Fathom (Mermaids of Montana #3) - Elsa Jade Page 0,62

anonymity. And for once, he was glad of the extra layer in the water. It was no colder than before, but somehow his skin seemed raw, vulnerable, missing the warmth of Lana against him. Surely the effect would fade, his skin would thicken and toughen again.

Wouldn’t it?

He stepped toward the middle of the pool, where the fish-tailed statue in the center of the fountain held a vessel upended from which should fall a stream of water. No water flowed from the vessel now, but his Titanyri senses felt the rush of waterways connected here. Another step would take him down the hidden passageway to where the aquifer awaited him.

Taking him away from this abode.

Away from Lana.

He took another step, and the water rose to the apex of his thighs, so recently nestled against Lana. He sucked in a breath at the sudden chill, and caught the drifting fragrance—that rich spice that he had never tasted before and never would again.

Holding onto that breath, he sank beneath the water.

Without the need to warm the way for her or make sure she was breathing, he swam the distance to the Diatom and did not surface until he was in the ship’s hold. It took a moment for the AI to chirp a welcome and ignite the lights and temperature controls. None of which he needed, although he appreciated that something cared to make a welcoming space for him.

He strode through the ship, checking the repaired systems as the AI rattled off its own internal reports. It finished with, “All systems within operating parameters. Departure possible upon request. Still required: an approved exit trajectory. Contact closed-world security for updated codes.”

Sting grunted. “Use the exit trajectory for the Big Sky Intergalactic Dating Agency, Sunset Falls, Montana, United States of America, Earth.”

The AI clicked quietly a moment. “Authorization for those protocols was withdrawn.”

“Emergency override,” Sting snapped. “Use the discontinued protocols for launch.”

“Override for a closed world requires authorization from—”

Sting growled again and shoved his datpad against the input. The Tritonesse and Coriolis might be trying to establish new legitimacy with the intergalactic council, but Tritona had not survived this long by waiting obediently for authorization. After he tapped out a nav countermand hack, the AI chirped back. “Trajectory approved. Protocols loaded. Awaiting launch command.”

He should give that command right now. The ship would need to shed the weight of the water after it lifted off, and he required a moment to run through all the systems again before exiting the atmosphere. But when he opened his mouth to say the word—just one word—no sound came out. As if he had no air to push past his vocal cords, or no vocal cords of all, and not even the strength in his sonic pings to give the order to leave.

It had been a long few days since he arrived on this planet, and he’d had little rest. Although he’d gone longer during the war, these were not those times. Perhaps he could take a little longer, to prepare the ship for its journey home—and himself.

Without responding to the ship’s query, he returned to the half-submerged hold. Lowering himself into the cool water, he wrapped one arm around the hatch strut and pillowed his head on the plasteel decking, only thinly softened by a layer of accumulated Earther silt and algae. He gave it a lick. It was not as good as silken chocolate pudding cups.

With a sigh of all his bubbles, he extended his gills. At least the water tasted fine, even if it was better sucked off Lana’s skin in the shower or kissed off her lips.

He dreamed of her.

Hours later, waking without her, the musty tang of mud on his tongue left him hungry. He couldn’t very well leave for Tritona without replacing the food supplies or he might eat the ship. Even the AI couldn’t question that decision.

But as he made his way back through the aquifer channels, he found himself turning aside from the route to the Wavercrest abode. Instead, he emerged from a storm drainage system on the edge of town. The tough, flexible fabric of his printed clothing shed the water quickly as he strode the streets. He’d forgotten the footwear though; just as well it was late and the Earthers had sought their own abodes. The myriad smells might’ve lured him in if anything had hinted at chocolate.

Or Lana.

But he made it to Evens’ Odds & Ends Shop without being hooked. Though the lights were off, he sensed movement