Fathom (Mermaids of Montana #3) - Elsa Jade Page 0,9

you go, there you are. And all the places immediately adjacent too. You get to claim all that space.” She glared at him. “And armored. You have an armored hide, so of course you’re confident in your own skin. And your eyes.” Oh, she was really getting warmed up now. “Since you have those protective lenses permanently frozen over your eyes, no one can tell what you’re thinking. I bet you don’t even get weepy ever, do you?”

“Not always.”

She paused in her rant. “What?”

“My eyes. They aren’t frozen like this.”

She blinked. “Oh. I thought…”

He blinked too, as if mocking her.

She stared. It took her a moment to realize anything had changed. His eyes were so pale that the white shield might as well still have been there. Until he slightly turned his face away, as if he suddenly missed the invulnerability that she ranted about. As he glanced down, the glow of firelight reflected across his exposed eyes with the faintest opalescent sheen like the delicate inner layers of a perfect pearl.

Her heart beat at seeing the huge, armored male reveal himself like that to her. Considering the rest of his body was so blatantly on display in the skimpy straps of his battle skin, it shouldn’t have seemed so revealing just to blink. And yet…

She glanced away, her pulse rattling harder as if to make up for that missed moment. “I’m not like you,” she whispered. “And I can never go back.”

Without looking at him again, she fled the library.

If she couldn’t get rid of him, at the very least she could run away herself.

Chapter 3

Sting settled on the ground where he could see both the glass of small aquatic creatures and the flickering flames. Sitting on the hard ground was not as comfortable as floating in the heavy brine of Tritona’s sea, and he contemplated climbing into the large cistern. But his body would push out most of the water, negating the flotation, and his little distant cousins would not survive the tidal wave he’d make.

Anyway, the sensation of holding his own weight was interesting for the moment. As was the experience of being on his own.

The Tritonesse had made him as a weapon, one to be wielded in deliberate, targeted ways. Coriolis had believed that Titanyri could be more than that and had given him a longer leash. During the war, the Tritonesse had been hiding too far in their trenches to notice and object, but Sting had to wonder now if his commander was wrong.

When he’d realized that the access codes through the closed-world protections were invalidated, he told his shipmates to drop him and retreat immediately before they were noticed by planetary enforcement. Tritona couldn’t afford to be caught breaking intergalactic law, but his commander had given him this mission, and he would see it through. At the time, it seemed like a small matter to go by himself, to hunt and retrieve one part-Tritonan female, and depart in her stolen ship. Discovering that the Diatom had crashed was a hectopi itch he’d not foreseen.

And discovering that the female had potentially lethal stings of her own…

The crackle of her electricity had seared across his eyes and all his sensory organs. He’d heard how the Tritonesse had been furious and fearful at the discovery of a nul’ah-wys in their midst. Considering that they’d made him and set him loose without hesitation or second thought should’ve given more credence to the possibility that she was dangerous.

Sitting halfway between the fire and the water, he wiggled his fingers thoughtfully in the air. How did she do it? It had been so pretty, like all of the bioluminescence of the deeps compressed into brilliant threads of lightning.

His dreamy gesture focused his attention on the datpad strapped to his wrist. The small device couldn’t reach all the way to Tritona, of course. Probably he could patch in to the house comm and send a message that would eventually reach his commander.

But not yet. They wanted her back on Tritona, but since she was safe in his presence, there was time to lure her closer without unnecessary fuss or electrocution.

And if she didn’t want to give in…

He pushed to his feet and went to the water. Reaching over the lid of the cistern, he dabbled his fingertips lightly on the surface. It was salty, warmer than his natal waters, but a faint tang reminded him of home.

A little creature, sinuously curved with dimpled skin, loosed itself from its anchored safety in