by Devyn Quinn
To her surprise, she heard Chiara give an answer.
“They starve us,” the Mer said.
Tessa translated the brief answer for the humans in the room.
Whittaker nodded his understanding. “Tell her that we will make every effort to provide what she requires to sustain her body. Ask her if she’s able to eat normal food.”
Tessa spoke to Chiara again. Her dexterity with the Mer tongue was slow and a little clumsy, but she was able to make herself understood.
Chiara made a face. “To eat with the mouth is for the lessers. We have moved beyond the physical.”
The two women had a brief conversation. Gwen followed as well as she could, picking up on the fact that Chiara would rather starve than belittle herself by eating like a human.
She leaned toward Blake, relaying the information. Tessa was trying to talk some sense into the woman, but Chiara refused to listen. The Mer had stated she would rather die than accept anything touched by human hands.
Blake rolled his eyes. “God, why do they have to be so dense?”
Gwen bristled. “She’s not stupid. It’s simply the belief she was raised with. In her mind humans are a lesser species and she will treat them as such, even though she’s the one in chains.”
“Can’t she see how much easier it would go for her if only she’d cooperate?” he groused.
Gwen shrugged her shoulders. “Try telling her that.”
“Well, before she starves herself to death, ask her if Massey is still alive.”
Tessa asked the question.
The obstinate woman lifted her chin. “He wisely serves my queen,” she answered in haughty but perfect English. “One day you will all bow before my lady and tremble as she walks among you.”
Blake’s brows shot up. “Ah, so you do understand us.”
Chiara bared her teeth. “Of course. Yours is a simple language.”
He shrugged. “Guess that means I can speak for myself.”
Chiara turned her head. “Perhaps I shall not listen to you, lesser.” She was a woman obviously used to wielding her disdain like a blade to cut lower beings to their knees.
Blake shoved his hands in his pockets. “Perhaps you should. My people seek to make contact with your queen and we’d like to be able to do so peacefully, without further causalities. If you could help us do that, we would be willing to provide the sustenance you need to sustain yourself.”
Doma Chiara’s lips rolled back in another feral snarl. “I refuse to betray my queen,” she spat.
Blake tipped back his head, blowing out a frustrated breath. “Listen, it’s time for some straight talk,” he said, speaking slowly but precisely. “Right now the Mer are considered an enemy of my people. If we have to go after your queen, hunt her down, then there’s going to be trouble. Maybe more trouble than she’s prepared to handle.” He paused. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
A grim smile touched Chiara’s saturnine features. “As a soldier I understand the ways of war, its losses and gains,” she answered, imitating his precise manner. “You are saying she should surrender because our kind are presently outnumbered.”
“It wouldn’t have to be a surrender, per se,” he said. “Perhaps more of a diplomatic meeting. Something that would allow us to assess the needs of her people now that they are emerging from Ishaldi.”
Chiara stared at him long and hard. By the look on her face she wasn’t a woman who would tolerate beating around the bush. “The waters of earth were ours a long time before humans learned to build the fragile shells that would carry them from land to land,” she said coldly. “The waters belong to the Mer, and my queen will accept nothing less.”
“The world has changed a lot since the Mer were a power to be reckoned with,” Blake reminded her. “Your kind is welcome again, but only if they come in peace. Anything less will be unacceptable.”
Chiara stared at him through an icy veil, her gaze so cold and hard that Gwen felt a corresponding chill penetrate all the way to her bones. This person, her kins-woman, was a creature of destruction from beginning to end. There was no mercy in her, no empathy for the human race.
Gwen curled her arms around her body to chase away the uneasy feelings that suddenly sprang to the forefront of her mind. She would just as soon kill us all as to look at us, she thought.
“My queen’s ambitions and justifications are her own,” Chiara countered, spitting the words at him in a blaze of fury. “Once she recovers that which has been stolen, all of humankind will lay prostrate at her feet.”
Tessa suddenly paled. “The scepter,” she gasped. “Are they going after it?”
Distracted by Tessa’s words, Blake turned his attention away from the uncooperative prisoner. A puzzled look crept across his usually neutral expression. “The scepter? The one you said was with your aunt?”
He never got an answer.
Before anyone could make a move, Chiara launched herself out of the chair like a big predatory cat. Flying across the table, she charged at Whittaker, ramming her head and shoulders into his midsection. He barely had time to bring his pistol up before he was knocked off his feet.
Two flailing bodies hit the floor simultaneously. A stray shot zinged through the room, striking the agent who’d been guarding Chiara. The man fell like a stone, dead before he hit the floor.
Straddling Whittaker, Chiara pressed the chain of her cuffs against his neck, effectively throttling him. A savage’s scream erupted from her throat. She was strong, angry, and determined to kill as many humans as possible.
Unable to get an aim on his assailant, Whittaker tossed his weapon out of her reach. It skidded across the floor.
Tessa scrambled toward it. “I’ve got it,” she shouted.
But she never had time to pull the trigger.
Gwen was faster. Terror swept through her with such power that she couldn’t draw a breath.
Realizing she had only seconds before Blake lost consciousness, she threw her hands out toward Chiara. Energy snapped through her like thunderbolts, shocking her body with the electricity flooding through her veins. Heart racing with her pulse, she focused outward, driving a discharge of pure white-hot energy straight toward her target. A scream matching the force of her blast echoed inside her head.
Caught by the explosion, Chiara went flying. Her screech of agony ripped through the air seconds before she struck the wall full force. Skull slamming against the concrete, her body slid to the floor. She lay unmoving, a crumpled heap of flesh and bone.
Realizing what she’d done, Gwen felt shock rippling through her. Eyes big as saucers, Tessa just stood, slack-jawed and pale. Whittaker’s weapon dangled from one limp hand. “Geez, Gwen . . .” was all she said.
It had taken place within seconds.
There was a thunderous boom as the door rammed open, filling the room with a wave of agents. Somehow Kenneth broke through the mass, heading toward his wife. “What the hell happened?”
The gun slipped from Tessa’s fingers as she sagged against her husband. “She just went crazy,” she tried to explain.
Heart raging in her temples, Gwen swallowed back the dizzying nausea threatening to overtake her. She heard herself breathing hard. Fear gouged a jagged path through her chest when she realized Blake was still down.
Pulling her wits together, she hurried toward him. He lay sprawled on the floor like a fallen bull. A couple of agents were helping him sit up. “You going to live, Whittaker?” one of them asked.
Blake raised a shaking hand to his neck. The imprint of Chiara’s handcuffs was etched into his bruised skin. “Yeah, I’ll make it.” He waved the hovering men away. “Give me some air.”
Gwen’s hands shook uncontrollably as she dropped to her knees. She stared at him, feeling the words she wanted to say tangle in her throat. Somehow she managed to say something. “Are you all right?”
Recognizing her voice, he gave her a weak smile. “I think I just had my ass kicked by a woman,” he answe
red in a croaky voice. He looked sheepish for a moment.
Feeling relief solidify, she closed her eyes. For one dreadful moment she’d feared Chiara would succeed in her attempt to murder him. “It happened so fast nobody had time to think.”
Jaw taut with tension, he shot her a look. “You did.”
Gwen frowned. She’d been acting purely on instinct and the desire to protect Whittaker. Apparently he’d worked his way a little deeper under her skin than she wanted to admit. She blinked back the beginning of tears, but a few dampened her lashes anyway. Now was a silly time to get emotional, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Just thinking how close she’d come to losing him made her pulse speed up.
This is crazy, she warned herself. I’m not in love with him. The thought shook her so profoundly she couldn’t think straight.
She choked down the lump in her throat. “Don’t remind me, please.”
Whitaker rubbed his bruised neck again. He had a sheen of sweat on his skin even though the room was positively chilly. Taking a deep breath, he glanced toward the dead agent. “Shit, I didn’t even see her coming.”
“She’s a soldier in Magaera’s army,” Tessa said from behind them. “Her only function is to fight and die.”
He rubbed his hands against his pale face. “I wouldn’t doubt it.” His gaze searched for and found the unconscious woman. “Is she still alive?”
One of the agents knelt beside the downed prisoner. “I think so.”
Director Thompson surveyed the unconscious woman. “Get a stretcher and page Dr. Yadira immediately. Once she’s stable, I want the hostiles contained in solitary. They are to have no contact with one another, and are to remain sedated at all times.”
Gwen let out a breath that wasn’t quite steady. She wondered if she’d be the next to go into a cell. She braced herself for surrender when Thompson headed her way.
“That’s a very interesting ability you have there, young lady,” he said.
Gwen forced her gaze to meet his. “It’s all a part of our Mercraft,” she admitted. “I don’t use it very often.”
Thompson arched a brow. “I think we’d like to do a few tests on that,” he said in a conversational tone. “Do you think you’d mind participating?”
She stared at him, trying to keep her thoughts straight. Gathering her frazzled nerves and the remnants of her composure, she said, “Are you asking me, or are you telling me?”
Thompson cocked his head, staring at her through narrow eyes. “Let’s just say we’d like to see a little more of what the Mer can do.”
Gwen felt her stomach tighten into hard knots. Somehow she didn’t think that was going to be a very good idea.
Chapter 16
Grand Manan Island
Three days later
Grand Manan Island was the perfect place for a fugitive to hide. In keeping with the intense privacy pursued by the people who visited and lived there, nobody asked strangers many questions at all. It wasn’t difficult for a newcomer to get around in relaxed anonymity.
Money, of course, paved the way.
In order to get away from Queen Magaera’s stifling presence, Jake had sent her shopping with Niklos and a handful of cash. Since they’d become lovers, the Mer queen had become like an albatross around his neck, continually demanding attention and action. She’d made a leech of herself, locking on and sucking him dry. He hardly had a moment to himself.
The demanding bitch. Queen Magaera didn’t like the restrictions and regulations of the human world, limitations that also applied to queens as well as common people.
It had taken a lot of time and talking to placate her. As it stood she had no place in this realm, and wouldn’t, unless they regained the last valuable piece forged by Atargatis for her people.
Did such a thing even exist?
If so, they had to find it. Had to have it.
But where the hell was the freaking thing?
Having been engaged to Tessa Lonike, Jake had learned bits and pieces about her family through the years he’d known them. Lonike was their father’s name, he himself carrying a heritage that included the local Native Americans as well as the Scotch-Irish roots that gave him—and his three daughters—their flaming red hair.
Jolesa Lonike, Tessa’s mother, was more of a mystery. Jake had no idea what her maiden name might have been before her marriage, nor did he know anything about her except she had a sister named Gail. According to Tessa, this was the sister who took the scepter before departing Little Mer.
So where had Gail gone? And what had become of the vital missing piece?
Snapping his fingers at a nearby waitress, Jake pointed at his empty cup. “Another, please.” He spoke the words with a light French accent.
The girl nodded and scurried off. A few minutes later she delivered a fresh cup of steaming hot espresso.
Jake thanked her and paid her, tipping well. He’d tied up her table for hours, but he needed the connection the café offered to the outside world. The best thing to do when in search of information was to turn to the Internet.
Having snatched Niklos’s laptop, he was presently in the middle of a search. The Internet offered a variety of ways to find people, if you were willing to pay the price. Using a disposable Visa card that he’d purchased with cash, he’d spent the last few days running down the Lonike family history.
Frustratingly, there was almost nothing to be found. He’d located a bit about Tessa’s father, David, but drew a blank wall at their mother. Like the Lonike sisters, he suspected their mother and her sister had been privately educated to keep them out of the public school system. Both Gwen and Addison had gone on to attend the local community college, which he suspected their mother might have done.
Searching through the alumni records, he finally landed on Jolesa Davis. That at least gave him a last name to begin tracking.
The next place to head was those sites that allowed people to track their family heritage online. Lots of people tended to log into sites like it and begin entering their information in the hopes of finding lost loved ones or missing pieces of their past. As far as he knew, Gail had rejected life on Little Mer Island and integrated with humans on the mainland. There had to be a trail for Gail Davis. True, there might be a billion women with a similar name, but somewhere online a connection had to be lurking that would connect the dots to which Gail Davis was the sister of Jolesa Lonike.
It took three days and almost a thousand dollars to narrow down the possibilities.
A smile crossed Jake’s face as his fingers whipped across the keyboard, logging into a popular genealogy site. Whenever names and dates started to fall together, the system would prompt the user to other entries from public records or other relevant members by adding twigs to the genealogy tree one could build online.
Yep. There were some twigs to follow.
He moused over an icon and clicked. There was a Gail Davis who had a sister named Jolesa Lonike.
And then he frowned. His fingers tapped out a few inquiries.
Damn.
Gail Davis was listed as deceased. The Social Security Death Index Record gave the location as Florida and the year as 2009. Her passing had been fairly recent, less than two years ago.
He frowned. Not good. Not good at all.
Jake leaned back. His shoulders were knotted with tension from being hunched over the computer day after day. He had to admit being a fugitive wasn’t sitting well with him.
For one, he didn’t like the anonymity it imposed on him. As Jean Luc, he was a nobody, just another Canadian with a bad accent who spent too many leisure days sailing around.
As Jake Massey he was an archaeologist, explorer, and adventurer. Didn’t matter that his reputation was shot to shit for his theories that an “intelligent nonhuman species,” existed concurrently and alongside Homo sapiens. He thought he’d laid out his case well enough.
The university elders didn’t agree. They’d pulled his sea grants and rejected his tenur
e by saying he did not meet department requirements. It was all a bunch of bull and politics. He wasn’t the first professor to be bounced for introducing theories that fell outside the accepted box of religion, creationism, and general science.
He had no chance of redeeming his reputation until he produced solid evidence. He had such evidence at his disposal now.
But showing up with Magaera for an appearance on the evening news just wasn’t what he wanted to do. He didn’t want to introduce the Mer as an oddity, nor did he want to be caught in the circus the media would inevitably create to feed the nonstop monster that was cable news.
He reached for the small white cup sitting at his elbow, sipping at its contents. He grimaced. Yuck. It had gone cold.
He signaled the waitress again. “Another, please.”
Walking over, she rolled her eyes. “That is your fifth,” she complained. “Why do you order it and then waste it?”
Jake smiled, surreptitiously giving her the once-over. The little brunette was young, cute, and buxom. Just the kind of college coed he liked to sit down and spend an afternoon with, impressing her with his vast font of knowledge before making the move that would inevitably end with his hand up her skirt, inching beneath her panties.
Fishing more bills out of his wallet, he pushed them her way. “Maybe I just like looking at you,” he teased. “Keep them coming and I will make it worth your time.”
His gaze lingered on her breasts as he spoke. He rarely looked into a woman’s eyes. He wasn’t interested in her brains or her thoughts about anything. Her body and what lay between her legs was all the interest he had in the female sex.
Nothing like objectifying a woman.
The girl blushed. “I’ll bring you a fresh one, on the house.” She tucked the money between her ample breasts.
Jake smiled. “Merci, mademoiselle.”
The waitress giggled and hurried off.
Jake watched her from behind as she flounced across the café. Maybe he’d make some time for her before he left the island.
