Fathom: Intergalactic Dating Agency (Mermaids of Montana Book 3)

by Elsa Jade

  He replied with the simple answer. “There are no others like me.”

  Maelstrom hissed out a slow breath, and if they’d been underwater, Sting guessed it would’ve been frustrated steam. “At least you’ve been to Earth, which is more than any other Tritonyri can say. And you’ve met Lana, and know her scent. If anyone can track her across the galaxy, it’ll be you.”

  Sting eyed the other male. “Who are you trying to convince?”

  Ridley laughed and nudged her mate with her elbow. “I think you Tritonans have not given Sting here the credit he deserves.”

  Sting turned his cynical gaze toward her. “You are larger and less easily snackable,” he noted. He ignored the way Maelstrom began to rumble deep in his chest. “I don’t fight for credit or even real coin. I hunt because I am Titanyri, aimed to kill.” He let out a pulse hard enough to riffle the furled sails, keeping all three in his senses at once. “If I find her, I demand a boon.”

  Maelstrom scowled. “Sting.”

  But Marisol lifted her chin. “Yes.”

  Sting nodded. She was not going to be just another sleek, clever Tritonesse, swimming circles around him with their sideways words until he was lost in the bubbles. “When I find her, you will free my beast.”

  Marisol and Ridley both glanced at Maelstrom, their brows furrowing when the Tritonyri reared back in shocked affront. “I fought by your side for years. I will not euthanize you—”

  “Not kill,” Sting said. “Free. Give me peace, and let the Titanyri sink to the depths where it can sleep again forever.”

  Maelstrom and Marisol sputtered, but Ridley stared at him, her gray eyes shining. And he suddenly remembered that before she came to Tritona, she had been afraid of the water, although that should’ve been impossible for one with even a drop of Tritonan blood.

  He focused on her. “The fathoms call me,” he told her softly. “They sing my name in tones that make my bones dance. In the darkness is my place, is my peace.”

  “Oh, Sting…” She bit her lip hard enough to bring a flush of red Earther blood to the surface of her skin.

  Though he looked away, Maelstrom growled in the back of his throat. “You’re trying to piss me off.”

  The Earther phrase was unfamiliar, but Sting got the gist. “The sea is vast,” he said blandly. “Plenty of room to be pissed.”

  Marisol jerked her head back. “More than I wanted to know, boys.” With a harsh breath of her own that sent the water around her scattering back to the waves, she said, “Find Lana, bring her home, and you’ll have your peace.”

  Chapter 2

  For most of her life, carrying the Wavercrest last name had meant nothing to Lana. Sure, she knew of the Wavercrest Saltwater Foundation—who didn’t?—but growing up on the rough side of Denver in subsidized housing as far from the ocean as seemed possible, that name of privilege and possibility had seemed more like an idle prank than a forgotten genetic connection. And then the symptoms of the Wavercrest syndrome had hit and she’d been contacted by the reclusive billionaire heiress of the same name seeking to find some commonality that might change their fate.

  She’d taken a chance, traveling halfway across the galaxy… Only to find out that her inheritance wasn’t a potential prank but a lethal problem, not just for her but for the planet that should’ve been her home.

  Fire-witch.

  “What even is that?” she muttered to herself.

  “What is what, Miss Lana?” Thomas appeared behind her chair in that dapper, quiet way of his that reminded her of a very nice bookstore cat.

  Still, she jumped, bumping her elbow on the carved marble arm of the chair. She couldn’t help but think of it as Marisol’s throne, and it wasn’t particularly comfortable to sit in, either physically or mentally, but it did seem to take the edge off the worst of her symptoms. The stone was cool under her palms, the silvery veins in the white rock seeming to draw off the bad zaps, dispersing through the carved whorls of a nautilus shell, going deeper and deeper…

  She jerked upright, bumping her other elbow, and she winced. “I’m sorry, did you say something? I was drifting again, wasn’t I?”

  “I’m worried for you, Miss Lana.” His gaze rested on her solemnly. “I wish there was some way I could contact Miss Wavercrest or the commander or someone.”

  She bit her lip and glanced away. Maybe she wished that too, but… “It’s better this way,” she said. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. Or cause more trouble for everyone.” She gave him her best commanding stare, something like Marisol or Ridley would use. “Including you. You can’t come too close, I told you.”

  He held up both hands—clad in thick rubber gloves. “You told me, and I’m taking precautions. But I wanted to bring you a dinner tray before I retire.”

  All the command draining out of her, she slumped back in the throne. “Thank you. I couldn’t do this without you.” And by this, of course she meant live.

  He only gave her that little bow and smile as usual when she whined. “I’m here to serve.”

  If he’d been younger and bigger and not human, he could’ve easily been one of the Tritonyri warriors she’d met, pledging themselves to defending their world. Instead, he made a mean red beans and rice with killer cornbread and honey butter. He served up while she stood at a distance, her hands clenched behind her, trying not to drool.

  He stepped back with another one of those smiles. “Can I get you anything else, Miss Lana?”

  “A clue,” she muttered. “A chance. At least some meaning to this existential crisis that I call my life.”

  “Maybe dessert?” He lifted the cover off a silver salver to reveal the chocolate cake underneath.

  She had to laugh. “Okay, yeah, that’ll do it.”

  “I can stay and keep you company while you eat,” he offered. “I promise to sit at a safe distance.”

  As tempted as she was, she shook her head. Sometimes when she drifted now, the zaps went too far, and neither stone nor rubber gloves nor anything else she’d found would divert the electrical power. “I know Marisol left you a ton of work to continue the foundation. Also, I’d be much lonelier if I, like, accidentally killed you.”

  This time, he gave her a little frown. “As you suggested, I’ve made arrangements to set up informational relays leading to our anonymous dropbox. Anyone on Earth researching symptoms that might correlate to the Wavercrest syndrome will trigger our alarms and we’ll be able to guide likely candidates to the attention of the Tritonans.” He clicked his tongue. “Those Tritonesse should be grateful that you’re helping them find their long-lost kin since they need the new blood to revive their planet.”

  “I’m helping them because I want to give other Wavercrest descendants a chance to live.”

  “You deserve that chance too.”

  “They don’t want me on Tritona,” she reminded him. “Like I said, it’s better this way.”

  He didn’t look entirely convinced but inclined his head. “Then if there’s nothing else…”

  Even as she waved him off, she bit her lip to stop herself from asking him to stay anyway.

  Why did it still hurt to not be wanted? Shouldn’t she be used to that by now? She’d certainly had enough practice over the years.

  The little pang from the edge of her tooth seemed to sink all the way down, and a crackle across her dessert plate snapped her back to focus. She’d been drifting again and now the chocolate buttercream was a molten rivulet across the fine china.

  If she had to die of her impossible Tritonan heritage, at least she’d have lava cake before the end.

  She huffed down the chocolate liquid faster than maybe was elegant and if she licked the plate… Well, it wasn’t like there was anyone to see.

  Afterward, she took her dishes to the beautiful kitchen to clean up. Thomas insisted on doing so much—although he was ostensibly in charge of the Wavercrest Saltwater Foundation, Lana suspected he preferred to care for people, not projects—but she wanted to contribute
something, at least as long as she was able. The cool marble and stainless steel were soothing, and the occasional inadvertent zap only popped a few bubbles as it warmed the sudsy water.

  Afterward, despite the cake and the cleanup, contemplating her fate had left her restless, so instead of going to bed, she made her way back to the library.

  It was the prettiest room in a beautiful house. The heavy, dark wood paneling and the somber fabrics of the gold-leafed spines were lightened by the huge saltwater fish tank with its shimmering hues of emerald and aquamarine with flashes of gemstone-bright fish. She leaned close to look for her favorites, the seahorses, but was careful not to touch the glass. Dirty dishes might not mind being slightly electrocuted, but the delicate sea life certainly would.

  As serene and meditative as the stunning aquarium was, the confines of it felt suddenly choking. Maybe to a clown fish who spent its entire life in the protective arms of one anemone, the tank was expansive enough, but was she really going to spend the rest of her life—however long that might be—trapped in this beautiful estate in Sunset Falls, Montana? Thomas had already said, time and again, that she was welcome to stay as long as necessary. But all the chocolate cake on Earth wouldn’t stop her from slowly boiling herself alive.

  All those rootless years when she’d so dearly wished to have a home she could call her own… And when she finally found it, she was banished as a cursed monster.

  A sob heaved in her throat, like a wave with nowhere to go, and she stumbled toward the double doors that opened onto a balcony looking out over the backyard toward the forest beyond.

  The cold wind went right through the thin caftan she was wearing and tossed a few stinging raindrops and pine needles at her. But the way the tops of the pines swayed somehow steadied her, like looking out over the waves of a roughened sea…

  Dammit, she was drifting again. It was happening more and more. If she couldn’t get it under control—

  A huge figure leaped over the balcony landing in front of her with a thud that reverberated through the solid stone. She screamed.

  Or she meant to. The sound that came out was more a crackling roar as the restless charge she’d built up erupted in a blue-white burst.

  In the prolonged lightning flash, her attacker was frozen for a heartbeat against the black sky: huge, pale, shining silver eyes, pebbled skin glinting like druzy-encrusted stone. Alien, terrifying…

  But not unfamiliar.

  The enormous Tritonan warrior seemed to curl around the blast as it knocked him backward off the balcony railing into the night.

  It happened so fast, the scream was still stuck in her throat.

  She stood petrified for another heartbeat, much as he’d been, only trapped in darkness instead of lightning glow. She’d zapped a few people accidentally, fried electronics even—and there was that one felony fire that one time—but she’d never killed.

  She raced to the balcony. No, she hadn’t killed him, she couldn’t have killed him.

  Gripping the stone railing, she peered over the edge into darkness, her fingers still sparking with latent lightning and fear. “Sting?” she whispered into the night wind.

  “Why’d you do that?”

  The shriek she’d been holding back squeaked out of her as she whirled around, setting her spine against the banister. “Sting! I didn’t kill you.” Relief flowed through her, dissolving the strength in her knees and she half sagged against the stone.

  “No.” He tilted his head. “Is that what you wanted?”

  “No!” She held one hand toward him in a sort of embarrassed entreaty. But the electricity still sparking there made it look like a threat, and she whisked her clenched fist behind her. “I didn’t mean it.”

  He faced her across the short distance of the balcony. Though she knocked him over two stories with a bolt bigger than any she’d mustered before, he’d bounced right back up again—at a slightly safer distance. He was angled away from the glow of the aquarium through the balcony doors, and the light from her fist was tucked behind her, but somehow his blank white eyes still reminded her of the glow from the Himalayan blue salt lamps she used to sell in the hippie head shops before all the strangeness of the past year. Tarot readings and crystal healings and tantric chakra alignments all seemed so ordinary now compared to being half mermaid.

  When he didn’t speak, she realized belatedly that he was probably waiting for an apology. “I’m sorry I almost killed you.”

  “You didn’t.” His voice was low and rough, but with a strange, soft flow, like water over a rocky shore.

  She furrowed her brow. “I’m sorry I blew you off the balcony then.”

  “You didn’t.”

  A thread of exasperation wove through her guilt. “I’m sorry you had to jump out of the way of my lightning bolt.”

  “I frightened you.”

  She waited a moment and then frowned when he didn’t offer an apology in return. Not that startling her was an excuse for nearly electrocuting him, but still. “What are you doing here?” Her fear raced back. “Are Ridley and Marisol okay? Are the Tritonesse going after them too?”

  “They sent me to get you.”

  She shook her head. “They wanted me to leave.” That wasn’t entirely true, she knew even as she said it. It was the Tritonesse who had reacted with such disgusted horror to her strange ability. Marisol and Ridley had tried to shield her, but they couldn’t start their new lives on Tritona when Lana was right there being a freaky fire-witch—a nul’ah-wys so hated and feared that even the war-hardened Tritonans had rejected her. She’d had a lifetime of not fitting in enough anywhere; she wasn’t going to trade down to a place that considered her an actual monster.

  Fire-witch.

  Sting just watched her, as if those eerie white eyes could see into her confused and hurting silence. “They sent me to get you,” he said again.

  “Well, I can’t go back there.” She crossed her arms and tucked her hands under her armpits. Her fingers were cold, no longer sparky, and the wind that went through her caftan was colder yet.

  But he just stood there in his battle skin, the stripped-down version of a dive suit that the Tritonyri warriors favored. Allegedly, the sparse, snug covering of straps and hydrodynamic cutouts of sleek fabric was meant to free their Tritonan senses of echolocation and electroreception.

  Or maybe Sting just wanted to show off those thick muscles and the softer-looking padding of fat that was obviously keeping him so snuggly and warm in the Montana night…

  “They sent me—”

  “I am not going back there,” she said, the rising edge of her voice overtaking his to hide her wandering attention. “And you can’t force me.”

  When he tilted his head the other direction, his eyes seemed to flash. In the other Tritonans she’d met, the protective eyelid only closed when they were feeling vulnerable or attacked. The few times she’d seen Sting, his eyes were always covered. Though his expression never changed, a chill went through her as she realized that he could indeed force her.

  And then one of them would likely die.

  Maybe he reached the same conclusion, because he settled back on his heels, making no attempt at another of those overly energetic leaps.

  His white gaze was fixed on her, unblinking. “You are nul’ah-wys.”

  Though there was no particular accusation to the words, her insides chilled even more than the bite of the wind could justify. “That’s what they said.” She lifted her chin. “I don’t even know what that is.”

  Sure, she’d looked up the definition, but the exact translation wasn’t clear. Something like the pathway of the firestorm.

  But if that was true, shouldn’t she at least feel like a firestorm? With her head up, the cold night wind wrapped around her throat, squeezing, but not tight enough to stop her teeth from chattering uncontrollably. “You… Do you know what it means?”

  She’d told herself she wouldn’t ask, that it didn’t matter. If they wanted to think of h
er as a monster when she hadn’t even done anything, then nothing she could do would change their mind. She’d faced bullies before, but bigotry was their problem, not hers.

  He rocked slowly across the soles of his feet. Not impatient, she sensed, or seeking to avoid the question. Just a self-soothing gesture, as if he missed the ocean. “In the hidden halls of the Tritonesse weapons conclave, where I was made, I heard them talk of nul’ah-wys.” He fell silent again.

  She swallowed. “You were made.” He’d said as much when she met him once before, but she’d wondered if it was a mistake of the universal translator device implanted in the bone behind her ear. How could he be made when he was so obviously not a machine? She’d never seen a being so blatantly…organic in nature. Maybe it was because his battle skin was so revealing… She forced herself to focus on their conversation instead of his exposed skin. “Were fire-witches made too?”

  When he angled his head again to look at her, she wondered if he had trouble seeing through his protective eye shields. “Nul’ah-wys don’t exist. They were only stories. Stories of a danger deeper than the deeps, a peril that could crack the world.”

  But the sideways cant of his mouth was speculative, as if considering whether she could be the hazard that the Tritonesse had warned of. It wasn’t fair that they were calling her a monster when all her life she’d tried so hard to be sweet and gentle and helpful, the kind of girl worth keeping around.

  But she had knocked him off the balcony without a touch, so maybe the threat assessment was not so wrong.

  She looked away from him. “Too bad you can’t convince the Tritonesse there’s no such thing as fire-witches. Then maybe they wouldn’t have kicked me off their planet.”