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“Okay, sireno,” I say.

It is too quiet in the arena. For the crowds of people packed into the stands, it is uncanny how still the air feels around me.

The judges looked at us like we had lost our minds when we handed over the coach’s card, which outlined each element and point value of our routine. Maybe it was because Aleks had chosen a human partner, something considered a major disadvantage in a division where the competitors have the physical advantage of a tail. Or maybe it was because I informed them our performance would be without music. When I saw the flash of uncertainty cross Alina’s face, I smiled.

We probably will not win. It is unlikely, given my complete and utter lack of skill. But we are going to do something worth noticing.

I can only imagine what people are saying. There has never been a human and siren duet before, and I bet the commentators are all over the storyline of “artistic swimming coach turned athlete.” I am not used to this many eyes on me, and I am struck with a surge of admiration for what Aleks, and every other person who competes at this level, puts themselves through. Simply standing here in front of the crowd is an act of courage.

The buzz of whispers and conversation from the stands as we took our places on deck has been replaced by a tense, anticipating silence.

The cement deck is hot on my bare feet, but it feels good, the heat reminding me to stay present in my body. My back is to the water, my heels right at the edge of the pool. Before me, a few yards away, stands Aleks.

He wears his vocal filter strapped to his face, at least for now. There is no way they would let us begin without him wearing it.

In his eyes, a storm rages. He, at least, is ready.

Funny how, even after years of coaching, I want to laugh in the face of my own advice. Breathe, I would tell swimmers in the final moments before performing. Let your body do the work. Do not overthink it. You have practiced this.

Aleks gives me a nod, along with a wave of warmth along the bond. He believes in this. In us. In me.

I nod in return.

Slowly he starts to move, walking toward me like a predator stalking their prey. When he is close enough to reach out and touch me he stops.

Even though we have practiced this part, I hold my breath.

The next movement is impossibly quick, one of his feet coming up to press against my chest. There is a long, suspended moment where he holds the position, and then, with a solid shove, I tip back into the water.

It is more tepid than cold. My clothes billow around me and I fight every instinct to swim back to the surface. Instead I sink, my open eyes fixed on the wavering surface above me. I remember to let my arms and legs hang loosely above me, creating the visual of a drowning man reaching for air even as I drop lower and lower into the pool.

My back bumps the bottom, and I wait.

There is pressure in my lungs, but it is not urgent. Not yet.

Green and peach flicker above me, and then there is a rush of pale bubbles. My vision is blurred, but I would know the tailed figure who emerges anywhere. I watch him swim in wide spirals around the glass walls of the pool.

All of a sudden, he is right there, hovering above me. Even with my blurred vision, I see his mouth, his lips soft and pulled into a smile.

The vocal filter is gone. He is here, without anything protecting the world from his song.

I reach for him, and it is instinct, want, need and home and mate as he dips down, pressing his lips to mine.

I breathe deeply from him, filling my lungs. And, pressing my feet to the bottom of the pool, I push off, and, with his song filling every part of me, our dance begins.

Chapter 18

My Mate, My Breath

Aleks

Oh, it feels good to sing.

My voice is a hum in the water, the warmth in my chest finally, finally can flow freely out of me as it’s always longed to do. My throat is raw, but it doesn’t matter, not when there is a song I need to sing for the world.

I have danced with many different sirens throughout my years of competing. Cousins, siblings, other sirens from the colony my mother deemed “compatible.” I’m used to watching out of the corners of my eyes, trying to be one with those around me. We chased perfection, adjusting ourselves into the perfect piece of a whole—pulling back here and giving a little more there, moving an arm to the left to better align with someone shorter. All of it done in the interest of the team. Of crafting the perfect performance.

I don’t have to do that now. I dance, and Javier is with me. I dance as myself, and he’s right here, himself, with his beautiful body, serious eyes, and strength.