Fathom (Mermaids of Montana #3) - Elsa Jade Page 0,82
the hatch door was destroyed; they needed to get back inside and reestablish whatever atmosphere they could save.
Keeping Lana tight against his chest, he struggled to the inner portal, overrode its warning about releasing the atmosphere, and forced his way within. The blast of precious air almost knocked him back into the space, but he hung on to their one chance at survival with the same ferocity he held Lana.
She was still alive, and he’d keep her that way.
He had to manually force the portal closed behind him, as if the Diatom had given up on its warnings and suggestions. Maybe that data gel Lana had revived had absorbed some wisdom too.
The preserved atmosphere was too thin, the gravity intermittent, but when Lana gasped, it was the sweetest sound to ever resonate against him.
“Engine failure detected,” the AI announced, almost apologetically. “Hull failure detected.”
Well, as the Earthers would say, fuck.
Still holding Lana tight, he limped for the bridge. Something wasn’t right with his leg, which wouldn’t have mattered if he was swimming, but in the glitching gravity, he kept careening off walls, and sometimes the ceiling or floor. He could only tuck himself around her to guard her from knocks, but he didn’t have time to check her status or his own.
Catastrophic failures probably detected there too.
Grimacing, he stumbled into the cockpit and slid Lana into the copilot seat.
She clung to him a moment. “Sting?”
“Here.” He brushed a wild curl of hair out of her dazed eyes.
“Death by deep space. Or death by exploding…”
“Catastrophic failure imminent,” the Diatom announced.
Lana’s dark eyes widened even more. “Both at once?”
He leaned close to put his lips on her crown and breathed with her for just a moment. “Together.”
She tilted her face upward to catch his mouth with hers. “Not die together. Live.”
He dropped into the seat beside her. “It’s going to be a hard landing.”
“Oh, I know all about those.” She grabbed the restraint harness and buckled in. She toggled the controls in front of her and reported, “Pretty much doomed across all indicators.”
He couldn’t help it—he laughed, even though the change in pressure in his own head made his vision spin.
She scowled at him. “Oh, you think that’s funny?”
“I think your humor aligns with mine,” he told her. “According to the Intergalactic Dating Agency tests, your physicality appeals to me with ninety-seven percent compatibility. You are bad at flying a spaceship, but I don’t mind. You smell like everything I like to eat. We are both monsters.” He breathed out a steadying exhalation. “Lana… Lana, I… I luh…” His tongue tangled, and he inhaled again, as if this were the deepest dive he’d ever attempted. “I would like to date you.”
“Sting—”
“Wait,” he interrupted. “The nav isn’t automatically projecting our course, and I have to program our crash by hand.”
She grimaced. “Ninety-seven percent compatibility?”
“According to the metrics of the IDA matching parameters, one hundred percent compatibility is nearly impossible and not actually recommended.” He cleared his throat and said in his reciting voice, “It is in those last few percentage points of incompatibility where our IDA matches learn to appreciate the uniqueness of an intergalactic love and practice the IDA ideals of curiosity, open-mindedness, honest communication, and heart-deep pleasure in the other.”
She peered at him, the warning lights flashing a reflection in her dark eyes. “You took the IDA matching tests?”
“Not all of it,” he admitted. “Evens seemed to think I wasn’t ready. And I only stole a few pages.” He gazed at her. “He demanded I not try to force you to be my match.”
She bit her lip, and it took almost all the strength left in his body to not lean over to lick that tiny indentation. “I suppose there are other high ninety-percent matches out there who also smell like things you like to eat, since you eat pretty much everything.”
“But you taste best of all.”
A flush deepened the dusky hue of her skin, although he might be the only one to sense it. “You should’ve left me out there,” she said in a broken whisper. “You could’ve just shot them out of the sky and saved Tritona and Earth. You’d have been a hero to two planets.”
“The Diatom doesn’t have the firepower,” he told her. “I was lying.”
She blinked at him. “I didn’t think you could lie,” she murmured. “So what else…” She shook her head. “None of that matters.”
“Nothing else matters,” he agreed. “Except if you would like to date me back.”