Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)

A couple of soldiers enter the park, walk toward us, and then stop to watch what we do.

“I do not wish to speak of it with others around. I will meet you here every day and I will teach you to survive.”

“I don’t want anything to do with you, Fathom. I don’t believe anything you do or say anymore. For all I know, you’re here to kill me or teach me something that will get me killed. Do you understand me? That’s how little I think of you now. We are not friends. Whatever we were or could be is dead. I don’t want to be your selfsame or your girlfriend. I don’t even want to be your friend. I want to be a stranger. I want to forget what we did so I can share that with someone who deserves it!”

He takes a deep breath and drops his eyes.

“I will respect any request you have, but I will not let you die. When I am confident you can fight, I will take myself out of your life,” he says, then leaps back into the pool. I watch him swimming below, seeing how the water bends and twists his image into something I don’t recognize.

“Ms. Walker, this is part of the deal!” Spangler shouts from across the room. His tablet glows at his hand. He’s got a weapon too, and I know he’s not afraid to use it to kill everyone I love if I don’t give him what he wants.

For the next two hours, Fathom silently teaches me to fight, and for two hours, I punch and kick him with every brokenhearted fiber of my being.





Chapter Eighteen


ODDLY ENOUGH, MY LIFE STARTS TO TAKE ON A ROUTINE. I spend half my days helping my mother take care of my father’s injuries and letting Bex bitterly complain about Fathom’s “dumb face.” In some ways it feels like we’re all back in our apartment in Coney Island.

Everyone is slowly getting stronger. Bex and I put on weight, and our bruises fade. Her old self is returning as well. One day I come back to the room and find she’s cut up one of the jumpsuits into something that borders on scandalous. She even yanked the White Tower logo off the chest and threw it in the trash. I ask her if she can do the same to all of mine.

My father is obsessed with getting back to his former self, and my mother and I take turns scolding him for overexerting himself with sit-ups, pushups, and jogging in place. He says he’s going stir-crazy and needs to do something. He wants to be ready in case there’s a chance to escape. He doesn’t want to be the one who holds everyone back. I worry he’s making his injuries worse.

My mother frets about us all, sliding back into her role as Summer Walker, hot neighborhood mom, but I catch her doing exercises as well. She lifts the sofa over her head and does pushups for hours.

The other half of my day is spent with the children, four hours of training with the gloves, then two hours of fight training with Fathom. Spangler hovers over it all. He pushes me to get closer to the kids, so I eat meals with them. I agree to lunch in their own fancy cafeteria, complete with a salad bar, an ice cream machine, and a taco buffet. A chef will make them coal-oven pizzas that look a lot like New York–style thin-crusts but for some reason aren’t as good. Huge television screens play prerecorded cartoons and MTV all day. The children sometimes gather around, asking questions about the Alpha like they are characters in comic books or Greek mythology. They have an endless desire to know more about their Alpha families.

“What does a Selkie look like, Lyric?” Geno asks. He’s been in this camp for almost three years. He has no memories of Coney Island or the arrival of the Alpha.

“They’re big. Even the teenagers are almost seven feet tall, and they have spikes on their shoulders.”

“I saw a Ceto once,” Tess says.

“They’re probably the most dangerous of the Alpha. They’re electrified, like an eel, and one touch can kill a person,” I explain.

I realize I’m telling ghost stories around a campfire.

“Donovan says there are hundreds of different kinds of Alpha. And there’s something that eats your brain,” Georgia says.

“He told me the same thing,” William says.

“He showed us a news story where thousands of them came out of the water,” Leo says. “If they come at me, I’m going to stomp them with my feet.”

“Who is that boy who meets with you? Is he your boyfriend?” Priscilla asks.

Suddenly, all eyes are on Riley, but he’s staring at his shoes.

“He’s a Triton, and his name is Fathom. He’s a prince, and his father is the prime.”

“He’s the king’s son?” Chloe asks. “Is he bad too?”

I realize I don’t know the answer to that anymore.

“He’s not like his father,” I say. It’s the kindest thing I can muster.

“When I see the prime, I’m going to punch him in the face,” Leo says.