Poseidia (11 page)

“You know, I don’t know anything about you,” I said, finishing off another glass of wine.

Lily looked up and over my shoulder. I sensed someone approaching from behind me and turned my head to look.

Roman.
Oh, crap. Don’t think about him, or the other night, or my fantasies. Ohh, massive fail. Think about hot dogs. That’s it—hot dogs, hot dogs.
He was shirtless, which at this point was obviously his thing, and clad in black well-worn trousers, but not from any decade I’d ever seen. I wondered where in the world this man had come from. Or maybe when.

Lily was getting up from the table. “I have to attend a meeting with the High Council.
”

“What is he doing here?” I asked
in a hushed voice.

“You summoned me,” Roman
directed at Lily, coming to stand next to the table before her.

“I did,” Lily
affirmed. “I need you to watch Anna while I attend a meeting.”

“Whoa—I don’t need anyone to watch me. I’m a big
girl; I can take care of myself.”
No way. Not after today.
I wasn’t going to sit here with him. “What, are you afraid I’m going to take off again? I’m not. Can’t I be given any freedom at all?” In a heady rush, I was beginning to feel the wine. My senses dulled, allowing my tongue to run unfiltered.

“
Under order of the High Council, I can’t leave you alone except in your quarters until they meet with you,” she revealed. “I’m sorry, I’ll return shortly.”

Roman sat down in the chair Lily had occupied.
Stubbornly, I turned my head and looked out the window at the fish. I refused to be the one to say the first word.
Hot dog. Hot fog. Hot bog.

Chapter 1
1

“I
heard you’ve been a bad girl,” Roman smirked, a huge dark grin spreading across his face. A waiter appeared and placed a tall opalescent mug in front of him.

Wait—they have
waiters? Why did Lily keep getting up to get our drinks when they have waiters?

I
observed my new babysitter out of the corner of my eye, but I refused to face him.

“I’m far more
tenacious than you are. I’ll win that war,” he challenged, sniffing at his drink as if it was a fine wine. Then he took a long swig.

“What war?” I snapped.

He came up for a breath and placed his mug gently on the table, curiously fingering the condensation forming on the outside. “You mean to punish me for the way I treated you today.”

“Is it working?” I grabbed my glass of wine, but realized it was empty.
When did that happen?

“No
.” He drank long and hard from his mug and then slammed it down on the table.

The noise startled me and I jumped.
His eyes took on a glazed-over look, as he vacantly stared out at the fish.

The same waiter appeared and replaced his empty mug with a full one.

Why don’t they replace my empty glass?

“Then you admit you were an ass
.” I ran my fingers over the rim of my glass, hoping a waiter would notice.
I guess I could get up and get my own, but if he didn’t have to, why should I? Is he special or something?

“I admit no such thing,”
he said, refusing to look at me while draining his new mug in one swig. Again, he slammed it down on the table. The same waiter appeared with a new one, but before I could ask for another glass of wine, he was gone.

I guess I will have to get my own.
“What are you drinking?” I asked, trying to peek over into his mug.

“Wine,” he confirmed.

I wrung my hands in front of me on the table. “I’m surprised they have wine. It seems too human for them.”

“I taught them how to make it.
But I altered the recipe to suit their tastes.”

“Whe
re did you learn?” I glanced up at him, tearing my gaze away from the tabletop.

He slid his eyes to
consider me as if mulling over whether he should answer or not. The silence dragged on for an uncomfortable amount of time before he finally said, “From my father.” It was as if he barely breathed the words out, his lips tight, then he returned to his vacant stare out the window.

Obviously,
he didn’t want to speak about his past, so I cleared my throat and politely changed the subject. “It seems I’m in a lot of trouble for leaving.” I sighed, wondering about Lily’s meeting with the High Council.
Are they meeting about me? Regarding my fate here?

As h
e leaned in toward me slightly, a huge grin spread across his face. Meeting his eyes was too intense for me to handle at this moment, so I looked at anything but him. He reached across the table, gently grabbed my hand, and with his fingertip drew circles on the back of it. The sensations of pleasure made my blood boil.
Hot dogs, hot dogs.

Again, I tried to change the subject,
because now I was the one uncomfortable. “Lily said you were the only one who could heal, the way you did on the beach. How do you do it?”

“
It’s one of my many talents.” He released my wrist and leaned back in his seat. “It’s a simple matter of manipulating molecules. When they changed me, I had mutations. Healing is one of them.” Roman peeled back a sensory dampener from his own hand.

“
Didn’t they integrate you? Wait—she said you….” I realized I was going to tell him what Lily had said about his anger keeping him from the Connective. I didn’t know if I should bring it up. “She said I would be integrated after I adjust.”

“I’m halfway
connected, and that’s fine with me—I value my privacy. I can receive, but transmitting is at will.”

I need to find out how to do that so I can stop projecting my thoughts.

It was hard for me to understand. “You make it sound similar to a radio transmitter.”

“Something
like that,” he vaguely affirmed, returning to his blank stare out the glass wall.

I tried to follow his gaze, but saw nothing of particular interest.
“Can you tell me how to not project my thoughts? I would appreciate my privacy, too.”

C
uriously, I glanced around the room at all the other people. The music still played, but it had changed to a classical venue.

Can they hear my thoughts
too?

Can Roman?

“Why should I tell you?” he barked. The depths of his brown eyes betrayed a deep sadness, hinting he didn’t mean what he said, the way he’d said it. It was as if he was so used to being abrasive, he didn’t know another way to communicate.

“Th
ere you go being an ass again.”

H
e visibly winced.

“Haven’t you learned to be a nice guy down here, or did they not train you to do that? Helping me learn to maintain some dignity would be the nice thing to do—that’s
why
.”

“
Who said I was nice?” he grumbled and looked away from me back to the window.

“I know men
like you. You act all tough on the outside, but on the inside you’re a big teddy bear,” I accused, pointing my finger at him.

“I am no stuffed toy.” He took another long drink from his mug. After a
nother uncomfortable pause, he added, “Put up a wall.”

“A wall?” I considered how to do that
, but came up with nothing. “How would I… erect a wall for thought protection?”

“See it in your mind—imagine it.
Quite simple, really,” he answered, sounding annoyed with me.

Frustrated,
I drummed my fingers on the table. Relenting, I finally got up and went to the bar to get another glass of wine. I lingered there, watching all the people dancing. No longer upset with Roman, I strode back to the table—the happy energy of the room had melted my bad feelings. Now, I almost felt sorry for Roman. Reclaiming my seat across from him, I asked, “You’re one of them, so can you hear my projected thoughts? Lily apparently can.”

“I’m not
one of them.” He banged his mug down on the table, again.

“Will you stop slamming the table? It’s rude!” I
thumped my own hands on the surface in illustration.

Roman
rolled his eyes and shrugged one of his shoulders.

Reigning
in my annoyance, I tried again, “You
are
one of them—you live down here with them. I’ve seen you change into a Mer. How can you say you’re not?” The same waiter unobtrusively replaced his mug.

“I get sick
—they don’t.” A new waiter appeared and placed a bowl of algae in front of Roman. He distractedly ate a bit then pushed the bowl to the side.

In shock,
I glanced over at the people dancing, imagining what he said was true—that they were immune to sickness and disease. “They never get sick?” I marveled, somewhat rhetorically.

“Injured, but not sick with d
isease.” He downed another mug.

Man, how much can he drink?
And he shows no signs of being drunk. Not yet.

Oh, who am I to talk
, I’ve had plenty. Not enough, in my opinion.

At least he is being more talkative. For now.

“Is that the only way you are different, other than the obvious?” My eyes drifted across his bare chest and down his abdomen. I had to stop my mind from wandering into forbidden areas. He would know if I thought naughty thoughts.
Hot dog, indeed. Maybe that’s not the best word to focus on.

“I have to hibernate more than they do,” he
admitted. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back as if he was bored with our conversation.

“Hibernate?” I remembered the
containers in the Healing Center and shivered. “Does that have anything to do with the caskets I saw? I thought it was the morgue.”

“It’s much more high-tech. What you saw are hibernation chambers.”

Hibernation?
I chewed on the word and concept. “I have no idea how that works.”

“You will.”

My heart sped up. The music changed again to a slower beat. I watched as people paired off and moved their bodies seductively, swaying to the music while several couples openly kissed. Uncomfortable with being a voyeur, I cleared my throat and glanced back at Roman, who paid no attention to the dancing. “If they don’t have diseases, why not share the anti-bodies with the whole world? Humans need that sort of information.”

“What makes you think they haven’t?” He glanced to the doorway, as if he was
impatiently looking for someone.

“Of course they haven’t
, otherwise there would be no cancer.” Drawn as if by some invisible force to the action on the dance floor, I grew heated and fanned my hands in front of my face.
Stay focused, girl.

“How do you know they haven’t tried to share it with humans, but humans repress
ed the information?”

“
Surely they wouldn’t do that. People need the cures.”

He
chuckled, his eyes lighting up. “If you’re so sure then why are you asking me? You seem to have all the answers.”

“I’m sorry if I’m upsetting you. I haven’t heard of any kind of cures. Is that better?”
Heat rose. I touched my fingers against my neck, where I swore I sensed the brush of someone’s lips against my skin. A ripple of goose bumps traveled down my arm and then through my body.

He chuckled again, but I wasn’t sure what he found so amusing.
“How do you think humans have advanced in their technology? How do you think humans have come up with cures for certain diseases, but not others?” A sly smile spread across his face as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“I don’t know.” My voice
squeaked as I spoke.

“They have tried to feed humans information when it would benefit them. Humans repress
knowledge when it interferes with their profit margins. If the insight suits them, and they can make money on it, then they utilize it. If not, they don’t. Simple.” He tenderly clasped my hand again, drawing circles over my electroreceptors. Then he peeled back the sensory dampener and trailed his finger over the exposed receptors, watching my face intently.

“I…
don’t… understand.” Brain short-circuited, I’d completely lost focus on what we were talking about. The beat of the music seemed to take over and all I experienced was an intense throbbing sensation throughout my body.

“What’s not to understand
?” He brought the back of my hand to his lips and gently brushed them over my receptors. The stubble of his beard tickled, making me gasp. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“So?” I whispered, breathless.

He dropped my hand and studied me for a long few moments. Then glanced over at the dance floor, seeming to notice the activity for the first time. Finally, he slid his eyes back to observe me while I openly gawked at the people dancing, their movements beautiful and graceful. An energy hypnotized me, and I completely forgot my intended interrogation of Roman.

He sauntered
over to my side of the table, dropped to one knee, and reached for my hand. “Would you care to dance?”

“What?” I asked, completely caught off guard.

“Dance. You seem interested in their dancing,” he gestured his head in the direction of the dance floor. “I thought you might want to join them.”

“I…
uh… I’m not a good dancer,” I protested, weakly.

“Not to worry—I am,” he
assured. Roman pulled me by my hand and led me to the floor before I could utter another objection. Elegantly, he swung me around, pressing his hand into my lower back, bringing me close to his body.
Hot…dog…

We blended into the crowd and claimed a position somewhere near the center. H
e drew me in tighter, despite my attempts to pull back, his strength holding me firmly in place. Confidently, he held my right arm out to the side while my left tucked up over his, and he began to sway his body to the music’s slow beat. His musky scent filled my nose, as sweat glistened across his chest. I turned my head to avoid looking at him.

Gathering my courage, I
murmured, “I’m sorry for my outburst earlier, for calling you an ogre, and hitting you the other day when you were trying to help. I have no idea what came over me and I apologize. I’ve been out of sorts since waking up in this strange place.”

He grunted
—a primal sound I could barely hear, but primarily felt in the subtle vibration of his chest.

Of their own volition, m
y eyes wandered down his pectorals, and further down his abdomen, to the place where his abdominal muscles disappeared into the top of his pants. Unabashedly curious, I stared at the scars covering his torso, brushing my fingertips where they intersected with his arm. Then I thought of my own abdomen, remembering the absence of scars from my attack.