Page 82 of Ensnaring the Siren

The trees opened to the ocean and a stunning, isolated inlet.

Given the state-of-the-art gate system, he’d expected to find a coastal mansion on the other end, but instead he pulled up to a charming, but modest, two-story stone cottage. He would’ve thought the thick wall of trees and long stretch of empty country road, would’ve provided enough privacy, but maybe one couldn’t be too careful when they were a shore-dwelling mermaid.

Leaving his helmet and leather jacket with his bike, Reid approached the front door, gravel crunching beneath his boots. He paused, staring at its iron ring knocker a moment before taking a deep breath and using it. The door opened so suddenly she had to have been waiting for him on the other side.

A dark-haired redhead with striking green eyes stared back at him, her mouth slightly ajar. Lorelei. His sister.

His family.

She had mom’s mismatched eyebrows and Grandma Greta’s proud, stubborn chin. But aside from the unusual shade of green that contrasted with the rest of the family’s dark browns, she didn’t look like a mermaid.

And then she pounced, wrapping him in a fierce, too tight hug, the air whooshing out of him. Ah, there it was. The mermaid strength.

“Easy, sis.” He wheezed, tapping her back, and she immediately loosened her arms without ending the hug.

“Sorry. I forget sometimes.”

“It’s all right.” He hugged her back, the all-encompassing kind that only siblings can give moments before a headlock or wet willy. Not that he was going to do either, but the pesky, little brother urge was there, lurking somewhere in the background, waiting for the right moment. “Could’ve used you in grade school.”

They both drew back at the same time.

“It’s not too late.” Her eyes flashed an eerie neon green as she waggled her fingers, the rounded tips extending into sharp claws, and he couldn’t help but stare in wonder. There’d been no reason to doubt she was a mermaid, but here was the confirmation. “Can still beat up your bullies if you want.”

“Great. I’ll put you on speed-dial.”

“Come on.” She took his hand, tugging him inside. “Killian’s got second breakfast on.”

The open-concept interior was all handcrafted stone and reclaimed driftwood. Truly quintessential seaside cottage vibes. And in the kitchen was a tall guy with salt and pepper hair, pulling a steaming pie dish out of the oven. Quiche, by the looks and smells of it.

After setting the dish on the counter, the man turned around, shucking off an oven mitt and offering his hand.

Gesturing between the two of them, Lorelei beamed. “Husband, meet brother.”

“Killian,” the man supplied, clasping Reid’s hand in a firm handshake. Short scruff lined his jaw and prominent crow’s feet flanked grayish blue eyes. His sister’s husband was significantly older than them both. Early forties if he had to guess, and no stranger to the sun. Fisherman, perhaps?

“How’d you two meet?”

The couple shared a wistful look.

“That’s a long story,” Lorelei replied.

“I’ve got time.”

They sat around the dining room table, sharing the story over breakfast. Turned out, Killian was the captain of the fishing crew that found Lorelei among The Osprey’s wreckage and had brought her back to shore for medical evaluation.

And Killian’s first fishing boat, Dawn Chaser, had sunk just over a year later. Reid had been the rescue swimmer on that case, too, flown up from Cape Cod. But again, too late, and he later learned that the injured and hypothermic crew had been towed back to shore by merfolk and treated by landside EMS.

Those two incidents, and a general uptick in merfolk activity, were driving factors in installing a new Coast Guard aviation unit at Haven Cove Airport. Being closer meant getting on scene quicker and increasing their chances of saving lives.

But to think, he and his sister had come so close to crossing paths before, not just once, but twice. Maybe it had always been just a matter of time.

He’d tried to help with dishes once brunch was done, but the couple waved him off, so he wandered over to a pair of bookshelves in the living room. Picture frames were interspersed between the stacks of titles, one catching his eye in particular.

A wedding photo.

Lorelei and Killian stood off-center, hands clasped, with their bodies twisted to face the camera. To their right was Dr. Lila Branson with an older Black couple and a man giving jovial, short Thor energy. To their left was a dark-haired white woman wearing a bridesmaid’s dress, and beside her, Nireed.

He brushed a finger along the frame, longing dropping anchor in his chest.

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