Authors: Katherine Irons
Waterborne (2 page)
But he kept remembering how vulnerable she’d been—first to the guard who’d tried to assault her and then to Varenkov, who had ruthlessly turned on her. She’d been unarmed and helpless, and the Russian had shot her down without hesitation.
Still, it had been Varenkov who’d killed her, not him. His responsibility was to his own people and finishing the job he’d been given.
Let her go and forget she ever existed,
Alex told himself.
Make at least one logical decision today.
Let her go and forget she ever existed,
Alex told himself.
Make at least one logical decision today.
Instead, cursing himself for being all kinds of a fool, he bent over her and covered her mouth with his. He summoned the blue force and breathed healing energy into the woman’s lungs.
Live!,
he commanded her silently.
Live!
Live!,
he commanded her silently.
Live!
Nothing.
Her head hung back, her red-gold hair streamed out behind her in the rushing surf, and her limbs and torso dangled limply in his arms. Her blue eyes were lifeless, as flat as glass, without a spark of illumination.
Her head hung back, her red-gold hair streamed out behind her in the rushing surf, and her limbs and torso dangled limply in his arms. Her blue eyes were lifeless, as flat as glass, without a spark of illumination.
“Damn you!” he cursed. “Obstinate woman.” He cradled her against his chest, pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat, and willed her to fight. The effort was tremendously draining. He could feel his own strength ebbing.
Stubbornly, he refused to surrender her. He forced himself to swim deeper into the cave, threading through narrow passageways until, at last, he surfaced on a starlit strip of sand. They were deep beneath the landmass. The light here came from the shells of a giant clam, the
urrou,
that had become extinct in his grandfather’s time. Long ago, the warlike inhabitants of this part of the world, distant relations of the Atlanteans, had used the shells as sources of light.
urrou,
that had become extinct in his grandfather’s time. Long ago, the warlike inhabitants of this part of the world, distant relations of the Atlanteans, had used the shells as sources of light.
Arching cave walls and ceiling rimmed the narrow beach, but the sand was soft and dry. Alex carried the woman out of the water and laid her on the warm shoal. Was it his imagination, or had her color improved? He pressed his fingertips against her lips, but he could feel no breath of life. With a sigh, he gathered her in his arms once more and again breathed into her mouth.
She stirred and gave a weak moan.
Alex ground his teeth together. “I’ll be sorry I did this. I’m sorry already.” The sound of running water caught his attention, and he glanced toward the source. A spring bubbled from one wall of the cavern.
Humans need fresh water,
he reminded himself. When they’d left the sea, salt water had become poisonous to them. How crazy was that?
Humans need fresh water,
he reminded himself. When they’d left the sea, salt water had become poisonous to them. How crazy was that?
He put the woman down again, carried a broken conch shell to the spring, and filled it with fresh water. Returning to her side, he cradled her head and began to drip the liquid between her lips, one drop at a time.
She choked, and he had to pound her on the back to keep her from drowning a second time. Her color was no longer fish-belly white; it was more of a rotting oyster yellow. The fingers on her left hand fluttered. It was a slender hand, almost delicate. Her nails were delicately shaped and freshly adorned in a soft peach coloring.
Something shifted in the pit of his stomach, and a warm protective feeling washed through his veins. He wished he knew her name. If he couldn’t save her, would she haunt his dreams, this frail human beauty?
She wasn’t Atlantean, but he found her very alluring, or she would have been if Varenkov hadn’t extinguished her life force.
What would it be like to have those hands stroke my face?
he wondered.
Or to have those sweet lips seek mine in an act of passion?
What would it be like to have those hands stroke my face?
he wondered.
Or to have those sweet lips seek mine in an act of passion?
“Who are you?” he asked. “Why did you have to come above deck tonight? Why didn’t you just stay in your galley where you belonged?”
She coughed again and a gush of seawater spilled from her mouth.
There was nothing to do but try again. He concentrated all his will on reviving her, on finding the spark of life that he imagined still clung to her fading body and fanning it to a flame. He did it, knowing the consequences it would have, knowing full well what price there would be to pay for such a transgression ...
Because regardless of who pulled the trigger, she was an innocent and his mistake had caused her death. The truth was, he wasn’t nearly as heartless as he tried to pretend. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t try to right the wrong that he’d done.
She would hate him for it, but he would do what he had to.... As he always had.
The battle to save the woman was not easily won. Hours became days, and three times she sank into that abyss that could only be death. But each interlude became shorter, and gradually Alex felt the life force begin to course through her body. And as she grew stronger, he grew weaker, until finally, he had to risk leaving her alone to return to the depths off the atoll and let the clean seawater heal his own body and soul.
She still could be lost, perhaps more so than if he’d allowed nature to take its course. Now, she could never return to an entirely human existence, but neither was she Atlantean. Her suffering at the loss of what she had been might be worse than death. And if she slipped away, where would her spirit go? Would she be trapped forever in a void, caught between one world and another?
Again, he wrestled with his own conscience, wondering why he’d been tempted to break his own code for an alien ... wondering if he’d lost his edge. Had his failure to kill Varenkov been bad luck and an error in judgment, or had he burned out? Hunting down and eliminating enemies of Atlantis was all he’d been trained to do. If he no longer possessed that ability, would he be relegated to some bureaucratic office job reserved for royal losers or would he end up in charge of iceberg security beyond the boundaries of civilization?
When he surfaced near the spot where the yachts had been anchored, Varenkov was gone. In one direction, Alex could clearly make out the beach and swaying palm trees of the atoll. But, if he turned his back to the land, the open sea stretched as far as the eye could see.
Alex had expected no less. Undoubtedly, the Russian had given the orders to sail within minutes after the last shot was fired, and had left the area by helicopter. By now he could be leagues away, anchored off a thousand nameless islands or on route to another ocean.
All Alex’s careful plans had come to nothing, and he would have to return home and explain why he’d failed. Again. He’d also have to explain the woman and why he’d felt compelled to break laws that had stood for thousands of years, putting not only himself but the kingdom in danger.
He returned to the cave, afraid but also half-hoping that he would find the woman dead. She wasn’t, but her wounds had begun to seep blood again and her vital signs were weaker. If he’d been anywhere in the Atlantic, he could have defied the authorities and carried her to the temple where trained healers might have saved her. But here, Lemorians commanded the oceans, and relations between Atlanteans and Lemorians were dicey at best. More so since he and his twin brother Orion had surprised a raiding party and held Prince Kaleo for ransom, before sending him home in disgrace.
Lemorian healers were not as skilled as their Atlantean counterparts, but they possessed more knowledge than he did. For better or worse, he couldn’t wait for Bleddyn and Dewi to find him. He had to take the human to Lemoria or admit that he’d taken on a task he hadn’t had the ability to complete. And considering what Lemorians thought of humans, there was a good chance that neither he nor the human female would survive the encounter.
CHAPTER 2
W
hen she was eleven years old and well into her training, Ree had accompanied one of her master instructors and two other students to the American History Museum in Washington, D.C., where they had watched a black and white movie starring Charlie Chaplin. The film had been jerky, the images marred with inky imperfections, and the only sound had been a jarring and tinny rendition of a player-piano.
hen she was eleven years old and well into her training, Ree had accompanied one of her master instructors and two other students to the American History Museum in Washington, D.C., where they had watched a black and white movie starring Charlie Chaplin. The film had been jerky, the images marred with inky imperfections, and the only sound had been a jarring and tinny rendition of a player-piano.
The images flashing across the screen of her fog-enveloped mind reminded Ree of that experience, except that the accompanying music wasn’t that of a piano, but the rhythmic crash of surf. And, she could not only see it, but she could feel the sensations against her skin, smell the salt water, and taste the sweet-acrid flavor of blood in her mouth.
The pictures clicked one after another, each photo remaining only for a fraction of a second before being replaced by another. Flash! The glistening spray of water falling from the showerhead onto her naked body. Flash! A wide beam of light spilling across the deck of the
Anastasiya.
Flash! A figure watching her from the shadows—an apparition so alarming as to raise the fine hair on the nape of her neck. Flash! A burst of gunfire. Flash! Blue water, ivory teeth looming over her, and then blackness sucking her down into a bottomless vortex.
Anastasiya.
Flash! A figure watching her from the shadows—an apparition so alarming as to raise the fine hair on the nape of her neck. Flash! A burst of gunfire. Flash! Blue water, ivory teeth looming over her, and then blackness sucking her down into a bottomless vortex.
Flash! A blue man with beautiful green eyes. Flash! The shower. Slow motion ... each drop of warm liquid caressing her skin. The water was everywhere, flowing over the deck, drowning the
Anastasiya,
buoying her up, lifting her in powerful arms, washing through her.
Anastasiya,
buoying her up, lifting her in powerful arms, washing through her.
After a long time, the photos dimmed to black, the images replaced with the presence of someone ... of
something
strong and benevolent hovering around her. Normally, Ree would have had no trouble identifying her surroundings, but she seemed encased in warm sand or perhaps trapped in a glass chrysalis like some jungle moth in a fantasy novel. She could feel him, and it was definitely a
him,
but beyond that, she was clueless.
something
strong and benevolent hovering around her. Normally, Ree would have had no trouble identifying her surroundings, but she seemed encased in warm sand or perhaps trapped in a glass chrysalis like some jungle moth in a fantasy novel. She could feel him, and it was definitely a
him,
but beyond that, she was clueless.
Other sounds filtered into her sealed coffin: the trickle of water, a woman’s moans, and a man’s deep voice. She couldn’t understand his words ... couldn’t identify the language although she spoke seven fluently. She thought she remembered pain, but she was in none now. Drifting on the waves ...
Thirst clawed at her throat, swelling her tongue, heating her skin. Drops of molten gold seared her nerve endings and sent waves of pain shimmering through her tortured flesh. Thoughts of water tortured her. Glasses of ice water dripping beads of condensation ... bottled spring water ... bubbling fountains. She willed her eyes to open, strained until sweat broke out on her body. For an instant, she saw scattered stars, and then the shadowy fog closed in again. With it came the terrible thirst and a deep and grinding agony, a pain that threatened to rip her apart. She fled from it, retreating deep inside ... sliding back and back.
Huge soft flakes thudded against the car windows, muffling the sound of the tires against the dirt lane. A man’s gloved hands on the steering wheel and Nick’s warm laughter as he turned into a hidden drive hemmed in by Canadian hemlocks ... She was laughing with him as the Volvo’s wheels slipped on the icy incline and the car slid sideways.
“I guess we’re stuck here,” he said.
“I guess we are,” she’d answered.
Nick ... Nick ... She reached out for him, needing his arms around her, knowing that the cabin waited for them with its blazing fireplace, stocked refrigerator, and soft feather bed. They’d struggled against this for so long, and now she knew what was inevitable. She could imagine the feel of his lean body against her own, and her throat and face flushed hot with desire.
“Oh, Nick. ”
But even as she said his name, his image faded, and the snow was gone, replaced by a sandy beach and a black night sky studded with glowing stars. Salt tears clouded her eyes and she felt the pain radiate out from the place where her heart should have been. Nick ...
The pain tore at her, ripped and chewed with savage ferocity. Ree opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. Her skin was on fire ... her tongue swollen and dry. If she believed in hell, she could have believed that she’d died and ended up there. But she didn’t ... she’d given up believing in anything when she was six years old.
Flash! The pictures were back, jerking across a tattered gray screen. A ship’s galley. Flash! Nick’s head on the pillow next to hers. Flash! A cavalcade of black limousines and the cloying scent of lilies.
“No!”
Nick’s arms were around her, lifting her, carrying her. His mouth covered hers in a searing kiss of passion as a wall of water engulfed them. She wasn’t afraid. The water felt good on her hot skin; it soothed the raw ache that gnawed at her stomach and sent shards of glass through her head. She felt the water on her parched lips, tasted the salt, and inhaled the cool moisture deep into her lungs.
The blackness came and went, came and went. In between, she thought she saw impossible scenes around her ... walls of ancient cities, fallen columns, and a road of giant blocks of stone that stretched out to the curve of the earth. Swaying forests of green kelp rose around them. Red and yellow, blue, and purple fish darted and floated between the leafy fronds of foliage. Massive creatures slid past amid the haunting songs of ghostly leviathans.
She had so many questions she wanted to ask Nick. Why was his hair so light and how had his beautiful brown eyes turned to green? How had he found her on the deck of the
Anastasiya
and why was she so thirsty? But, try as she might, no sounds would pass her lips.
Anastasiya
and why was she so thirsty? But, try as she might, no sounds would pass her lips.
She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and feel his mouth on hers, but she found it impossible to break free from her crystalline prison. And this time, when the dark tide threatened to sweep over her, she didn’t fight it. Nick was here, and he would take care of her. If Nick had found her, everything would be all right.
She opened her eyes to see a wall of molten lava erupting from the forest around them. Heat flashed against her skin, and she clamped her eyes shut against the glare. But not before she’d seen the impossible, seen the tattooed men with their flashing spears and heard their hideous war cries.
“Don’t be afraid,” Nick said, and this time, it seemed that she heard his voice in her head. “I won’t let them hurt you.”
Why would they hurt me?
she wondered.
They aren’t real. Any minute the piano will begin to play and the Little Tramp will throw his hat and knock them all down. They will fall like dominoes. Flash. Flash. Flash.
she wondered.
They aren’t real. Any minute the piano will begin to play and the Little Tramp will throw his hat and knock them all down. They will fall like dominoes. Flash. Flash. Flash.
“How dare you show your face here?” ’Enakai demanded. She rose from her massive jade throne and glared down at him from the height of the marble dais.
Alex ignored the theatrics and held out the woman in his arms. It wouldn’t do to make ’Enakai any angrier than she was, but neither was he willing to bend his knee and beg for mercy. Instead, he simply stated his purpose. “I have need of your healers.”
“For a human?” Her upper lip curled as she stared with contempt at the woman’s unconscious form. “Why would we use our sacred arts on a human?”
“Because you’re the supreme ruler of Lemoria.”
“And high priestess,” she reminded him.
“And high priestess,” he conceded. “I appeal to you because whatever you order will be done.” He flashed her the hint of an arrogant smile. “And because you always pay your debts.”
A ripple of disbelief rose from the onlookers. This was not the great court reception hall of Lemoria, but only a smaller one. Still the space was packed with the members of the royal household, minor and high nobility, and bureaucrats, palace guards, servants. Not to mention the soldiers—some of whom had made a good stab at killing him only a short time ago.
’Enakai’s eyes narrowed. She was very beautiful, Alex conceded, her appearance young and lithe, as slim as a snake with great black eyes and hair that fell unbound to her hips. “What debt do I owe you, prince of Atlantis?”
He shrugged. “I sent your brother back to you, didn’t I?”
“After we paid a fortune in pearls and jade for his release.”
“Prince Kaleo took part in an unprovoked attack on an unarmed trading outpost in the south Atlantic. If he were human, he’d be no better than a pirate. You’re fortunate I didn’t return his head to you in a fishnet.”
“You lie! My brother was on a diplomatic mission.”
“If you believe that”—Alex said—“you’re either a fool or you’ve been sadly misinformed.”
The women around her glared and whispered among themselves. “Kill him,” one murmured. “Kill him and throw his body into the flow.”
“Silence!” ’Enakai’s captain of the guards commanded, driving the butt of a trident into Alex’s ribs.
He gritted his teeth and held back the gasp of pain that resulted. The blow had knocked him off balance, and he took a step back, but managed to regain his composure without dropping his human burden.
The captain was female as well, or what passed for female among these outlandish Lemorians. Here, in this rival kingdom in the Pacific, no king ruled. Instead, a woman sat on their highest throne. Warrior women filled the ranks of their armies and guarded the palace, and held the important offices of state, while males of noble blood were more often artists, musicians, poets, and sexual playmates kept and provided for by their mistresses.
Among the Atlanteans, there were women who sat on the high court and served in the armies. Every position but that of Poseidon was open to them, but these Lemorian warrior-maids were a race apart. The elite palace guards shaved their heads except for a single, braided scalp-lock at the back of their skulls, and each bore a row of intricate tattoos across their upper face, making it appear that they wore patterned masks, black against their pale green skin. Additional designs were tattooed across their back and down their arms. Those were considered badges of honor representing bold deeds or battles they had survived.
Some of these elite female soldiers had one breast surgically removed to more easily shoot a bow or cast a trident, and they were tall and stocky, muscled beyond what most Atlantean men would find attractive in a sexual partner. Many Lemorians of the lower classes had only a thumb and three fingers on each hand and thick webbing between their toes, making them powerful swimmers. These, unlike the nobility, were of another species, an elusive blend of fish and mammal. All were workers, fishermen, soldiers, or servants, and they were neither male nor female, but both in the same body. They were fearless fighters, but none of their class could rise above the lowest ranks, and it was said that they were of limited intelligence.
The supreme ruler ’Enakai was petite and feminine enough in appearance, but as cruel and calculating as a moray eel. Her skin was a shimmering indigo in hue, and her heavy-lidded eyes were black as ink, large, and almond-shaped. Ropes of pearls dangled from her elongated earlobes, and a golden disk bearing the likeness of an octopus was pinned through the cartilage of her nose.
Alex had heard it said that ’Enakai took beautiful young men to her bed, and when she tired of them, she had her guards strangle them so that they could not carry tales of her bedchamber. But so alluring was she, that it was also said that there were no lack of lovers willing to risk all for the chance to find paradise between her thighs.
Anger radiated from her as she fought to maintain control of the audience. Alex was walking a thin strand of kelp and well he knew it. One mistake and she’d order her guards to slice him into small slivers and feed him to the royal jellyfish.
“I ask you again, prince of Atlantis”—’Enakai demanded—“why should we waste our magic on a human?”
“Because she is no longer human, but something more,” Alex replied, with more certainty than he felt. “She possesses great powers of her own. Among her own kind, she is considered a powerful magician.” It was as good a lie as he could come up with on the spot. He wished Orion were here. His twin was positively diabolical when dreaming up mad plots to get them out of jams like this.
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