Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)(78)

He takes another step toward me, grabbing my shoulders in his strong hands and giving me a shake.

“I will hear no more of how you are small. I will not listen to any further nonsense about your weakness. They are lies you tell yourself that no one else believes. I love you with every drop of my blood, and I know any chance of winning your affection is slim, but I cannot walk away without saying this to you. It is time to stop acting delicate. You are not fooling me. I see what you are.”

“And what’s that?” I shout, pulling myself away.

“You are a raging sea!” he bellows.

He takes a few breaths to calm himself, then looks out to the ocean.

“Yes, I manipulated you to get you here. I prevented you from escaping and blocked your plans, but the world needs you. The safest place the children can be is a step behind you,” he says, then turns back to me. “There are thousands of Alpha waiting for battle, men and women who have proved their courage countless times, and all of them have pledged to follow you into the Great Abyss. You are the only chance we have. Ghost knows this. My people know this. I know it.”

“Aaargh!” I cry. “I can’t stand any more of this Triton craziness. Are you telling me you put me in danger because you love me?”

“I did not put you into danger; you are already in danger. I brought you here to fight because I know you are capable of destroying what the rest of us cannot. This is not Triton craziness. This is how I love you. The soft-handed humans may believe their women need to be protected. They teach you to hide and lock yourselves away. If that is what you want, you will find plenty who will happily underestimate you. My love expects you to be what you are—no more and no less.”

Fathom takes off the boots that White Tower gave him. He rolls up the bottoms of his jumpsuit and lets his blades slice through his shirtsleeves.

“Stay alive, Lyric Walker,” he says; then, with a blast of wind, he speeds toward the shore, sending sand up in his wake. He cuts Rusalka down in his path but does not slow. Into the water he leaps, disappearing in the frothy waves.

“You do the same,” I whisper.





Chapter Twenty-Two


SOMETIME AFTER DUSK, THE RUSALKA MAKE A SUDDEN RETREAT. One moment they are fighting; the next they march back into the sea. Some of the children celebrate, but Kita tells us that this always happens before they send another wave. His words are followed by screaming sirens. I order the children to the windows and tell them to push back any waves away from the resturant. There’s an eerie silence, then the trembling of glass in window frames. A massive crash hits the beach, like a giant punched the side of the building. It knocks a few people down, and dust trickles from the rafters. We wait in silence for a second strike, but it doesn’t happen, and Kita tells us to relax.

“They must not have as many gloves as we thought,” I tell him.

“What makes you think so?”

“They could easily knock this building down with a little combined effort,” I explain. “We are able to push their attack aside.”

“The prime has these animals spread out up and down the East Coast,” he tells me. “Maybe he’s a little thin.”

“Thin is good,” Jackson says, then turns to me. “Do you think your team could make a wave for us?”

I look out at the kids, huddled together for warmth.

“I don’t know,” I confess.

There is a flurry of activity and noise on the beach. I watch heavy machines roll along the sand, creating huge dunes between the water and the building. Inside, soldiers shout orders at one another and plead for assistance on radios and telephones.

My father is eager to help. He divides the team into two groups, urging one half to try to get some sleep while the others continue to watch the windows. I think sleep is wishful thinking, but to be honest, I really don’t have a better plan. When I was in kindergarten, the teacher used to make us take naps to keep us busy. Maybe it will work for them.

Riley looks tired, but he stays alert and positive. He does his best to keep everyone’s spirits high. He tells the little ones that they are brave and the older ones that they’re amazing. He’s so good with them. He seems to know what to say and who needs a little attention. Everyone brightens when he’s near. It’s almost magical. I wish I had a little of his charm. It seems like I did once upon a time, but it’s hard to remember that Lyric Walker.

“You need a pep talk?” he asks me.

I shake my head, even though I really do. I just don’t think lover boy wants to listen to me flail back and forth about Fathom. His words echo in my ears. He’s made me redefine everything I thought I knew. The hatred I have clung to so tightly has come undone and flaps in the wind like a filthy sheet. I have no idea how I feel.

He gives me a curious look.

“You think I don’t want to hear about it?” he says knowingly.

I blush. “You read minds too?”

“I read faces,” he says. “I’ll listen, but I doubt I’ll be very objective.”

“Who asked for objectivity?” I laugh.

“I’ve been wondering how I can compete with a guy like him. It’s odd to have superpowers and still feel insecure. So I’m just going to say this. You’re funny and you’re hot. I like you.”