Fathom (Mermaids of Montana #3) - Elsa Jade Page 0,63
within, so he rapped at the glass—not as gently as he’d signaled the seahorses.
Evens appeared on the other side, brow furrowed. He unlocked the door from within and shoved it open, peering up and down the street, before waving Sting inside. “You look like a stuntman from The Creature from the Black Lagoon, only halfway through your time in the makeup chair.”
Only a few of the words made sense. “Titanyri are found in deeper waters than lagoons.”
Evens clicked his tongue, not a strong enough pang to hold off any deep-sea monster. Or even a seahorse, for that matter. “I meant you shouldn’t be lurking around Sunset Falls without Lana to cover for you.”
Sting shifted from one bare foot to the other. He’d wanted Lana to cover him. “I’ve come for the test.”
Evens scowled as he yanked down curtains across the windows, peering out before he jerked the last one into place. “What tests?” He whirled to face Sting.
“The test that proves my compatibility with Lana.”
Evens scowled deepened. “That’s not…” He rubbed his forehead. “The dating questionnaires don’t give you a specific person, more like a type or a range of personalities that might be compatible with yours.”
“In a war, you don’t target a type,” Sting informed him. “You aim for one eye, one head, one heart.”
Evens tucked his chin. “Um, this isn’t a war? You’re not trying to shoot her.”
Frustration tightened Sting’s skin, flaring the thickened joints of his armored skin, the same way as when he was under attack. “Not shoot her.” His lack of words had never bothered him before, except now, when he couldn’t explain. “But Lana is my only mission. My…need.”
Even studied him. “Yeah, I imagine the number of possible matches to your compatibility type is going to be pretty small.”
“Lana is pretty and small,” Sting informed him. “And she is all I want.”
After a moment, Evens’ expression softened in a way that Sting found far more alarming than his exasperation. “And what if she wants more choice?”
Sting stiffened. “I am more.”
“Well, you’re too much, that’s for sure,” Evens muttered. “Okay, look, you beta test my dating quizzes for the Big Sky IDA, and maybe that’ll give you a better sense of why you can’t force a connection.”
Force had always served him well in the past. But it was true he’d never had a mission like this. Waging war was one thing; winning Lana was something else.
He gave the Earther male a short nod. “Start the test,” he commanded. “How long do I hold my breath?”
“What? No. That’s not how—”
“I must warn you that whipping, blunt force, and projectile weapons may cause me to react without conscious control. For your own safety, you should administer any such tests from a secure distance. There should be at least one wall of sufficient thickness between us.”
Evens shook his head. “I’m telling you, it’s not that kind of test—”
“I have been increasing my tolerance to electrical stimulus, so if you want to study those tolerances, I think you’ll find I’d make an excellent mate for Lana—”
“Sting!” Evens propped his hands on his hips. “Stop talking. Listen to me. A dating quiz is supposed to make you think about who you are, and what that means about the kind of person you might enjoy being with, whom you might love. And who might love you back.”
Sting shifted from one foot to the other, his bare heels slipping infinitesimally against the few drops of water trickling from his pretend Earther clothes. “I don’t need to tests to know what I am. Titanyri, a monster raised from the deeps to fight an endless war.”
“And yet the war did end, didn’t it?” Evens asked softly. “So maybe you don’t actually know your own depths now.”
Sting bit his lip as Lana so often did, and the small pressure/pain soothed him, reminding him that he was here, in this moment, not some other. Also, it reminded him of her, which calmed him even more. He nodded at the other male. “I understand. I am in unknown waters. Whatever the tests or training, I’m ready to begin.”
Evens’ jaw cranked from side to side for a moment, as if he had more words to say. But he didn’t, and instead gestured toward the back room. “Come to my office. We’ll get started with the IDA intake questionnaire.”
In the cramped back room, overflowing with objects that held no meaning for Sting and a few clearly purloined from the IDA outpost, Sting took the seat where Evens gestured him.