Fathom (Mermaids of Montana #3) - Elsa Jade Page 0,3
envision will not keep anyone confined to the depths, not the Tritonesse hidden for their own good, nor the Titanyri trapped like you. This planet is broken, yes, but from the pieces we can rebuild a better place for all of us.”
After a ringing moment of silence, Ridley cheered aloud. “Marisol for mayor! You have my vote, ma’am.”
“Abyssa,” Sting murmured. He didn’t realize his hands were in fists until his talons pierced his palms.
Marisol shook her head. “The Abyssa—or whatever voice from your past lurks at the center of this world—has a penchant for poetry that I find difficult to put into practice. Tritona now needs something more actionable.”
The words flowed over Sting like choppy, sandy surf, grating on his gills.
Ridley snorted too. “Okay, too much politics,” she said cheerfully. “We’re still stuck in limbo between the war that was and the future that will be.” She glanced at Sting. “Marisol and I feel responsible that Lana is in the wind.” When he tilted his head, she clarified, “Ran away. We can’t go after her ourselves until the council rep does their planetary assessment, and they are taking their own damn sweet time.” She scowled. “Coriolis and Maelstrom have to be here too, to put on a good show for the rep. Even if they were able to go right away, they would take you because they say you are the best hunter on Tritona.”
He replied with the simple answer. “There are no others like me.”
Maelstrom hissed out a slow breath, and if they’d been underwater, Sting guessed it would’ve been frustrated steam. “At least you’ve been to Earth, which is more than any other Tritonyri can say. And you’ve met Lana, and know her scent. If anyone can track her across the galaxy, it’ll be you.”
Sting eyed the other male. “Who are you trying to convince?”
Ridley laughed and nudged her mate with her elbow. “I think you Tritonans have not given Sting here the credit he deserves.”
Sting turned his cynical gaze toward her. “You are larger and less easily snackable,” he noted. He ignored the way Maelstrom began to rumble deep in his chest. “I don’t fight for credit or even real coin. I hunt because I am Titanyri, aimed to kill.” He let out a pulse hard enough to riffle the furled sails, keeping all three in his senses at once. “If I find her, I demand a boon.”
Maelstrom scowled. “Sting.”
But Marisol lifted her chin. “Yes.”
Sting nodded. She was not going to be just another sleek, clever Tritonesse, swimming circles around him with their sideways words until he was lost in the bubbles. “When I find her, you will free my beast.”
Marisol and Ridley both glanced at Maelstrom, their brows furrowing when the Tritonyri reared back in shocked affront. “I fought by your side for years. I will not euthanize you—”
“Not kill,” Sting said. “Free. Give me peace, and let the Titanyri sink to the depths where it can sleep again forever.”
Maelstrom and Marisol sputtered, but Ridley stared at him, her gray eyes shining. And he suddenly remembered that before she came to Tritona, she had been afraid of the water, although that should’ve been impossible for one with even a drop of Tritonan blood.
He focused on her. “The fathoms call me,” he told her softly. “They sing my name in tones that make my bones dance. In the darkness is my place, is my peace.”
“Oh, Sting…” She bit her lip hard enough to bring a flush of red Earther blood to the surface of her skin.
Though he looked away, Maelstrom growled in the back of his throat. “You’re trying to piss me off.”
The Earther phrase was unfamiliar, but Sting got the gist. “The sea is vast,” he said blandly. “Plenty of room to be pissed.”
Marisol jerked her head back. “More than I wanted to know, boys.” With a harsh breath of her own that sent the water around her scattering back to the waves, she said, “Find Lana, bring her home, and you’ll have your peace.”
Chapter 2
For most of her life, carrying the Wavercrest last name had meant nothing to Lana. Sure, she knew of the Wavercrest Saltwater Foundation—who didn’t?—but growing up on the rough side of Denver in subsidized housing as far from the ocean as seemed possible, that name of privilege and possibility had seemed more like an idle prank than a forgotten genetic connection. And then the symptoms of the Wavercrest syndrome had hit and she’d been contacted by the reclusive billionaire heiress of