Chapter 12
Sterling
and Castor step up to her shoulders. I crane my neck, moving to the side to see what’s going on better.
After all, this is my assignment. My fucking assignment from my ass of a king.
But then, he’s one of the few in my tenure who’s actually trying to change things for the better.
And it’s not up to me to tell him he’s doing it the wrong way.
Kade Driftwood leans forward. He’s not my target, or at least not from the intel we have.
Kade laughs. “Yes, well. We would like to spend some time with you and get to know you as well. And for you to get to see what a good life you could live in Tinom compared to Glyden or Stele. We’re much more advanced . . . at everything.”
I want to rip the male’s neck out. His innuendoes make me want to gag.
“I see. Well . . . I will think about it.” Blair turns back to the table, letting me see her face.
She smiles, but her eyes don’t twinkle like they did a minute ago, and it gives me great pleasure to see the momentary breakdown of the Tinom’s smugness.
She’s lovely, but I don’t understand the others’ obsession with her. We have too much baggage to try again.
Kade takes his block out and holds it up for her to scan his contact.
Blair’s head cocks to Annabelle.
Kade clears his throat. “Do you have your own block? It would be so much easier to get a message directly to you.”
“Uh, no . . .” Her voice trails off. She’s fragile, and the Tinom has made her uncertain.
He’s playing games with her. Of course the female doesn’t have her own block. It would be an inkwell of trouble. Anyone with half a brain would be able to track her.
“Really? I suppose the Glydens like to control their mermaids.” His arms flap out to his silent pod mates behind him. “That’s something that doesn’t happen in Tinom. Just something to think about.” Kade smiles through the untrue words.
Blair turns to Annabelle. I’m not sure if it’s for help or confirmation. It’s taking everything I have to not pound the concrete floor to the other side of the teahouse and take out the Tinom scum.
“My aunt will be in touch if she wants to be. I’ll see to it.
Now excuse us—we have plans.” Annabelle’s shoulders straighten; she appears as tall as Nico.
I don’t see any of that spirit in Blair that a lot of them keep going on and on about.
Her head’s downward, her shoulders rounded.
No matter how lovely they say her eyes are, how can you see them?
I scoff internally. Seriously, why would we want to trouble ourselves with her?
Or with any female? I’m not sure we were ever a true pod anyway.
No, it’s enough. Wishing for what we don’t have isn’t worth it.
The way everything went down with Anya .
. . No. It’s not something we need to even think about.
I said it a long time ago: we don’t deserve another mermaid. But then, they don’t worry about me or what I think. I take two small steps to the side.
A teahouse server looks up at me. “Would you like to order?”
“No,” I growl. It’s enough to have Forrest looking my way.
I grimace. The server scurries away, and fucking Forrest rolls his Poseidon eyes at me.
It’s loud in here. But now I’ve got a clean line to the target.
Atlas picked me for this mission, but maybe that wasn’t because of my pod’s interest. The others on the team didn’t see a need.
Not with the second coming of Poseidon and the Hero of Hestert?tten in the teahouse, they said.
But males with titles become lax. They think they’re invincible when they’re not.
They’re made of flesh, blood, and scales, just as we all are.
No, it’s better that I’m here. We don’t need another attack throwing our city into turmoil again.
Having females fear for their lives isn’t something that will happen in my tenure.
I scan the perimeter. The Portsmouths and my pod are sitting.
Tight as salmon swimming upstream along the back bench.
Nico, Eros, and Holter sit in the three chairs, their backs to me.
Forrest is at the head of the table, because he’s Forrest and the ass thinks he’s in charge of everything.
Which, over the years, we’ve just let him believe because it’s fucking easier than listening to him talk.
He thinks he’s governor everywhere. A gag is what he needs.
On the end of the bench, Castor the Golden Prince sits with Annabelle next to him, then the daughter who needs to get her damn hair under control, and next to her, Blair.
Zion’s next to Blair, looking perfectly smug.
He’s been going off about how lovely she smells, how reactive she is, and fine, maybe she’d be a good fuck.
Her light blue eyes twinkle at him, and I want to wring his damn neck.
He’ll have a fucking lot to say about it tonight.
Another reason to make sure I don’t come home until they are all in bed.
The door opens, and my eyes jump to the entrance. The Tinom are easy enough to keep track of, but the current around the room is turning into a frenzy. It might as well be a ball. One where no one gets to fuck and everyone goes home stuffed full of damn Koralli teacakes.
“Are you going to use this chair?” It’s Blair. How in the hell did she get off the bench?
“What? Uh, no.” I pick the nearby chair up and lift it to my shoulder. “Do you want it?”
“I was thinking it would be nice. We’re a little tight. Annabelle’s almost falling off the bench.”
“Her mates wouldn’t let her fall.” I’m still holding the chair, and I have no idea who came into the teahouse just now, only that the door opened and closed again.
Blair licks her lips and laughs. “So, the chair?”
“Right.” I set it down and then pick it up and hand it to her, holding it at a more appropriate level.
I glance over her head, and my pod mates are watching.
Forrest looks fucking hopeful, and I want to stick a fork in his eyeball.
Alexei’s leaning forward, his head balanced on his hands, his elbows on the table.
Zion’s smirking. Only Clark seems to understand the situation and turns away from me.
“You’re Sterling Mason.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“I am.”
“And you don’t want to join us?”
“I’m working.”
“Oh, I see.” She turns to the counter, then back to me. “What would you recommend I get here?”
It takes me a second to realize that she thinks I’m a . . . She’s smiling. Damn. I swallow. “I don’t work here, but you know that.”
“I do. You’re not wearing a salmon pink apron with sea anemones and coral on it.”
“No, I’m not.” I cross my arms over my chest. The leather of my jacket crinkles and echoes in my mind through the teahouse.
“But you’re working?”
“I am.”
“Well, I’ll let you get back to it. If you change your mind, you can sit with us.”
“I won’t.”
“Well, if you do, you know where to find us.”
“Indeed.” My chest fills, and I step back, finding the coolness of the exterior window.
And I’m wondering again about the sanity of letting human women walk around our city.
They’re too fragile. What if the window behind me was to break?
There wouldn’t be any way to save Blair. My heart thuds in my eardrums.
She pivots through the crowd, maneuvering with the chair as a shield. There are plenty of males interested in her, but there are more interested in her daughter. And then I realize I haven’t scanned the room in the last few minutes.
She sets the chair down at the end of the table.
Castor moves onto it. Annabelle wasn’t even on the end and in no danger of falling.
Castor pulls Annabelle onto his lap, making room for Blair to slide in.
Zion says something to Blair, leaning around Marlee.
Of course he does. But I can’t make it out over the din of the growing crowd.
I’m an expert at reading lips, but I can’t see Zion’s lips because they’re blocked by Marlee’s hair.
Forrest calls the server over and orders more food.
I’m following along with the small talk that drives me crazy.
“Oh, the tides have been rough for the last few weeks. A school of puffer fish got into the salmon tank and made them drunk.” I want to stab myself in my own foot with my retractable trident, and I’m not even sitting at the table.
More and more males pour into the teahouse, and no one’s leaving. At one point, I even lose sight of my other agent stationed by the door.
Another group comes in. Not a pod of males, or at least not yet.
I step toward the counter to get the owner to shut the doors.
This last group is younger and, like adolescent male dolphins, they’re damn stupid.
They’re gawking at Blair and Marlee. But worse, they’re shouting. Even the humans turn at their calls.
“There she is! Athena, she’s beautiful.”
Atlas was right. The human females will cause chaos everywhere they go.
I take a step forward. Nico stands too. There are half a dozen males alert and wide-eyed in the teahouse. All of them are old enough to be Marlee’s father.
A pod mate of Kade’s, Torin Driftwood, puts his hand on the youngster’s shoulder.
“We don’t shout about females in public.
” He takes the male by the elbow and tosses him out of the teahouse.
The crowd mutters in appreciation, and I see Blair smile at him.
It was the right thing to do. But damn, I don’t like seeing him do it.
Unlike a lot of others, I don’t care two rotten shrimp shells about Tinom, Vitrom, or Glyden. Hell, I don’t even care about Braesen—it wasn’t the citizens of Braesen’s fault that their governor was an ass. Most of them are. Theirs also happened to be a sociopath as well.
Blair puts her arm around her daughter and leans in. There’s nodding around the table, and Forrest stands up.
This isn’t going to end well.
Nico cranes his neck to look around the room.
But it’s Eros who jumps onto the bar. “The Portsmouth pod requests that all males stay in place for ten minutes after we leave. Those who don’t follow this direction have been warned.
” He smiles and leaps off the counter. “Sunshine?” He holds his hand out to his mate.
The crowd parts as Eros leads the way to the door.
Blair and Marlee follow, with Holter and Castor taking the rear.
Military precision has them out the door in a minute.
I make my way through the crowd, but not before Forrest grabs my arm. I stare at his hand on my elbow. “What?”
“Eros said that goes for us too.”
“I’m not one of you, haven’t been for a long time.”
“Yes, well, that might be true, but I still don’t want you dead.”
“I’m working, Forrest.” I stare at his hand.
“Working?”
I shake my head and lose his grip, making my way to the door. My agents aren’t as sure as I am. They’re hovering by the door, along with a half dozen males who have their faces pressed to the window that leads out into the market area. “Move,” I order.
“Yes, sir.” They step out of the way.
Eros is waiting alone, twenty paces down the wide corridor of the atrium that connects the shops. “Mason, that includes you.”
“I’m on orders,” I scowl. I don’t like the word, never have, but it’s true.
There’s a high-pitched squeal from behind the market stall up ahead, and the two of us are off.