My mouth popped open, and I hastily clamped it shut. He had the same marking above his rippling abs, on his right pectoral.
Morgana giggled and pulled down the shoulder of her shirt to show me hers.
“Why were my wings made from feathers and yours were different?” I grimaced at the memory of the things that had sprouted from my back, and the feeling of my skin distorting to accommodate them.
“I’m related to the Lugh clan. You, on the other hand, are related to Agápe, the Siren God of Love, and the clan located in the Mediterranean.”
“Oh.” I nodded and tried to look nonchalant as I waved goodnight to Aranare and Morgana, but my heart was pounding as I climbed the narrow stairs to Morgana’s bedroom.
Morgana lingered in the kitchen with Aranare, and I was glad. I needed some time alone.
I grabbed a pair of PJs from her dresser and collapsed onto the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling railings. A single tear slipped from the corner of my eye. I wiped it away quickly, half-afraid it might trigger my Siren form, but it didn’t. And before I knew it, sleep had taken me.
I awoke with a start, gasping as the horrors of the night before came flooding back.
Cool early morning light filtered through the window, and my breathing relaxed. I was in Morgana’s bed, her chest rising and falling beside me. She looked so peaceful, but how could she be when she had gone through the same thing as I had only months ago?
I padded downstairs. Aranare was asleep on the couch in the living room, the final embers of last night’s fire glowing feebly beside him. He was shirtless, and one of his tanned forearms rested on his blanket.
I moved past him and toward the front door.
“Where are you going?” He was behind me suddenly, still shirtless, his hand encircling mine on the doorknob.
I turned my head and met his amber gaze, and he quickly pulled back his hand. Sleep had messed up his chestnut hair, and faint pillow lines etched his bronzed cheek.
“I need to speak to my mother.”
He nodded in understanding. “We’ll come with you. You shouldn’t be alone after what you’ve been through.”
I flushed, wondering what state my mother would be in. Surely she hadn’t hit the drink yet, but you never knew with her.
“I’ll make you a coffee,” said Aranare gently.
When I didn’t move, he wrapped his hand around mine again, coaxing my fingers from the door handle.
I let him lead me to the kitchen.
Dad’s truck wasn’t in the driveway when Aranare pulled up. Good, he must have already left for work.
I exhaled as I took in the whitewashed stone residence and its brown-shuttered windows. The space felt cramped and suffocating—nothing like Parker’s clifftop home. Just thinking his name tightened something in my chest. I couldn’t forgive what he’d done, but I felt lost at the thought of building a new life without him. He had been my world.
We found Mom on the couch in the living room, engrossed in her favorite daytime television, a cigarette in one hand and a glass of cheap white wine in the other.
“Honey, you’re home.” She leapt up at the sight of me, flinging her slender arms around my neck. The scent of smoke clung to her, and the chardonnay in her glass sloshed perilously near the rim. “And you brought friends. I’m Yvonne.” She turned to embrace Aranare and Morgana, lingering a wee bit longer and tighter on him.
“Sorry,” I mouthed over her head, and he grinned.
“I need totalk to you.” My eyes pinched, and I folded my arms across my chest as my mother plopped back down on the couch. This time her wine managed to spill over the side of her glass.
“Are you going to sit down?” She gestured to the other lounge chairs—cheap, worn things that she had tried to disguise with frilly cushions and faux-fur throws.
Morgana took the lone chair. Dad’s chair. The thought of him sharpened my expression into a glare.
My mother, cigarette in hand, patted the couch beside her with her long, lacquered nails, scattering ash onto the cushion as she looked at Aranare. He sat, and she turned to me, expectant.
“I’m fine standing.”
She shrugged and took a long draw on her cigarette. I batted the fumes away in an exaggerated gesture.
