Fathom (Mermaids of Montana #3) - Elsa Jade Page 0,66

most inland mountain range.

Because if there was one battle he’d never win, it was a war of words.

Before he could answer—and he wasn’t sure what the answer would be, when words didn’t mean as much as what he could do—one of the non-Earther sensors on the shelf behind Evens’ desk chirped a warning. He stiffened.

Even swiveled to look at the small device. “What’s that about?”

“Incoming ship,” he said tightly. “But without the full array of sensors, it’s impossible to tell what or who.” He rose and started toward the door.

Evens was right behind him. “Maybe it’s someone who needs an Earther bride.”

“There’s only one trajectory approved for access to this area,” Sting informed him. “And anyone following the protocols would know that the IDA outpost here is closed, and there’s no other reason to come here.”

“Well, Big Sky Country is a nice place to visit,” Evens muttered.

“Not according to intergalactic law that controls access,” Sting reminded him. “Anyone inbound is doing so with questionable intent.”

“That would’ve included you,” Evens reminded him.

“Exactly.” Sting went to the big bank of covered windows. “The mineral composition of the land and water here disguises the presence of extraterrestrial visitors, which is the reason Sunset Falls was chosen as the site for the IDA outpost. But any visitors with time, inclination, and finely tuned sensors would be able to locate the technology you’ve taken. You don’t have a charter from the IDA or the intergalactic council to operate a business on a closed world. And you don’t have the weaponry to back up your claim. So you may be in danger from whoever has arrived.”

“Who says I don’t have any weapons?” Evens’ eyes glittered.

Sting considered him with renewed interest. “I will track down the arrivals and determine their purpose. Either return all the salvage to the outpost and make yourself scarce, or keep those weapons close.”

“We won’t let anything else bad happen in Sunset Falls.”

For his whole life, Sting had heard the same about Tritona. And where had that promise gotten them?

He sped out the front door, hardly noticing Evens behind him. They both looked up at the dark sky just as a thin arc of fire trailed away across the night.

The shopkeeper—who was maybe something more?—grimaced. “No chance that’s just a shooting star, right?”

“The stars are never the ones doing the shooting,” Sting said. “I have to get back to Wavercrest.”

“Wait, take my bike. It’ll get you there faster.”

Evens gestured for him to a small shed behind the shop where he unlocked the door and emerged from the darkness with a small surface vehicle.

“Motorcycle,” Evens told him. “The balance is important—”

Sting mounted the device and with a trigger of his wrist datpad, the powerful engine roared to life. Quirking his lips, the other male enclosed the keys within his palm and gave Sting a brisk nod.

This vehicle was to be preferred since the roar prevented more words.

Sting wheeled it around on the heel of his bare foot and released its momentum.

For one swiveling moment of disorientation, the machine tried to slip out from beneath him and leave him behind. It reminded him of the time when, as a reckless spawnling, he had sneaked out of his prison to confront the boundary beast that lurked around the Abyssa’s shrine. He’d known it might kill him but that hadn’t seemed reason not to ride one. He’d crept up on it and swam close enough to latch himself to its back—like a barnacle, or so had been his intent. For one exhilarating moment, the boundary beast had spun him through the waters as if he were caught in the first moments of a mating season storm cyclone. In the next beat of his pounding heart, it had flung him loose, nearly bashing him to death against the ragged outcroppings where it made its home. Rather than protect himself, he’d had to embrace the stone and bury himself deeper to avoid the gaping maw full of fangs that pursued him.

At least this motorcycle didn’t have teeth.

And this time he clung with more strength. And determination. Because he must return to Lana immediately.

The roar and stink of the machine overwhelmed his own predatory senses, but he needed only his keen eyesight to see that the arc of the incoming ship pointed straight to the Wavercrest abode. His eyes, calibrated for the deeps, needed no light on the road to Wavercrest, even with the darkness of the night sky. But the sensitive receptors of his eyes sparked with warning—and ignited