Fathom (Mermaids of Montana #3) - Elsa Jade Page 0,73

ironic that submitting her own genetic information to Marisol’s study to find a cure for Wavercrest syndrome had resulted in making her situation even worse. She was no longer just a danger to herself or a few of those closest to her. No, she was a weapon against an entire world.

“This is terrible,” she whispered. “I didn’t know…”

“It shouldn’t be your burden,” Cinek said. “This wasn’t your war.” His voice took on a mesmerizing cadence. “I brought you here not to take you away, but to take away the power you say you never wanted. I can make you what you thought you were—an unsuspecting Earther, no fire, no connection to some distant alien world, no more the monster.”

She swayed on her feet, her eyes half closing at the promise he was holding out. Hadn’t she said exactly this, that she wanted no part of the war, that she didn’t want to be where she wasn’t wanted in return? And now these old enemies of the ones who’d declared her cursed were offering her a chance to take back the life she’d never really had. A chance to be…

“How?” she asked hoarsely. “How will you get the power out of me?”

“The progressions that the ship uses to keep the water purified here should work to separate the biogenic components from your blood, leaving only your Earther heritage behind.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Should?”

Cinek showed all his teeth again, and she suspected that this time he was attempting an Earther smile. And he wasn’t any better at it than Sting was. “It is more than the Tritonesse offered you, yes?”

He wasn’t wrong about that. She stared down hard at the water circulating through the spokes of the huge wheel as it had done for centuries hidden away down here. She felt almost as battered as those imaginary shores, almost as forgotten.

Because in the end, she’d never had anyone save her. Yes, her mother had returned, and maybe Sting hadn’t left yet, but they couldn’t fix what the Tritonesse had started. No one could.

Except this Cretarni, or so he said.

She kept her gaze on the waters. “And if I say no?”

“Remember the inferno we dropped upon your dwelling?’

She jerked her head in a nod, trying not to picture her mother huddled under the piano, Thomas somewhere downstairs, their spilled drinks catching fire.

“That is what I will do to your little village, to as much of this little planet as I can reach. And then I will take what I need from you anyway.” Cinek pointed three of his seven fingers toward the spire. “The purifying progressions are kept there. Will you go willingly, fire-witch, or will you fight? And lose.”

All the times she’d told Sting to forget the war. And here she was.

“I’ll go,” she whispered. “What choice do I have?”

“None. You never had a choice, not with the switch in your bones.”

Her body and mind seemed as frozen as her bare toes as Cinek led the way through the Atlantyri to the spire. It was a lot of steps to descend from the outer wall, through dry walkways since the Cretarni couldn’t breathe underwater, heading for the center. Sting would’ve just held her close and dived…

But he wasn’t here, was he?

As numb as she was with cold and fear, that thought still speared her. She’d always been on her own, so why should that hurt so much?

Instead of going up in the spire, they went down. She hadn’t even realized the depths at which the Atlantyri was embedded in the local terrain. No wonder it had never been found until a trio of Wavercrest women tried to find the answers to their strange symptoms.

Cinek gestured her through a doorway to a large room. To her shock, another handful of Cretarni were waiting, though these individuals were not armed or armored.

The new bunch were dressed in featureless pale gray, like doctors or researchers. Or maybe off-brand torturers. One of them, taller than the others and with lighter colored feather-fur, gestured to her. “Lie down here,” the Cretarni said in a higher pitched voice that made Lana think female, although there were no other identifying characteristics.

Reluctantly, she turned her attention to the makeshift exam table. It was really just some plasteel crates shoved together, not even the same height. Which way did she want her back bending uncomfortably? Moving slowly, but not so slowly that they might accuse her of delaying, she sat down on the low box. “What are you going to do