Lords of the Deep (11 page)

She struggled to shake the romanticism of her thoughts, to reconcile the two images she now had of the men. They were one and the same—handsome creatures, sometimes scary, sometimes funny—but real, alive, subject to anger, amusement—the full range of emotions, imperfections, and vices of humans. She’d seen the way the two men interacted with each other. She didn’t have to understand the language to understand the emotions clear in their expressions and body language.

She thought they clashed most often about her, though she wasn’t certain why or how. Damien had seemed surprisingly protective of her—surprising in the fact that he’d captured her to start with. Surprising in the fact that she was not only a stranger, but not even of the same race—maybe not the same species. Surprising because she hadn’t sensed any threat in Miles’ attitude toward her. Maybe the ‘threat’, though, was in Miles’ perception of her as his lab experiment?

She’d certainly
felt
threatened by the thought that she might be, that she could end up enduring painfully tortuous tests like a lab animal, or on the dissection table.

Why had Damien brought her to Miles, though, if he was so against Miles studying her as the specimen he’d sent for?

It all seemed to come back to the possibility that they hadn’t been any more aware of humans than vice versa—maybe, probably, had some inkling that there was something to be found but hadn’t really expected it.

A strange thought abruptly occurred to her. Although she dismissed it at first, it kept returning like an annoying fly determined to light on the same spot over and over.

If she’d considered them myth, felt a sense a sense of awe and wonder at the discovery that what she’d thought of as mythological beings were real, was it possible they felt the same way?

It seemed like a completely ridiculous supposition, but the moment she thought about it she remembered how absolutely fascinated they’d seemed to be with her. Miles had hardly moved away from the window from the time she’d woke up.

She felt strangely deflated over the idea. It took her a few moments to figure out why—mostly, she thought, because she wasn’t anxious to acknowledge that she found them appealing in a completely feminine way and had been swept up by the belief that they were just as drawn to her. She was also more than a little unnerved, true, but still having to struggle to keep from falling under the spell of the currents of desire she’d felt herself and sensed in both of them.

It was as bad to think that they were ‘starry’ eyed at having a captive mythological creature as struggling against sexual interest in an ‘ape’.

That was hideously deflating, she discovered.

Good, though, she told herself. She needed to keep her mind on the business of survival, not allow herself to drift off to the never-never land of fantasies. They were certainly mermen. There was no longer any doubt in her mind about that. This was no fairy tale, though, and there wasn’t going to be a fairy tale ending for her either.

She was going to be their captive until and unless they decided to set her free or she freed herself.

Since she couldn’t think of any way she might manage to free herself, she needed to focus on doing whatever she could to convince them to release her.

* * * *

Damien stopped in the doorway to the lab, leaning against the frame and folding his arms. Miles was completely focused on the sounds coming from his computer. “Any progress?”

Miles jolted and swung his head around to look at him. After staring at him blankly for a long moment, the question seemed to penetrate. “Some,” he finally responded absently.

“Any idea when you might have something to work with?”

Miles frowned, thinking it over. “Something, certainly, in a few days. It seems to be a very complicated language, but I made notes of at least some of the things she said in response to what was happening at the time and keyed that in for the computer to compare it with the words. That seems to have helped a good bit. To tell you the truth she speaks so quickly the computer’s been having a hard time separating the different sounds into words to determine the breaks. It froze up twice already.”

“Maybe you need to add a chip to boost the working memory?”

Miles nodded. “I did that last night. It’s doing better now.” He frowned, apparently sinking into his thoughts again.

Shoving away from the door frame, Damien began to turn to leave when Miles stopped him.

“When is mating season?”

Damien’s dark brows shot up toward his hairline. “In a couple of weeks, why?”

Miles looked surprised and then pleased. “I thought I must have missed it … again. Two weeks? Or three?”

“Two and a half.”

Miles considered that. “I’m not sure that’s going to be helpful. It’s damned inconvenient, though,” he mumbled.

Damien studied him with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. “Did I ever happen to mention that you don’t make a hell of a lot of sense, Miles, when you think half and say half of whatever is running through your mind?”

After staring at him blankly a moment, Miles looked away uncomfortably. “I was just thinking I might take part this year, but if it’s only about two weeks away, I don’t know about leaving Angie to go. Who’d take care of her while I was gone? Then, too, you know it’s always a hazard getting there. I’d hate like hell to break off the research for that and then, maybe, not make it back. All that research would be lost.”

“To say nothing of the fact that Angie wouldn’t survive trapped in your place for very long,” Damien pointed out tightly.

“That, too.”

“Why is it ‘not helpful’ because it’s two weeks off?” he demanded, knowing the answer already.

“Well, I’m having a hard time focusing. I usually don’t, you know.”

“Because most of your focus is on mating,” Damien surmised grimly.

“Exactly! I should have known it must be close to that time … well, I did, obviously, because they haven’t had the gathering yet, but it’s only two weeks or so away. That’s damned inconvenient, I must say!”

“We’ve been breeding in the spring and reaping in the winter as far back as memory, Miles,” Damien pointed out dryly. “It’s the catkins’ cycle. When was the last time you took part in it?”

Miles thought it over. “Not sure, actually. It’s not that I don’t go, you know. I just always get there after everyone else has left. Well, usually.”

“You’re long overdue then,” Damien said as casually as he could. “Why don’t you go? I’ll skip the gathering this year and stay to keep an eye on Angie.”

Miles’ eyes narrowed immediately with suspicion. “Why would you do that?”

Damien shrugged. “I don’t go every season anyway. I’ve bred one. You know how the catkins are. Once you’ve bred on one the others are more interested in gathering the seed of the males that haven’t bred. They usually won’t accept me until they’re sure they’re bred and sometimes not even then since they pretty much lose interest as soon as they have.”

“You think Angie might come in season when the others do,” he said flatly.

Damien’s lips tightened. “I’m sure as fuck not leaving her here with you if there’s any chance of it,” he admitted grimly.

Miles felt the mating aggression move over him. In a corner of his mind, it surprised him. Never having taken part in more than a handful of matings since he’d come to full maturity, he
also
hadn’t experienced the aggression okeans felt at that time.

“Well, I won’t leave her here with you if there is a chance of it, either! She hasn’t warned me off anymore than she has you. That means she’s not
dis
interested!”

Damien would’ve liked to dispute that, but he knew it was true. In any case catkins liked to hedge their bets. If they bred with two or three, or more, while they were in season they weren’t likely to leave the field without success and even the least desirable catkins rarely had any problem enticing at least two males.

Luckily for him—and Miles—they were the only two okeans available to Angie. Once she came in season, she would have an irresistible itch. She’d settled for them if they made damned sure she didn’t get the chance at any other males.

He wasn’t particularly pleased that Miles had latched onto the idea, if it came to that. He’d more than half hoped Miles would have his nose so deeply into his research that he’d be oblivious to the time. He shrugged it off. He would get the chance at her if he had to beat Miles senseless to do it and that was all that mattered.

He didn’t know how in the hell they were going to figure out when she was ready when she didn’t, apparently, flash, but he was entirely willing to take a few slaps or even scratches and bites if he had to resort to guessing.

He was deeply regretful that he hadn’t seized the opportunity to try the day before. At the very least he thought he could’ve licked and sucked the juices off of her before she could beat him off. It would have been
some
thing, not all he wanted, but a taste of her.

He wasn’t sure
why
he’d let the opportunity slip through his fingers—beyond the fact that his mind had gone completely haywire with lust. He supposed, though, that it was probably for the best. Distrust was still very strong in her. As long as it was and she wasn’t in season, any attempts he made to breed her were liable to be met with whatever violence she could manage.

Not that he was worried about injury. She wasn’t a catkin. She couldn’t knock him out or break anything, but he didn’t like the fear in her eyes, and he knew he’d see that instead of desire if he didn’t gentle her first, earn enough trust that she was willing to consider him.

It bothered him that the season was close upon them. It didn’t give him much time to gain her trust and then, too, he couldn’t be sure she would even come in season at the same time as the catkins. If she was early, it wouldn’t be a huge problem. There
was
the itch. Whether he’d earned her trust or not, she would be in need. She’d take him, he thought.

It was the possibility that it might be longer that really worried him.
He
had need of his own. It was the curse of the gods that okeans felt need far more damned often than catkins did, and pure hell having to wait till they were ripe—longer if one got to the mating grounds and discovered one couldn’t interest a catkin at all—which fortunately hadn’t happened to him more than a couple of times, although once was one time too damned many!

He didn’t know how Miles stood it, but then he supposed his absorption with science must have helped him grow accustomed to ignoring it.

He wasn’t sure he could stand it if she came in season later than the others, or worse, not at all because they weren’t of her tribe. He might have to go off and find something to kill if he gave up the gathering and then discovered that unpleasant fact.

He was pretty sure he was going to be a raving lunatic before the next season rolled around. His cock would hardly lay down and rest at all since he’d captured Angie.

Maybe it wasn’t the best of ideas to ignore the pull of the gathering, for either him or Miles?

They couldn’t leave her, though, for obvious reasons.

Taking her with them was out of the question, though. Shark and squid attacks weren’t uncommon, had actually become a part of the ritual over the centuries, a part of the test of strength, cunning, and stamina to prove the okeans worthy of breeding.

Archaic, it might be, but it was one tradition nobody seemed inclined to give up.

If they could—somehow—figure out a way to send her with the other catkins, though, in the procession that took the longest, safest route …?

Maybe he should discuss the possibility with Miles?

* * * *

Angie seemed deep in thought when Damien arrived at her room. He stood in the doorway, studying her, wondering if he slipped into her room when she was sleeping and got rid of those damned fibers she clung to if she would accept defeat or begin to drag the damned coverlet everywhere.

He thought it likely she would.

Wryly, Damien considered whether it would actually make him feel any better even if she didn’t. He was almost more distracted by trying to get a glimpse of her charms through the gaps.

Maybe not, he conceded when she finally noticed him.

Striding to the bed, he held out his hand. She studied it curiously. Reluctance flickered across her features the moment comprehension did. He contained his impatience with an effort. Trust, he reminded himself, required patience to build. When he didn’t lower his hand, she finally reached out and placed one of her hands in his. He closed his fingers around the small member, tugging just enough to command her to rise.

She sent him a nervous glance, but she followed his pull and climbed off of the bed. She balked when they reached the door. He’d expected it. Reeling her in, he looped his arms around her, waiting until some of the tension had eased from her to lift one hand to her chin and make her look at him. “No hurt,” he said gently. “No hurt.”

He knew she understood what he was trying to tell her, but she didn’t look much more trusting. Unable to resist the urge, he leaned down and brushed his lips lightly along hers. “I’m not going to hurt you,
mesoma
—pretty little love. Trust me, it’s the last thing I want to do,” he murmured, sealing his mouth to hers when she didn’t try to evade his touch and treating himself to a leisurely exploration of the tempting cavern of her mouth. The exotic taste of her heated his blood almost as quickly as the feel of her moist warmth around his tongue.