Fathom (Mermaids of Montana #3) - Elsa Jade Page 0,16
picnic basket and a set of car keys. Lana nodded for him to hand both to Sting.
The staid butler raised both eyebrows. “Miss Lana…”
“If I stick a piece of metal in the ignition, I’ll likely blow up the car,” she said ruefully. “Since Sting has piloted a spaceship before, I’m sure he can handle a car.”
At her side, she was aware of the way Sting straightened. Was he that surprised she would give him the key? The Tritonesse had really done a number on him, making him believe he was nothing more than a killing machine. Well, he was a killing machine. But he was more than that too.
At least she hoped he was if he was actually going to repair the crashed ship and go away.
He had to move the seat of the estate’s big SUV all the way back to make room for himself behind the wheel, and he did a few donuts around the circular drive of the estate before she was sure he understood the controls.
“Where are the weapons systems?”
She gulped. So much for being more than a killing machine. “No weapons.” She had to sit on her hands to stop herself from batting him away as he poked at the other dashboard buttons.
Music came on, not too loud and very elegant. Exactly the sort of thing that a reclusive billionaire heiress would have programmed into her car’s sound system.
“Is something being slaughtered?” Sting wondered over the whine of violins.
Lana choked on a laugh. “Click the button next to it. Let’s see if she has anything else to listen to.”
The much louder and infinitely more aggro growly shriek of lady death metal ripped through the speakers. Obviously Marisol had been going some shit and had purged her emotions in heavy distortion and double kick drums. Lana would’ve laughed except she was mostly deafened.
Sting nodded along in time. “I like this,” he said loudly with the same enthusiasm he showed for cinnamon rolls.
Though she wasn’t feeling quite the same appreciation, Lana figured it was better than talking. She’d never been good at subterfuge, so it wouldn’t take much for Sting to realize she had no intention of accompanying him back to Tritona.
When they left the main road, flakes of snow appeared in the gray sky, and before long there were drifts across the forest roads that led to the lake. Despite the sketchy conditions, Sting handled the SUV deftly. Not a surprise, she supposed, since he’d taken command of a Cretarni spaceship all by himself during her first, last, and only trip off Earth.
It was high noon by the time they made it to the parking lot of the trailhead that served the lake, but the low slant of the sun didn’t clear the tops of the tall pine trees. They were the only ones in the snowy lot, and when they got out of the car, Lana shivered, partly at the cold but mostly at the realization that she was all alone. Not just alone with a big, violent, half-shark warrior. But basically alone in the universe.
It was one thing to feel small—she’d always been short, after all—but this was different.
The low clouds swirled overhead, and somehow in their gray haze, she sensed the vast, churning weight of water and crackle of electrons that in another season would’ve been a thundercloud. The slow whirl was mesmerizing, as if a magnetic force was trying to suck her upward into the sky…
Her knees buckled, and she tilted to one side. She would’ve fallen except for the strong hand at her elbow.
“I told you not to touch me,” she whispered. “I don’t want to zap you.”
“I’ve suffered worse,” he reminded her.
“I don’t want anyone to suffer because of me. Not again.”
His shielded eyes caught a gleam from the low clouds, the blank white reflecting silver. “Again?”
She bit her lip until she tasted blood. “Ever,” she amended fiercely.
His grip tightened on her arm, just a little, almost imperceptible. But she felt so attuned to him in the moment, a lightning rod waiting for the strike.
Then he released her. “You should stay here with the ground vehicle. I can find the Diatom on my own.”
That would be best, wouldn’t it? After all, she couldn’t be abducted by an alien if she wasn’t with him, right?
Except the clouds seemed to be sinking lower, like they wanted to swallow her. If Sting left, she’d be all alone with the dying day. Her pulse stuttered at the thought of being left.