Fathom (Mermaids of Montana #3) - Elsa Jade Page 0,20
averted her face, her gaze dropping away from him, the racing of his pulse stumbled. Why did she not seize her moment to kill him and return to her quiet sanctuary unbothered?
Because she didn’t want to be a threat.
What an odd choice; he would have to think about that. But later. First, he rattled off the Diatom’s activation code. The lights brightened and a puff of warmer air wafted through the ventilation system.
“Welcome back, Phantom,” the AI said.
That made Lana glance up again at him. “Phantom?”
“So the Cretarni called me during the war,” he explained.
“Why?”
When he didn’t answer, the AI piped up instead. “Because the Cretarni believed the Phantom coalesced out of nothingness and left only nothingness behind.”
Instead of looking properly impressed, Lana gazed at him with that furrow between her brows. “But the war is over. Shouldn’t you have a name that isn’t…you know, all death and destruction?”
He squinted back at her. “What name?”
“I don’t know.” Her vague gesture reminded him of how she’d knocked him backward off her house the night before with a burst of power. “Something less…nothingness-y.”
“Why would I lie?”
She opened her mouth and then shut it again before shaking her head. “You got me there.”
Yes, he had gotten her here. And as soon as he repaired the ship, he’d get her back to Tritona. Turning back to the ship interface, he tapped in a series of commands.
The AI chirped back. “The requested status report has been sent to the bridge.”
Sting stalked through the ship, visually inspecting every corridor and system as he went. But he was more aware of the little nul’ah-wys trailing in his wake.
She was so small that her presence should not have interfered in the aerodynamic flow of his progress, but she seemed to take up an inordinate amount of space for her actual displacement value. Maybe it was because she was a fire-witch, whatever deep, secret perils that entailed. Or maybe it was the uneasy churn of her Tritonan and alien blood interfering with his flow.
Or maybe it was just the exact configuration of her curves that seemed to flash back his sonar to disrupt the impassive silence of his existence.
Lana. That word was as small as the rest of her. But before the Tritonesse had forcibly schooled the passage of air through his mouth and speech into his tongue, he would not have been able to say her name aloud, small as it was. Before he’d been disciplined, he might’ve eaten the little female in one gulp.
“You could call me something else,” he said. “If you want.”
He’d stopped abruptly so she had to sidle a step around or walk right into him. “What?”
“What.” He tested the word. “That name is even shorter than yours.”
“Wha…” She shook her head, her wet hair flicking. “I can’t just give you a name.”
“Why not? You got a name from someplace.”
She hesitated. “My mom. She used to tell me she’d known what my name would be the first time she felt me move inside her.”
“Would she name me if you won’t?”
The sudden drop of her lashes over her eyes was almost as much a shield as a Tritonan’s nictitating membranes. “She’s…not around anymore.”
“She left the planet?” How was that possible when the descendants of the Atlantyri had only recently learned of their origin? Abruptly he reconsidered. “Or you mean she descended on the Last Tide?”
Lana glanced away. “Dead? I don’t know. I lost track of her a long time ago.”
“I track things. Shall I find her for you in return for a name?”
“That’s not…” She blew out a hard breath. “Why do you want me to name you?”
“Because the Tritonesse never bothered, and the Cretarni named me after nothing.” When she hesitated, he prodded, “You called to the seahorses by their own names.” He half-closed his eyes, remembering. “Aphrodite. Ursula. Moana.”
“Those were just silly names from stories I love. But you’re not a pet.”
He considered. “No.” Wheeling away from her, he continued onward.
For a moment, only silence followed him. Then the soft thump of her bare feet caught up. “I… Wait. Sting—”
“I find no significant structural damage,” he announced, “despite you crashing, although the ship is not designed for submersion and long-term neglect.” He walked faster. “Unlike me.”
She tucked her chin down between her hunched shoulders. “I didn’t mean—”
“I should be able to leave this place without too much time or effort,” he said over her excuse and over her head. Perhaps he should throw her in the secured hold now while he had her