Descendant

they swam in a loose circle around Cal as he kneed his mount in the direction of the inflatable boat and gently shifted Mason in his arms so he could hand her over to Fennrys and Rafe and then climb into the boat himself. As the water-horse disappeared back under the waves, Fennrys saw that Mason wasn’t moving.

Panic gripped Fenn’s heart, but Cal shouldered him aside and knelt down beside Mason, lifting her head and gently lowering his mouth down over hers. He stayed like that for a good long time, and it started to look less like resuscitation and more like a lingering kiss. Fennrys was about to grab Cal and heave him back into the river when Cal sat back and pushed the dripping hair back from his forehead.

Out in the water, the Nereid that Mason had kicked in the face scowled and swam closer, a mewling, hissing sound escaping her pouting lips.

“Back off, Thalia,” Cal said to her in a voice that sounded deeper than Fennrys remembered.

“Nice friends you’ve got there, Calum.” Rafe eyed the sea maids warily. “You know they sicced a sea monster on us.”

“I’m not surprised,” Cal murmured, focusing his attention on Mason. “They’re the ones who almost got me killed on the bridge. Nereids, I’ve been told, don’t really get the whole ‘human frailty’ thing. And they don’t really overthink things, if you know what I mean. They just kind of react.” He lifted one of Mason’s hands in his, rubbing warmth back into her blue fingers. “C’mon, Mase . . .”

“Be careful with her. . . .”

Fennrys reached for Mason himself and almost collapsed with relief when suddenly her whole body spasmed and she coughed raggedly, her arms flailing as she struggled to sit upright. River water trickled from the side of her mouth, and her dark lashes fluttered on her cheeks as she opened her eyes.

“Cal . . . ?” she murmured, looking up into his face. There was bewilderment in her voice.

Cal grinned down at her, and she gasped.

“Cal!” Mason shouted with joy and threw her arms around his neck. Laughing and crying at the same time, she hugged him tight, and Cal returned the embrace. He buried his hands in the long wet waves of Mason’s dark hair, eyes closed as he held her close against his chest. The smile on his lips was one of pure, perfect happiness. But then he opened his eyes and Fennrys caught a glimpse of something in their depths: raw, dangerous hunger.

Fenn’s flesh went even colder than from the chill of the water, and he clenched his jaw to keep from ordering Cal to back the hell off. Mason was, Fenn understood, ecstatic. She’d only found out, less than an hour earlier, that Cal was supposedly dead—killed while trying to help save her—and of course she was overjoyed to see him there, unexpectedly, impossibly alive. . . .

Fennrys noticed Rafe’s gaze was locked on Cal, too. And there was a deep crease between his dark brows. He turned and shared a worried look with Fennrys. By the time they looked back to Cal and Mason, though, Cal was laughing along with her . . . the greedy, needful longing Fennrys had seen in his eyes masked behind a lopsided grin.

“I’m okay, Mase,” he was saying. “Seriously. I got a little banged up. That’s all. I’ve been in a hospital on Roosevelt Island for the last couple of days. Ever since the accident. But I’m okay.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “How did you know how to find us?”

Cal tapped the side of his head, where the bruise from his fall was fading. “Just . . . couldn’t get you out of my head, that’s all.”

Fennrys suspected he meant his heart, not his head.

It was then that Mason seemed to notice that there was something distinctly different about her erstwhile fencing teammate. Out in the water, the Nereid who Cal had called Thalia bared her teeth at Mason again in a threatening grimace. Cal frowned and, seemingly without thinking, flicked his hand in her direction. As he did so, a rogue wavelet rose off the surface of the water and thrust the mer-girl several feet away from the boat.

“I said back off,” Cal murmured, then turned his attention back to Mason.

“What the hell . . . ?” she whispered.

“C’mon,” Cal said, nodding at Toby. “Let’s get you back onto dry land.”

Fennrys sheathed his weapon and reached out to help Mason climb up to sit on the bench seat as Cal steadied her.

“Hey, Aristarchos.” Fennrys kept his tone casual. “Thought we’d lost you there a while back.”

Still holding Mason by the hand, Cal said, equally casual, “You almost did. Good thing I swim like a fish.”

Which, of course, explained absolutely nothing about how he had survived the devastating crash and plunge off the Hell Gate or why he’d suddenly shown up in the middle of the East River in such a unique fashion, but Fennrys decided to let that slide for the moment.

Mason reached out for Fennrys with her free hand, her eyes shining with happiness. Fennrys laced his fingers with hers, willing himself not to reach over and pry her other hand out of Cal’s grasp. He kept a firm grip on her as she settled onto the middle bench seat beside him, and if she wondered about the suddenly possessive nature of the gesture, she didn’t let on.

“You’re hurt,” she said, as she lifted her hand to where the gash on his head still seeped blood down the side of his face.

“I’m fine,” he said, and smiled at her.

Then he looked over the top of her head at Cal, who wore a carefully composed, neutral expression. Cal turned from him to grin at his fencing coach.

“Hey, Tobe,” he said. “I’d ask you what you’re doing here, man, but I’m kinda getting used to people just sort of popping up unexpectedly lately.”

“Calum.” Toby nodded. “I’m damn glad to see you in one piece.”

Cal turned then to Rafe—a little warily, Fennrys thought—and said, “Uh, hey. Nice to see you again too, there . . . Rafe? Did I get that right?”

“You did.” Rafe inclined his head.

“Cool. Well, yeah.” He glanced around—first at the Nereids, then at the fog bank in the distance, and then at the pale yellow ribbon of light that furled out into the darkness from the lighthouse on Roosevelt Island. “Listen . . . can you take us back to the hospital? There’s someone there I want you to meet.” He looked at Mason. “Someone who might help make some sense out of everything that’s happening.”

Mason sat on the edge of the bed in the posh health-care facility, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, staring back and forth between Cal and . . . an older, bearded version of Cal. The father-son resemblance was undeniable, almost shockingly so. Perhaps less shocking, though, than the news that Calum Aristarchos, Mason’s one-time crush and fellow student at Gosforth Academy, was a demigod.

“More like a semi-god, really,” Cal murmured, staring absently down at the glass of water he held in his hand.

Mason watched as the surface of the liquid began to ripple and splash and a tiny, silvery figure—a water sculpture in the shape of a slender female with long hair . . . holding a sword, rose up out of the glass and gave Cal a fencer’s salute before losing cohesion in a splash back down into the glass.

“Um. Wow.” Mason blinked at Cal, who only just seemed to have realized what he’d actually done—his face reddening under her gaze.

Mason looked away, glancing over to Rafe, who stood silently leaning against the door frame. She could tell, just from the way he reacted to Cal’s father, that everything Douglas Muir (not Aristarchos—she’d discovered that was Cal’s mom’s maiden name) had said was true.

“C’mon, Mase,” Cal said, looking at her from underneath the fringe of hair that swept over his forehead, “is it really that hard to believe? I mean . . . you were just in Asgard a couple of hours ago.”

“Yeah . . . hell of a week, right?” Fennrys said.

Mason shifted her glance to where Fenn was pulling a plain white T-shirt on over his head. There was a fresh bandage on his forehead, just beneath his hairline, covering the shallow gash he’d received banging his head on the boat bench. Cal’s dad had procured both bandage and shirt from the hospital staff and then sent the orderly who’d brought them on his way with instructions that Cal and his friends were not to be disturbed.

“I don’t want to interrupt,” Toby said, pretty obviously not giving a crap about interrupting, “but we really have to be getting back to Manhattan now.”