Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)

“I did,” I say.

“I freed him of his obligations to me. The two of you are free to mate.”

“Ugh. What is it with you people and that word?” I grumble. “Do you really want to talk about this?”

She nods.

“He lied to me,” I explain.

“He told you of his plan?”

“Yes, after he manipulated me and used me to help him fight his war, he told me his plan,” I say.

She sits for a long moment as if flipping my side of the story over and over, studying angles and colors she didn’t see before.

“Yes, I didn’t see it in that way. I doubt he did either,” she says. “Our people are not known for avoiding conflicts.”

“I get that,” I confess, “but there’s other stuff too, Arcade. It’s . . . I don’t know how much drama I want in my life. Fathom and I are like fire and gasoline. We’re intense, and we burn really hot, but we’re dangerous. I keep getting scorched. I feel reckless when he’s near me, and I do things I wouldn’t normally do.”

“The mating?”

“Aaargh,” I say. “Keep it down? My dad is right there. You’re going to ruin his life. It’s . . . I knew he was with you, and I didn’t care. I don’t do things like that, not since Stevie Brinks in the third grade.”

“Who?”

I wave her off. “Never mind. It goes against the girl code.”

“You are a liar and a coward,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Um, okay. I thought we were making a little progress—”

“You love him, Lyric Walker, so do not lie. I don’t know what this word ‘drama’ is, but it sounds like something you have invented because you are afraid to feel what you do. Love, like war, is supposed to be overwhelming.”

“When did you turn into a therapist?”

“I know these things. I am a liar and a coward as well. When Fathom and I were children, our fathers committed us to each other. Such arrangements are rare and frequently lead to unhappy unions, but there are greater matters than happiness when it comes to leading an empire. Fathom, for his part, did his best to make our responsibility joyful. We have a deep bond.”

“Until I came along and ruined it,” I say, my way of apologizing again.

“You ruined nothing,” Arcade says. “I ruined it.”

I peer through the darkness, trying to read her face.

“So you are in love with someone else?”

“The humans named him Flyer,” she whispers.

“Fathom’s cousin? Does Flyer know?” I ask.

She looks offended. “Absolutely not!”

“Fathom knew,” I remind her.

“It appears I have not hidden my feelings as well as I had hoped.”

“Fathom says he’s out there,” I say, pointing toward the ocean.

She turns and cranes her neck for a better view, as if she might catch a glimpse of him.

“If you love this other guy, why did you threaten to kill me?” I ask.

“You broke the girl code,” she says.

“Wait, you actually know what that means?”

“Bex Conrad explained it to me in the desert. You violated many of its rules. She was quite incensed.”

“So she trash-talked me?”

“I do not know that term. I do know I was angry. You meddled in my relationship and used your disapproval of it as an excuse. That’s against the code.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“I am sorry I broke the code,” I say, throwing my hands up in surrender.

“We have a peculiar friendship, Lyric Walker,” Arcade says.

“I thought we were bitter enemies,” I say, so shocked, I can barely get the words out of my mouth.

“I kill my enemies,” she says. “I will not deny that there are certain things about you that I find trying and—”

“Let’s not ruin this special moment,” Bex interrupts as she crawls over to join us.

“Sorry if we woke you,” I say.

“It’s hard to sleep when everyone’s talking about mating.” She giggles.

“Oh, that’s war, Conrad. Now I’m going to have to say the word you can’t stand.”

“Don’t do it, Walker!”

“Moist.”

“Aaargh,” she growls, holding her hands to her ears.

“Are all humans mentally ill?” Arcade asks.



I’m woken by the sound of helicopter blades whipping the air outside the windows. It’s jarring. The last time I saw helicopters, they had White Tower logos on them, but these are military choppers designed to carry a dozen people. They land in the sand behind the building.

“What’s that about?” I ask when Jackson rushes into the room.

“That’s your ride,” he explains. “We’re going with Kita’s plan. Gather a team of ten and assemble the rest on the beach. We’re taking the prime out today,” Jackson insists. “Hurry, Lyric. We have to get you into the air before they launch another attack.”

I turn to the children and order them to gather. Chloe takes my hand, and we follow everyone onto the beach. With the team spread out before me, I mentally try to organize who should go with me and who should stay behind to fight the Rusalka stampede. It’s hard trying to find the right balance.