by Anne Renwick
Panic rose in her throat, threatening to drown her. “Who is your mother?”
“A real selkie, of course,” he said with exasperation. “She looks like me. Father says we have the same eyes.” A tentacle was back, probing her ankle. The boy swatted it away with his stick. “Eight times now. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it sticks in the right place.”
“Show me your face,” Isa demanded, grasping at straws. “Perhaps I know her.”
After a long moment of silence, Thomas reached out and pushed the obfuscation goggles onto her forehead. Isa gasped. Maren’s child stared down at her. She’d know those gray eyes, that expression anywhere. Maren had married a Scottish lord.
“Do you?” The boy’s eyes were wide. “Can you take me to her?”
“I do. But—” A tentacle slid across the skin of Isa’s thigh, and she swallowed a gasp. The soft tip tapped gently, as if searching for something. It paused.
“You won’t. Won’t help.” He crossed his arms. “None of the others would either.”
“Swat it away,” she pleaded, kicking.
“No,” Thomas pouted. “That’s exactly where it’s supposed to go. If you hold really still, it hurts less.”
“Please,” she begged. “I don’t want this. Let me out of this tank.”
The soft, muscular tube slithered around her leg, tightening its grip as its suckers attached themselves to her skin, directly above her femoral vein.
Tears welled in her eyes. Sea to sand, she was going to end as a corpse, washed up on some distant shore. Isa opened her mouth to beg again, but all words were cut off by a sharp, stabbing pain. She kicked, fighting against the creature that had her in its grips, but the beast merely gripped her thigh more tightly. The tip of the tentacle twisted and turned and it bore downward and inward, burrowing into her skin.
Isa screamed.
Chapter Twenty
MAKING AS LITTLE NOISE as possible, Alec hoisted himself onto the scaffolding, climbing until he clung to the poles beside an illuminated castle window where the traitorous silhouette of Commodore Drummond loomed over that of Roideach’s.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Roideach said. “I assumed—”
“You take unwarranted risks and continue to pander to CEAP,” the commodore interrupted. The glaziers had yet to fully repair the rotten lead of the window and numerous glass panes were missing. Enough so that Alec was able to catch their words. “First the incident with the blood thickener, now this.”
“I was only following your orders, sir, attempting to prepare a highly trained Naval officer to receive the tentacle attachment, so that you might spare your people.”
Alec had never heard Lord Roideach so deferential and obsequious. He leaned closer, curious about the power Isa’s uncle, a Navy officer, held over a gentleman.
“But it didn’t work. Fool that you are, you chose a BURR team member and look where that’s led us. A death. An investigation. Hell, I had to dispose of a difficult board member to save your arse. The next thing I know, the BURR team is dropping out of the air beside my submersible.” The commodore’s hand sliced through the air. “Now this.”
Alec ground his teeth together. That explained much. Davis, lured by the promise of an ability to dive deeper and longer, had willingly submitted to treatment. Except the experimental blood thickener had killed him, a fact Roideach had attempted to conceal. No wonder the lord had avoided Alec, opposing his access to an Ichor machine. A situation Commodore Drummond had resolved by poisoning a board member, permanently ending any investigation.
His nostrils flared, and he grabbed the weapon at his hip. Too many lives treated as no more than the inconvenient price of scientific progress. Designated a Queen’s agent, did he have to right to terminate them both now? Or was he limited to those lightweight TTX darts his brother had pushed upon him? He loosened his grip. Tempting though it might be, he had no concrete proof, and Logan would want to interrogate them both.
“Your technician is a fool,” the commodore growled. “Snatching a Finn woman directly from the Fifth Ward of the Glaister Institute? Miss Russel knew the patient was attached to Captain McCullough, a man who worked in your laboratory. He’s a BURR team member, for aether’s sake. She might as well have scattered bread crumbs the whole way here. The man is a threat. If CEAP discovers my people, our entire operation is at risk.”
“Miss Russel was attempting to manage the situation. Your niece was on death’s doorstep—”
“And should have been left there!” Isa’s uncle threw his hands in the air. “She’s of no further use to us. She’s nothing but trouble, and her death would have solved many problems.”
A faint scream echoed through the night, and ice shot down his spine.
Isa.
Alec would bet his life on it.
“I’m sorry, sir, but she’s in the tank now. Her blood tested positive for factor Q, and the boy is overseeing the attachment procedure as we speak.”
Shit. He needed to find Isa, now, while they argued. Bringing a superior officer and a gentleman to justice would have to wait. Gripping the crumbling stone of the castle wall, he stepped off the scaffolding, moving in the direction of the sound, angling his head, listening for another cry.
Commodore Drummond cursed. “I trusted you. You promised not to draw the attention of CEAP to me or mine. In return, I agreed to leave the child with you.”
“Please, sir,” he begged. “I’ll make this right.”
Hand by hand, foot by foot, Alec climbed over the stones. The faint sound of a child trying to hush Isa met his ears, even as her uncle pronounced a death sentence.
“No more mistakes. There’s not a chance she’ll cooperate. Glean what information you can, then see her terminated. Transport our operations to the sea cave. Be certain you sever all links.”
Roideach’s reply was lost to the howl of the wind that whipped past him as he rounded a corner, steadily moving toward a lower window—barred, of course—from which a faint glow emanated.
“Hold still,” a boy pleaded. “It needs to grip your leg just so, or it won’t work.”
“Please.” Isa’s voice was tearful but, thankfully, both conscious and coherent. “Don’t do this.”
Alec channeled all the anger—fear and betrayal—into reaching her. Grabbing the iron that proposed to bar him from her, he yanked. Metal groaned, then the bolt that held it to the stone crumbled. The iron had turned to brittle rust. He yanked and tugged and twisted, throwing each iron bar to the ground below.
“Get it off! Get it off!”
Alec lowered himself through the window, dropping silently to the floor, taking aim with his weapon.
Isa floated—naked—in an enormous, glass aquarium. Blood tinted the water pink. Wrists bound, she thrashed, twisting her torso back and forth as she kicked. A boy stood upon a platform holding a long, wooden dowel that he used to direct the movements of two tentacles. One curled and undulated about Isa’s thigh, tapping on her skin. The other explored her shoulder and neck.
But the tentacles were not connected to a body of any kind. Rather to a machine. A contraption with a panel of knobs and switches and dials and gauges. Tubes and wires ran from the device seamlessly fusing and merging with the wet, gleaming flesh of two octopus arms. Arms that plunged into the water, reaching for Isa.
“Drop it,” Alec commanded as he stepped forward. The only thing that stayed his hand was the child’s age. He was only six, perhaps seven years. He could not hurt a child. Would not. Though the boy need not know that.
The boy’s mouth fell open, and the stick clattered to the ground. “Father!” he yelled, leaping to the floor and running away.
Alec climbed the metal ladder attached to the platform. Holstering his weapon, he tugged his dive knife free and sliced through the writhing, soft flesh and tough wire of one tentacle. The other tentacle thrashed, yanking Isa beneath the water’s surface. With a vicious strike he cut it free
from the machine. Opalescent fluids pulsed forward from the severed ends of the tentacles, but the monstrous things fell limp. He cut the ropes that bound Isa’s wrists, then ripped away the goggles and a harness strapped to her head.
“Alec?” she gasped through a tangle of wet, dripping hair as she reached for him.
“It’s me.” Relief washed over him. Thank aether she was alive and relatively unharmed. He lifted her onto the platform, quickly taking stock of the puncture wounds to her thigh. Blood seeped, but slowly. He didn’t think any blood vessels had been compromised. He ran his palm over the raw gash in her calf. Good. No sign of infection, amoeba or otherwise.
“A long and miserable story,” she said.
Overhead, shouts erupted. Time was running out.
“We need to go.” He wrapped a blanket about her body, scooped her into his arms and carried her to the window. Tying a rope to the tank’s ladder, he threw the loose end out the window. “It’s a bit of a drop. Wrap your arms around my neck. Hold tight.”
She complied, and he lowered them to the ground. Eyes wide, she looked up at him for direction while blood seeped from her legs in tiny rivulets. Wrapping his arm about her waist, Alec was about to steer her toward the trees where the clockwork horses waited when dirt kicked up at their feet and a loud crack tore through the air.
“Stop right there, Dr. McCullough!”
Alec swung Isa around behind him, lifting his rifle to his shoulder as he turned to face a very determined woman pointing a rifle in his direction.
Standing on the rubble of what was once the castle’s curtain wall, stood one Miss Russel looking not at all like a victim, but rather like a mad scientist attempting to stop the theft of her creation.
They’d never make the horses. He fired a dart into Miss Russel’s shoulder, and perhaps felt a bit too much satisfaction when she crumpled onto the stones. Enough so that he almost missed the rising shadow of Commodore Drummond behind her. Isa gasped as recognition took hold, as Alec used a second dart to drop her uncle before he could take aim.
Another weapon fired. The gardener had recovered from the effects of the TTX dart and taken a defensible position behind a pile of rubble. Alec didn’t dare risk the few seconds it would take them to cross the open clearing into the woods.
“This way.”
He slung the gun about his shoulder and grabbed Isa’s hand, steadying her shaky legs as she stumbled down the rocky slope toward the loch, splashing into the water. He inflated the neutral buoyancy float on his wet bag, setting it to suspend the equipment four to five feet below the water’s surface then tethered it to his hip. The metal brace about his knee might suffer, but it could be replaced.
“Across the loch is the most direct and safe route. Given your rough treatment, I have to ask. Is it too cold? Too far?”
Another shot rang out in the dark.
“Not in the slightest,” she answered, throwing aside the wool blanket and wading into the water. “I want nothing more than to swim away from this nightmare.”
Ignoring as best he could the glorious sight of her naked form standing waist-deep in the moonlight, Alec pointed across the loch, to the faint glimmer of lamplit windows. “Aim for that small village. Stay close to the surface, close to me.”
Isa nodded, and Alec stared in amazement as she inhaled deeply, closed her nose—closed—then dove into the water and disappeared beneath its surface.
Chapter Twenty-One
AS A GRAY DAWN broke outside, Isa stood in the hallway of her Glasgow town home, a hand pressed to her chest, and stared in shock while Alec scoured the house, searching behind every stick of furniture—broken or not—and peering into every dark corner.
Though she’d been unconscious for the vast majority of the past few days, she felt like she’d not slept in weeks. A megalodon attack, a stomach-turning journey in an airship, an exotic, Finn-targeted amoebic infestation compounded by imprisonment as a mad scientist’s test subject? And still there was to be no rest.
Her eyes swept over the reckless damage. A chair had been overturned, a lamp shattered, but most of the chaos concentrated about the study’s large oak desk. From the papers strewn about the floor at its base, it wasn’t much of a leap to conclude that the burglars had been looking for Anton’s laboratory notes and grown infuriated when they’d been unable to locate what they sought. She’d hidden them where no one would think to look.
All of this because of her traitorous uncle. Fiercely loyal to the Finn people, he had joined the British Navy and risen to a high rank, inspiring a number of Finn, including Aron, who had set his sight upon—and won—a position on the BURR team. No matter how she despised her uncle, not once would she ever have thought him capable of such atrocities. How many lives had he stolen?
Pieces were falling in place, but gaping holes remained. Why would her uncle encourage experimentation upon his own people? Why would Maren allow her eldest child to remain in the hands of a mad scientist, gentry though he was? What did either of them stand to gain from such actions?
Isa had dedicated her entire life to helping the Finn people, doing all that tradition demanded to earn—prove—her place among them. The depth of her family’s betrayal cut to the quick. Promises made and broken, shattering her life upon the sharp rocks of their own agendas, beginning with the lie that had been her marriage.
Her mother had cared only that her daughter found a Finn husband so as not to bring further shame upon the family. Her uncle had abused his half-sister’s wishes, arranging Isa’s marriage to suit himself, to exploit her medical knowledge, intelligence and drive. Maren had arrived as an emissary, urging Isa to accept Anton’s proposal all the while handing her own child over to Isa’s uncle as a bargaining piece to further whatever bizarre agenda was afoot. She found it hard to dredge up much sympathy for Anton or Lord Roideach, who were both participants and pawns. To think of all the suffering they’d caused! And would cause, unless stopped.
Since their first meeting, Alec—a man who barely knew her—had repeatedly put himself in harm’s way to keep her safe. He’d earned her loyalty, proving himself worthy again and again. Him, a Scot, she could trust.
She had so much to tell him, so much to ask, but they had been unable to speak privately the entire trip home. Between his combat clothing, a rifle-shaped bag slung over his shoulder, and her bedraggled appearance—tangled hair, no corset and stolen skirts that were several inches too long—they’d drawn far too much attention. But the farmer had let them onto his steamcart for a fee and, though he’d raised eyebrows and warned them not to cause trouble, the conductor on the train hadn’t thrown them off.
Through the entire journey, Alec had kept her by his side, wrapping his strong arms about her to draw her close whenever the memories of the tank—of how close she’d come to being a victim of those horrible, groping tentacles—surfaced. She didn’t feel safe—not remotely—but for the first time she didn’t feel alone.
She jumped when a loud clang echoed from the cellar. Why was Alec firing the furnace when they wouldn’t be staying long? Glasgow was no longer safe for them, not with the influence and power a Naval officer and a gentleman would soon bring to bear. Running wasn’t a long-term solution, but she had no better plan. Perhaps Alec did. She briefly closed her eyes as a gentle heat wafted up through the floor registers about her feet, cutting the chill from the air and bringing with it a measure of relief and comfort.
“All clear.” Alec strode back into the hallway, filling its space with his wide shoulders and his grim expression, every inch a fierce warrior.
Her heart jumped to attention, beating faster. What was it about this side of him that called to her, made her want to wrap her hands around the base of his skull and drag those full lips down to hers? She swallowed hard, fighting the sudden upwelling of lust, and forced her mind back to the situation at hand.
Stopping some feet away, he
holstered his weapon. “You understand we cannot let your family—or any members of your community—know we’re here?”
“Of course.” Her family adored Uncle Gregor. She doubted they’d believe her story and, even if they did, there was nothing they could do to stop him, not without risking their own lives.
“Don’t activate any lights. Don’t answer the door. Don’t send them any messages via skeet pigeon.” His lips twisted. “Though there’s an entire flock perched on your kitchen window sill. We’ll collect the messages and set the birds aside.” He shifted on his feet. “I do need to send one message. To my brother. He’s a government… official with some influence.”
A cautious hope fluttered in her chest. “And now that we have names, he can arrange for their arrest?”
“I sincerely hope so. But he can be difficult to contact.” His steely blue eyes softened as he looked at her, then grew warm as his gaze traveled over the wreck of her attire. “While we wait, we’ll have a few hours to rest and regroup. To talk.” A smile flashed. “But first I thought you might like a hot bath.”
A chance to wash away the soot and dirt that clung to her skin and the bits of hay lodged in her hair? She hadn’t dared to hope for such a luxury. Yet curiosity nailed her feet to the floorboards. This was the first time he’d offered her a personal glimpse into his life and, suddenly, she wanted to know more.
“Just one brother?”
He glanced at her, stabbed his fingers into his unkempt hair. “I’ve two. A full brother and a half-brother. And a half-sister.” Arriving at some internal decision, he took a deep breath and peeled back a layer. “Not via the acceptable route of death and remarriage, however. My father doesn’t subscribe to the concept of faithfulness, hence my half-brother. My mother retaliated, producing my sister. My parents fight like cats and dogs. I can’t recall a single childhood moment of household harmony.”
“I’ve some experience with that,” Isa said, offering a confidence in return. She lifted a lock of her hair. “Red hair is unusual among the Finn. My grandmother took a Scottish lover after her husband’s death. My mother was the result. I am a constant reminder of that indiscretion, a fact held against me and my siblings by an entire community.”
