by Jade, Elsa
For just a minute there, she’d been prepared to tell herself that maybe she’d dreamed the encounter. She scraped one hand over the back of her head, wincing at a tender spot where she’d knocked her skull in the submerged tunnel.
Clamping shaking fingers over the edge of the marble sink, she stared at herself in the mirror. He’d lured her into the water. He’d taken her under.
Her heart slammed recklessly. No one else—not even herself with all her hard-won discipline and furious self-talk—had gotten past her phobia.
With the shower cranked to ridiculously hot, she forced her hands to steady and went over her body with clinical detachment. But except for the almost imperceptible bump on the head, she found no signs of foul play. He hadn’t assaulted her while she’d been drugged or knocked out or whatever had happened to her. She didn’t even have that achy feeling in her chest that remained after getting rag-dolled and eating sand in rough surf.
Maybe it had been a dream.
Choosing her newest jeans and nicest hoodie from the clothing she’d brought, she dressed. At the bedroom door, she took a calming breath before opening. She quick-checked the hall and then hustled toward the stairs with her unobtrusive self-defense pen in her hand. Just in case.
At the bottom of the stairs, she caught a glimpse of the Wavercrest butler and hurried toward him. “Thomas. There was an intruder last night—” She broke off when he wrinkled his nose.
“So the gentleman in question has informed me,” he said stiffly. “I am going now to review the house security measures as he suggested.”
She blinked. “He’s…here?”
“In the library with Miss Wavercrest and Miss Lana. There’s a continental breakfast arranged, but please let me know if you have specific requests.”
She struggled to follow his change of topics. “Maybe I’d request that intruders not be given free run of the house?”
His lips twitched. “I would concur, but Miss Wavercrest informs me that she has the matter in hand.” His gaze drifted to her clenched fist. “But I see that you do as well. Please let me know if you’d prefer the shotgun.” He pivoted on his heel and stalked down the hallway out of sight.
Ridley pursed her lips, glancing warily toward the library. Maybe she should go get that shotgun now… She straightened. She couldn’t very well leave the other two women—not to mention whatever defenseless morning pastries Thomas had put out—alone with the sketchy dude calling himself Maelstrom. Maybe he had more of that strange drug that made her blood fizz. And he was big enough to eat every cheese danish and bear claw by himself. Clutching the small self-defense stick, she peered into the library.
Lana was at the aquarium tank, gesturing enthusiastically at the seahorses, while Marisol and Maelstrom watched, bemused.
He met Ridley’s glower the moment she peeked around the doorjamb and pivoted to face her, though he said nothing.
Marisol noticed a moment later. “Good morning, Ridley. I was just going to come up and check on you.” She flicked an enigmatic glance at the newcomer. “Maelstrom said you were shocked by the experiment you attempted last night but were otherwise unhurt.” She split the reproving glance between them. “And that’s why we’re waiting for the IDA before continuing our efforts.”
Lana hustled forward, swiping a glass of orange juice from the side table that had held the booze. “I’m so thrilled you made some progress with your phobia,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “This is fresh squeezed, Thomas said. It’s probably almost as good as what you get in California.”
Considering she’d been on a much reduced grocery budget for the last year, Ridley was willing to bet everything was better than what she’d been getting.
She accepted the small glass from Lana with a murmur of thanks before sliding her gaze to the elephant seal in the room.
He still hadn’t spoken, just looked at her. Knowing he’d had his hands all over her—hell, his mouth too—and he’d stripped her naked, not to mention heard her beg in fear, made every one of her short hairs prickle in shame and fury. His blue-green stare was as opaque as an iceberg, and his impassive expression told her nothing of what was going on underneath that frosty exterior. He held a plate with the remains of a chocolate chip muffin wrapper, and she remembered the sweetness of his breath last night as he kissed her.
Dammit, this was what happened when she let her guard down. “What are you doing here?” she challenged.
“I came back by the front door,” he said in that low, accented voice that she couldn’t place but that was starting to become familiar. He half lowered the fringe of his dark lashes over those icy eyes. “I believe that was your idea.”
He was dressed in the same black cowl-neck henley as last night, but his dark hair had dried into finger-tousled waves. Her fingers hadn’t done that…had they?
She narrowed a glare at him. “Where’s your commander, the one you said was actually signed up with the IDA? You aren’t the one who matched with Marisol.”
He inclined his head toward the heiress. “I explained to her when I first arrived. Meeting with the IDA representatives here will hopefully explain how our messages went astray. Then I can take you to the ship and we’ll return to Tritona.”
“Maelstrom was just describing the wildlife around Tritona,” Lana told Ridley. The shorter woman peered up at him with a dimpled but cautious smile, obviously uncomfortable with the not-so undercurrent of tension. “I know I was born and raised far away from any ocean, but I swear I’ve never heard of a seahorse large enough to ride.”
Maelstrom set his empty plate on the side table and relaxed into a stance that Ridley knew well from her years in the service: knees unlocked, hands loose, ready for any bullshit that came his way. “You’ll have plenty of time to learn all about your new life on the journey to Tritona. But the Intergalactic Dating Agency should’ve supplied you with at least a general overview of life on another planet.”
Marisol stiffened. “Journey?”
Ridley shook her head. “Dating?”
“Intergalactic?” Lana squeaked.
The three of them looked at each other and then back at him. “Another planet?!”
He raked a glance across them, his brow furrowed. “The IDA we spoke of? The Intergalactic Dating Agency that found a match? The Big Sky Alien Mail Order Bride outpost here in Sunset Falls matched you”—he gestured at Marisol—“with my commander, Coriolis Kelyre of the planet Tritona. Your profiles were approved for physical and psychological compatibility.” He raised his voice over Marisol sputtering. “You signed a contract indicating your willingness to journey to my planet, joining Coriolis Kelyre as his alien mate.”
“Alien mate?” Lana laughed. “Is this some wacky reality TV show?”
Ridley’s pulse slammed erratically around in her veins, like cross-sea waves dangerously close to washing her overboard. “He used some sort of psychotropic drug on me to make me forget to be afraid. And now I think he’s overdosed on it.”
“No feel-good drug will make a difference to me,” Marisol snapped. “I can’t leave. I’ll die without the water here.” She spun away from them. “The InterGenetic Data Agency said they could help us. If this is a joke or a con”—she wheeled back to them, her eyes so black with anger that Lana breathed out a little eep of alarm—“I will spend the rest of whatever time I have left on this planet taking apart their corporation piece by piece.” She lifted her chin. “And you and this so-called commander too.”
“InterGenetic Data Agency?” Maelstrom repeated slowly. “No, the IDA is the Intergalactic Dating Agency.”
Marisol paced the length of the aquarium, agitation in every flap of her khaki palazzo pants. “I’ve been in contact with the InterGenetic Data Agency for some time. I think I would’ve noticed the misspelling of intergalactic. And I think I would’ve noticed if I was speaking to an alien.”
Maelstrom crossed his arms over his chest. “Standing right here.”
“You’re not an alien,”
Lana sniffed. “At least not any more alien than any over-tanned, over-muscled, over-drugged surfer bro in Montana. Right, Ridley? You’re from California, so you’d know.”
Forced by Lana’s words, Ridley let her gaze trace him downward from the flowing locks of his dark hair over those broad shoulders and lean hips until she was staring at the floor, her heart pounding at the memory of being wrapped half around him as they sank into the water. Realizing the submissive stance, she yanked her gaze back to his blue-green eyes. Was he mentally ill or high on drugs and delusional? But what he’d done with her…
His lips quirked in the faintest smile. “We shared the breath of rising desire. I breathed for you and took you deeper than you’ve been since your fears claimed you,” he said softly. “Right, Ridley? So you should know.”
Even feeling the weighted stares of the other two women, she couldn’t look away from him. “I don’t know what you are,” she whispered.
“I don’t know what you are either,” he said. “To me, you are the alien.” Reaching toward the side table, he whisked a carafe of ice water off the silver tray.
And dumped it over his head.
Lana whisked to one side to avoid getting her Crocs wet. “Well, that is wacky.”
The water drenched his hair, turning the long dark strands to shining obsidian, and ice cubes pooled in the cowl of his shirt. He didn’t flinch at the chill, but when he raised one hand as if to flick away the ice, he pulled aside the collar and exposed a parallel line of gashes in his neck.
Ridley sucked in a breath. And he did the same—releasing not blood, but a frill of dark purple filaments.
“Jesus, what the…” Ridley slapped her fingertips over her mouth to stop the rest.
Maelstrom tilted his head, displaying more of the feathery structures. “I believe that particular religious figure only walked on water.” At his words, the gills fluttered gently. “I breathe it.”
Marisol stumbled backward, collapsing into the marble seat she’d occupied the night before. “That’s…”
“Impossible,” Ridley snapped.
“Clearly not,” Marisol countered, gesturing at him. “Is that another symptom of the Wavercrest Syndrome?”
Shaking his head, he smoothed down the slits in his neck until only the water remained. “Gills aren’t a symptom for Tritonyri like myself, just an adaptation. Water covers over ninety percent of Tritona’s surface. The oceans, seas, and few inland lakes are where we dwell. When we contacted the IDA—the Intergalactic Dating Agency—we specifically requested a water-breathing race. For obvious reasons.” He gestured at his neck. “I don’t understand how our contact with the IDA and yours became so muddled, but the mistake is going to interfere with important timelines for my people.”
“Timelines?” Ridley glared at him. “Marisol’s and Lana’s lives may depend on our IDA curing the syndrome.”
“Maybe…” Lana cleared her throat. “Maybe that’s where our IDAs crossed. Marisol’s water allergy, Ridley’s fear of water, the reversed polarity in my cells—all the communications about this rare Wavercrest Syndrome must’ve mixed with a request for women interested in, uh, alien water.”
Maelstrom frowned. “The Intergalactic Dating Agency is supposed to be more circumspect than this. Revealing the existence of sentient, space-faring civilizations to a closed world like your Earth is not allowed.”
Ridley glowered at him. “You just did it. Right now.”
“Maybe a mistake. But I have my reasons.”
She wanted to press him for what those reasons might be, but it didn’t matter. She and the other two women had their own issues. “How are we supposed to believe all this?”
His gaze bored into her. “You mean besides the breathing underwater?”
Marisol and Lana glanced at her, and she knew they were deferring to her experience with him, such as it was. She swallowed hard. All her years in the Navy, she’d been among the lowest of the low; she hadn’t had time to work her way up before the syndrome symptoms washed her out. She’d answered Marisol’s query to get answers, not ask more questions. And yet here she was.
She didn’t want to believe in anything so insane as interstellar sexting, but… With everything that was happening—the Wavercrest Syndrome, the breath of rising desire that lured her back to the water—could she not believe?
She huffed. “Our IDA directed Marisol to bring us all here, and your IDA told you to collect whoever showed up. Obviously we all have questions for this Inter-Whoever Whatever Agency, so I guess we are working together until we figure out what went wrong.”
He nodded slowly. “Your direction makes sense.”
Avoiding his iceberg eyes, she wondered if the crew of the Titanic had said the same thing. At the memory of cold, dark water closing over her head, she shuddered.
Marisol rose stiffly from her chair. “I’m going to check the house security again with Thomas. And then I’m going to look through all of my interactions with the InterGenetic Data Agency in light of this new information.” She shook her head, sending a ripple through her long, pale hair. “And I thought not being able to eat or drink anything with water was strange.”
As she headed for the doorway, Lana hustled up behind her. “I’ll go with you. Maybe we should all go with you.” She aimed a beseeching gaze at Ridley.
Who hesitated for a heartbeat then shook her head. They couldn’t very well leave an un-trusted stranger, alien or not, to roam their safe space unattended. “I’ll stay with”—she waved vaguely toward Maelstrom—“him.”
“If the rest of you review security procedures inside the house, Ridley and I will patrol outside,” he said briskly. “And I need to contact my commander. The Intergalactic Dating Agency might be unknown to most Earthers, but it has a transgalactic business charter and we should be able to find out who’s in charge locally.” His jaw hardened. “I think a visit to the Big Sky Alien Mail Order Bride outpost is our next step.”
Chapter 6
In the silence that fell after the two Earther women fled the room, Maelstrom helped himself to another one of the tasty items the subservient male had laid out for them. “We do not have these on Tritona. Perhaps Thomas would be willing to share the makings of this delightful concoction.”
“Muffins aren’t really waterproof,” Ridley informed him tightly. “You’d be better off with hard-boiled eggs or smoked kippers or lox.”
He tilted his head. “I have a translator implanted that provides explanations for most of your words, like eggs. But some of the details are hazy to me. “
“The other two are kinds of fish,” she said.
“We used to eat fish on my planet. Not anymore.”
“I suppose you’re too advanced to eat meat.” Her jaw flexed in a way that he wasn’t sure if she was doubting him or mocking him.
“We’ve made other choices.” Tritona had been through too many years of devastating war. What was left of its oceans couldn’t support anything so casual as brunch. “Although Earth is a closed world, there are a few traders, some official, some illicit, who traffic in exotic goods. But I’ve never seen muffins.” He split the gently rounded top off its papered base and tucked the mound into his mouth. Little bursts of sweetness melted on his tongue. A little reminder of last night…
The crumbs suddenly dry in his throat, he coughed. With a wary glance, she handed him one of the small glasses of bright orange liquid. “Since your dramatic demonstration emptied the water pitcher.”
With a mumble of thanks, he gulped it down, blinking hard at the almost overwhelming tartness and sweetness.
Lips pursed to one side, she watched him. “Are you sure you’re a water breather? You seem to be having some trouble even drinking.”
“I can demonstrate again if you like.” He put the empty glass down on the table. “Let’s go back to the fountain—”
She held up one hand to cut him off. “Yeah, no, I got it.” She grabbed one of the muffins for herself, although she didn’t
start eating, just bobbled it restlessly in one hand. “If random people on Earth aren’t supposed to know about aliens, why did you…show me what you can do?”
He gritted his teeth, reluctant to admit the truth. “I was wrong to,” he said finally. “Earlier, I misunderstood your comments about the IDA and thought Marisol Wavercrest had told you about her agreement with my commander of her own volition. I failed to uphold the rules of secrecy of our contract. If it were discovered, the IDA could be censured and lose its license to operate on this world. Our dating contract would be canceled, of course. Everyone in my company could be fined, punished, even incarcerated. And any Earther exposed to improper knowledge could have their memories wiped.”
Her eyes widened. “You can do that?”
What memory did she so loathe that it put a note of wistfulness in her voice? “It’s painful and inexact, and if it fails, it can have ruinous effects on your mind. It is not approved except in the most necessary cases of preserving a closed world from the shock of alien contact.”
“Yeah, it’s a shock all right,” she drawled.
“You and I had somewhat more contact than is usual for a first encounter,” he acknowledged. “I am sorry for the fright I caused you, and I hope there is no lasting hurt.”
She turned her attention to the muffin, biting into it with more focus and ferocity than such a soft, simple treat really required. She mumbled something around its rim.
He peered at her. “What was that?”
She jerked her head up with a flat, gray glare. “I said, I’ve been through worse.”
Considering she’d panicked and almost drowned, he wondered what worse had been. “If you want to tell me about it—”
“I don’t.” She stuffed the rest of the muffin into her mouth in short, angry bites then wiped her hand across her thigh in a savage slice. “I just want to figure out what the syndrome is so I can go back to the way I was before the fear.”
They’d made headway in that direction when he’d shared his breath with her, and yet she’d pulled away, preferring the fear to the closeness with him. But even though he’d been promoted to captain only because there’d been so few fighters left, he knew enough to recognize that this was the wrong moment to point that out to her. She was still standing here when the other Earther females had fled, but she didn’t trust him, obviously still wasn’t sure she even believed him.