by Anne Renwick
Isa lifted a handheld magnifying lens and leaned closer. “And deeply. You’ll need my burr saw. Extraction and irrigation. But I’d close the vein first.”
“Agreed.”
They bent to the task.
An hour later, they were done. Both Jona’s vein and artery had been separated from the tentacles, and the barbed wire extracted from bone. All with minimal tissue damage. Still, he would have a lengthy and painful recovery. For now, all they could do was close and dress the wounds while hoping his immune system could overcome the worrisome infection.
Alec pulled the suture needle through skin, repairing the inflamed tissue of Jona’s shoulder as best he could.
Thud.
Isa screamed.
He dropped the needle and reached for his TTX pistol.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
THUD
Thud.
Thud thud thud.
Black-booted feet dropped from the air onto the boat’s deck. A rope dangled outside the window. Alec started to laugh. Isa—plastered to the wall—cried out a protest as he holstered his weapon.
“It’s my team dropping from a dirigible,” he said. Thank aether. His muscles had tied themselves into Gordian knots guarding against the next—seemingly inevitable—disaster. But now his team was here, and they always had his back. He could finally relax.
Shaw’s face appeared in the doorway. “Got a bird telling us we were needed? Something about raiding an underwater cave?”
Moray strode into the cabin and shoved his goggles onto his forehead. “I hope you weren’t planning to use that baby dart gun of yours,” he said, eyeing Alec’s holster. “For future reference, if you do, I’ll shoot you. Just enough to make it hurt.”
“Same goes,” Rowan said, following.
Rip held back, silent as always, his dark gaze taking in every detail of the room.
“Your brother contrived a leave of absence for Fernsby. Told us to choose our favorite dirigible and ride to your rescue. We plucked a bird from the base and came as fast as we could,” Shaw said. “From your message, I thought it best if we stayed out of the water. Between an attack megalodon on the loose and what with Moray being Finn, we didn’t want to risk it. Mr. Black told us about that nasty little amoeba Mrs. McQuiston caught.”
“Wait.” Alec held up a hand. “Moray told the team?”
“That I’m Finn.” Moray shrugged. “Figured that fish is out of the net. You’re lucky I was on hand when that submersible excursion took out your knee. We were so deep, my aquaspira breather cut out. I was working my selkie sorcery hard that day to drag you from the deep.” He grinned.
Should he be hurt that Moray hadn’t shared his secret? “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not something we like to trumpet,” Moray said. “Besides, it doesn’t take a Queen’s agent to uncover what’s going on between the two of you. I figured she’d work around to it.” A hint of regret crept into his eyes as he turned toward Isa. “For the record, I did speak to your uncle after our swim.”
Moray had once proposed to Isa? What else had he done?
Isa’s face burned bright red. “And he declined. Small surprise.”
“After your swim?” Alec repeated, then cursed himself for reacting to the needle Moray had jabbed under his skin. But it had the ring of a double entendre, and he was damned if he was going to let Moray attempt to drive a wedge between them.
“Nothing out of the ordinary for Finn.” Moray’s smile grew smug. “Isa and I grew up swimming in the Minch. Of course, around about age twelve or so, mothers tend to stop their daughters from swimming naked with the boys.” He winked at Alec.
Alec’s eyes narrowed, and he curled his hands into fists. It might be the Finn way of things, but he didn’t like the thought of anyone but him seeing Isa in the altogether. Not even her dead husband. Though, from her curious comments, Alec had to wonder if the idiot had ever bothered to really look beneath the bed sheets. But he didn’t doubt that Moray would, given the opportunity. Not that Alec would ever allow him the chance. If Moray hadn’t saved his life…
The room grew quiet. All the men knew Moray far overstepped the bounds of propriety, but were left to contemplate if such a whisper of a suggestion about a woman who wasn’t Alec’s wife—or even a fiancée—warranted punching a team member in the nose.
Isa placed her hand on his arm. “It’s the way of things out here on the islands. Let it go.”
Moray’s face grew serious. “Is that Jona?” He pushed past Alec to stand beside Isa. “He looks like shit.”
“Loss of blood will do that to a man.” Isa slapped at Moray, then picked up the needle Alec had dropped. “You’ve caused enough trouble. Stand back. I need to finish closing his wound.”
Pale, Moray shot the BURR team a pointed glance. “Mind you all keep your mouths shut. This is why we don’t share the details of our particular heritage.”
“Lips tighter than a clam,” Rowan said.
Isa tied a knot, packed Jona’s shoulder with a poultice, then wrapped it with a final bandage. With that, there wasn’t much more to do save wait and hope his fever passed. She drew the blanket over his chest, busying herself with restoring order to her cabin and avoiding the curious glances of his team.
“About that cave,” Shaw nudged.
“We’ve already been,” Alec said. “But Jona is the only man we were able to rescue.” The first note he’d sent—the one they’d received—had been brief, focused more on ensuring his team arrived quickly and with the right equipment in tow. He’d omitted names, not knowing the extent of Drummond’s reach within the Navy. “Commodore Drummond and his wife are the masterminds behind the disappearance of Finn. The megalodon, hyena fish, biomech octopus? All his.”
Jaws fell slack as he and Isa detailed what they’d found, from her own imprisonment to the discoveries they’d made in the sea cave.
Moray swore.
Rowan shook his head. “Mad scientists and their freaking inventions.”
Shaw nudged the bucket with his toe, jostling the subdued creature awake. “This thing here’s what’s been attacking Finn?”
An eye rolled in his direction as an octopus tentacle lazily lifted into the air, snaking toward Moray’s leg, tapping on his thigh. Hungry.
Alec yanked Moray away. “You’re welcome. This particular creature thinks you’re food. It’s been engineered to find Finn extra tasty.”
Isa spoke up. “What we don’t fully understand is what my uncle intends to accomplish using this biomech octopus. He’s on a quest to purify the bloodline, to establish a Finn homeland.”
“A kingdom,” Alec said. “He specifically promised to crown his wife queen.”
“Did he promise her a castle too?” Rowan asked. “Denmark is floating one across the North Sea to Iceland on giant pontoons. We’re supposed to help guard it during the wedding ceremony.”
“Not Iceland,” Rip spoke up. “Didn’t you pay attention to the briefing? The plan is to run it aground on the Faroe Islands. Establish a royal residence between the two countries.”
“A whole castle?” Alec’s eyebrows drew together. He could see from the various expressions of his team that they also didn’t find this a coincidence. Drummond had plans for that castle. They merely needed to determine what, exactly, those were. “Wouldn’t it tip or something?” he asked, envisioning the building canted upon a beach, its floors approaching a forty-five-degree angle.
Rowan shrugged. “Not my department, but the engineers were all aflutter with plans. If the BURR team is sent, we’re to function as no more than glorified bouncers keeping unwanted guests off the castle grounds.”
“Icelandic radicals would happily side with a powerful man—no matter how crazy—willing to storm that castle and stop the wedding.” Shaw tapped his chin. “We thought Commander Norgrove was on our side, ordering us to stop using aquaspira to exit submersibles, but now it turns out h
e’s in Drummond’s pocket. He’s already objected—vociferously—to Britain’s participation in the security detail for this royal wedding. Keeping the BURR team away would clear the way for Drummond to send in his OctoFinn.”
“An island kingdom could make good use of an underwater security force,” Alec mused aloud. He turned a considering eye on Moray. “If that creature was attached to the likes of you…” His voice trailed off as everyone stared at the pulsing creature, whose legs—arms? —now spilled over the edge of the bucket, some gently curling in the air, others skimming along the floor boards.
“I could stay under water indefinitely,” Moray admitted. “But there’s not a chance in hell I’d ever volunteer to let that thing touch me.” Tentacles contracted, hoisting the octopus’s head above the edge of the container. Two bulging, slit-like eyes stared out at them.
Shaw slid his knife free. “It looks like it might make a run for the door.”
“Keep it alive,” Alec ordered. “I want to study it.”
Isa poked the creature with a wooden spoon, and it fell backward into the bucket with a splash. She grabbed a bottle and poured a good bit of whisky into the seawater, then decanted a bit into a glass for herself, slugging it back.
Rip laughed. Laughed!
Alec’s own mouth twitched at her choice of sedative. It was the first crack of stress he’d witnessed in her demeanor; she’d held out far longer than he thought possible. “So, hypothetically speaking,” he ventured. “If a Finn attached to this creature was coerced to do Drummond’s bidding, he could exit a submersible at a significant depth, swim a great distance, then board a designated ship to, say, assassinate someone?”
Moray’s eyes narrowed. “With ease.”
Alec ran both hands through his hair. “Commander Norgrove reversed his position just last week.”
“The same day the royal wedding plans were announced,” Moray said.
“What wedding?” Isa asked.
All heads swiveled in her direction. All amazed that there was a single female in all of the British Isles that didn’t know. But then, Isa was a unique woman. Her intense focus on saving lives left her no time for the foibles and fancies of fashion and society.
“The wedding between the Crown Prince of Iceland and the Princess of Denmark,” Alec told her. “One to end the many disputes between their countries, a step toward unification, and so on and so forth.” He waved a hand about, then summed it up in one word. “Politics.”
“I see,” Isa said, tilting her head in thought.
“The wedding takes place in two weeks,” Shaw added.
“Drummond has gone to a lot of trouble to develop this biomech octopus.” Alec frowned, wondering if it was possible to convince her not to be directly involved. Unlikely. Besides, he’d promised her equal standing, insofar as that was possible. “He’s going to use it. If he’s not above killing and enslaving Finn men to perfect his technology, he’s certainly not above disrupting a wedding.”
“Grab your gear, Mac,” Shaw said. “Time to clean out a cave.”
~~~
“Mrs. McQuiston, this is Jasper Sinclair,” Alec said. “Newest member of our team. Like all the men, he’s trained as a medic.”
And would function as her guardian and assistant while the other men raided the underwater cave. This man had slid down the rope that hung from the dirigible, landing on her deck with a heavy sack of first aid equipment slung across his shoulder. The BURR definition of “first aid” consisted of enough supplies to open a small hospital.
“Call me Sinclair,” he said, flashing her a grin before executing a quick bow. “I’m told we need to prepare for up to four more tentacle-entangled men.”
She might hate being left behind, but this man was BURR, trained and capable of participating in the raid. If he could set aside such feelings to deal with the situation at hand, so could she. They were armed to the teeth and diving with the intent to put an end to all activities within the cave. She’d only be at risk and in the way. Besides, she couldn’t leave her brother-in-law.
Isa nodded. “And for any injuries your men might incur during the raid. For now, we need to move this man to a more comfortable location. There are extra blankets in that chest.” She pointed across the room. “The operating table was improvised. I’m certain we can improve upon its design and stability.”
“So noted.” Mr. Sinclair nodded. He quickly evaluated Jona’s condition, then began to roam through her cabin, taking stock of its contents so that they might assemble a temporary field hospital while ignoring Isa and Alec completely.
Thus granted an illusion of privacy, Isa crossed to Alec. “Your knee?” she asked softly. Her chest was tight with a mix of fear and pride as Alec gathered his equipment and prepared to head back into the cave.
“No longer crunches or grinds,” he reassured her. “Whatever Dr. Morgan installed fixed the problem.”
“But you’re wearing the brace?” Did all paramours fret so over their lovers?
“Of course.” He ran the back of a finger across her cheek. A movement so tender, she half-expected a declaration of love.
She blinked back a tear and closed her eyes. It seemed she was not immune to childish dreams of romance after all. The ties that bound them together were stretching. Whatever happened in the next few hours could strengthen them, or snap them irrevocably. She chose them carefully. “Come back to me, Alec. I’m not done with you yet.”
“I will,” he whispered. “Stay safe. With luck, we’ll return in an hour.”
As much as she wanted to see her uncle—and Maren—locked away in a dry prison without so much as a view of the ocean, Alec’s presence brought an excitement into her life and she did her best to embrace it.
After Aron’s comments impugning her character, Isa no longer cared who watched. She threaded her fingers into Alec’s hair and dragged his rough face down to hers. “I’ve grown rather more attached to you than I expected.”
His strong arms wrapped about her waist and drew her close. “Likewise.” His eyes glittered. “Perhaps we ought to reevaluate the terms of our affair?”
Excitement fluttered in her stomach. “Perhaps.” But certainly not in the presence of his team.
Pressing her lips to his, she claimed him openly with a kiss that was laced with an emotion that felt startlingly close to love.
Chapter Thirty
ISA PACED OUT ONTO the deck of her boat, lifting the spyglass to fix a nervous eye upon the aether-filled silver envelope that floated the BURR team’s dirigible a few miles distant. The cliffs that rose on either side of the small, rocky beach upon which her boat rested might provide a comforting sense of isolation, but they blocked her view of the water in front of the underwater passage to the sea cave.
Here, several miles away in this secluded harbor, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She scanned the stretch of water before her. Seabirds soaring, diving for food. Sunlight reflecting off waves. The occasional steamer passing on the horizon.
How much longer?
Inside the cabin, Jona rested. He was still feverish, but the infection showed no sign of growing worse. The biomech octopus’s attempts at escape had subsided with the application of more whisky. And Sinclair prepared for a full-scale disaster.
But the BURR dirigible showed no signed of returning. Wait. The balloon shifted, swinging in their direction, growing larger with each passing second. She pressed a shaking hand to her chest, praying that Alec and his team would return unhurt, that the raid was successful, that they had found enough evidence to convict her uncle so that no further disasters would befall the Finn people.
With blood stains and hours of surgery occupying the forefront of her mind, she’d selected an old, drab dress to pull over her linen shift. A corset had no place in a surgical suite regardless of its location. While Sinclair kept his gaze respectfully averted, she’d strapped her dive knife to her thigh, bound her hair tightly, and pulled on thic
k wool socks to wear beneath sturdy shoes. BURR boots were exceptionally thick-soled and, with luck, they’d soon be pounding across her deck carrying in octopus-laden Finn.
Boots, as it turned out, were a mistake.
A hand wrapped about her arm and pulled. One second she was on deck, the next falling through the air.
Splash.
She hit the surface of the water on her back. Not once had she ever entered the sea in such a manner. Never had she swum wearing so much clothing. Reflexes made her gasp at the air before she was dragged—a tangle of wet wool and linen—downward into a murky swirl of current and out to sea.
She thrashed, trying to yank free from the hand that held her, kicking and punching wildly, managing a few glancing blows to whomever—whatever—gripped her. An overwhelming urge to scream seized her, but it would be a silent and fatal breath. She needed to hold onto what little oxygen she’d managed to drag in.
A tentacle snaked about her waist. She clawed at it, but it was hopeless. Bare fingers couldn’t break the creature’s ever-tightening grasp.
Twisting, she turned and found herself face to face with the octopus’s host Finn. Two unfamiliar eyes as dark as wet slate locked onto her. Pitiless. Ruthless. A black pit of despair. She would find no mercy at his hands.
Heart pounding, lungs burning, Isa stopped resisting lest the creature wrap more tentacles about her limbs. It was the only way to save herself. The host Finn’s mouth flattened into a grim line, but he nodded. Releasing his hand from her arm, he swam with greater speed, swiftly descending. Bound to him by the parasitic tentacles, she was dragged along, ever deeper into the ocean toward a yellow, glowing disc. The eye of the megalodon.
She had interfered with her uncle’s plans—again—and this time she doubted he would show much mercy. But the OctoFinn he’d sent hadn’t killed her, a task he could have accomplished easily given the harpoon gun strapped to his bare thigh. Yet it was too much to hope Uncle Gregor might merely use her as an experimental subject; she expected torture would precede a gruesome death.
