Fathom (Mermaids of Montana #3) - Elsa Jade Page 0,78

called. “You are interfering with an authorized trajectory. Withdraw at once.”

A moment of tense silence crackled across the void of space. “Return the fire-witch. She is mine.”

The growl, deeper than the hum of the engines, went through her bones, and though she tried to stiffen against the effect—she was trying to be strong, remember?—she swayed.

He was here. Sting had come for her.

“You are in violation of closed-world protocols,” Cinek blustered. “We are repatriating a long-lost Tritonan native. Retreat at once or you will be neutralized.”

“Give me Lana or I will not move.”

“Lana?” Cinek cut a glance her way. “The light switch?”

“Mine.”

That growl sank deeper than Lana’s bones and into her very atoms. The chill that had sapped her ever since she woke up on the Atlantyri evaporated in the rush of heat from his declaration.

Cinek just made a rude sound. “And who are you?”

“You knew me as Phantom.”

The words were simple and yet had a profound effect on the bridge of the Cretarni ship. The crew sat frozen at their consoles, and Lana would’ve sworn even the computronic sounds ceased. When Sting had first told her the name Phantom, she’d been sad for him that he’d still been stuck with the reminder of nothingness. Now…

Well, now she could appreciate the dread rising like a noxious fog from the invaders around her.

Cinek straightened, but slowly, as if he had to remind himself who was captain of his ship. “Those were just stories—a myth to strike fear. Phantom never existed.”

“Yes.”

Lana held back a hysterical giggle when the Cretarni didn’t seem as reassured by that confirmation as Cinek obviously hoped.

The Cretarni captain ruffled his head feathers. “Blockading ship, if you think—”

Abruptly, the forward screen flicked over to utter darkness, as if the front of the bridge had blown away to reveal the void minus its stars.

Until Sting sat forward, coming into view. His shielded eyes reflected the glow from indicators somewhere on his own screen, and the red pinpoints swam like demonfish in the silver. Instead of the beautiful luminescent shimmer she’d seen on their dives, his skinshine was matte black, like an ominous tattoo spelling out doom in some language even her universal translator didn’t know except instinctively.

Even knowing him, even wanting him, still she shivered with atavistic terror at the nightmare rising from the deeps of her own subconscious.

Oh god, how she wanted him.

The Cretarni obviously didn’t have that same complicated response. As if the intervening space between their ships wasn’t enough, the soldier in front of her retreated a half step, bumping into her. Gaze still locked on the screen, he snarled like it was her fault and edged away.

She stepped back too, closer to the bulkhead in an empty slot between control consoles.

Sting’s white stare gave no clue to his focus or if he even saw her—maybe the Cretarni ship hadn’t activated their cameras—but somehow she knew he knew she was there.

Or was she fooling herself again? Oh, he might know the Cretarni had taken her, but did he actually care? Well, of course he’d want to stop the Cretarni—it was all he’d done his whole life—but did he care about her? After all, he’d been ready to leave her behind and return to Tritona.

It would be her fault if his home, which he’d fought so hard for, was destroyed.

Wedging herself deeper into the gap between the consoles, she brandished the small pistol she’d snagged from the distracted soldier when he bumped into her. Apparently learning to palm tarot cards was going to prove useful after all…

“Sting!” she yelled. “Fire on this ship! They are going to bomb Earth and use my zaps to sterilize Tritona. You have to fire—!”

Cinek whirled with a clattering curse. “Close comms!”

And lose her connection to Sting? Panicked, she swiveled the pistol toward the comm console and fired. Designed for a seven-fingered hand, the weapon jumped in her grip, and the beam of concentrated light went wild even though Ridley had given her and Marisol some shooting lessons. But the Cretarni seated there dove out of the way—and Sting stayed on the screen, a lifeline she couldn’t touch no matter how much she yearned.

She jerked the gun back toward Cinek. “Maybe I can’t blow up this ship, but I can put holes in all of you.”

It wouldn’t have worked if his crew hadn’t been distracted and unnerved by Sting’s looming presence. But she’d made use of his borrowed power.

The Cretarni spread all his fingers, though she wasn’t sure if that was a gesture of