. "Are there sea-men in the joke, do you imagine?"

"Lots, undoubtedly."

"Sounds like my kind of joke, then. You can tell it to me later."

"Baggage, remember?"

"Once the little 'treasures' are asleep," he says. "The sound of the sea conceals many things. Besides, I've something to show you, don't forget. You can see well by moonlight, can't you?"

"Well enough," I say.

He nods. "A werewolf and a merman go swimming on a full moon. I hope our joke involves some howling, too. I'd love to see your fur all wet with salty spray."

The idea excites me — not the sexual escapade he's teasing at, but the idea of revealing our inner selves to one another — and my Wolf stirs restlessly. At long last, it's ready to come out and run.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," I whisper against his lips.

His hands slide down to the small of my back as he pulls me against him. I flush with inner heat as I feel his arousal through our clothes and realize he might not have been joking at all.

"I can hardly wait."

Grinning, he releases me as the children, summoned by hunger, return from their wanderings.

"But I'm a gentleman, as well as a prince," he says. "Dinner first."