Page 35 of Edge of Stars

But once more, she’s too late.

And my gratitude hits an all-time high. Right along with my incredulity.

Make that pure shock.

As Proteus’s new little pets chase each other down into his hand, engorging through his fingers.

Until his mini sharks give birth to an astoundingly big one.

This is no strange CG beast. It’s a junior great white and throwing a toddler-grade fit to match. Its dripping teeth snap madly at the air—

Until Proteus shows it something better to nosh on.

Hermes’s arm.

“Yiii ayyyy!” the minion screams.

“Oh God,” Kara cries, though I’m stunned when there’s no follow-up exclamation. But beyond that, proud. For a new bride covered in sea mud, kelp pods, and at least a gallon of Hermes’s blood, she’s astoundingly composed. Her gorgeous features, stamped with the relief of freedom, even give in to half a smile.

But only half of one.

Not far past her courage, I see everything she’s longing to truly surrender to. Exhaustion. Uncertainty. Uneasiness. Sheer, unbridled fear.

All of it is there, and more, as she dashes her wide stare to me. I wish I could respond with something other than a reflection of her unexpressed anxiety.

What now?

Again, my sea king uncle doesn’t let us down.

He’s here as if he heard the question a minute ago. Flexed and ready, focusing down his water stairs but now extending more than his stare. He’s offering to us—screw it, he’s commanding us—with a huge, open-palmed hand.

“That’s it. All aboard!”

A high, hysterical laugh erupts from behind me. Hecate’s caving to full, desperation mode. “Oh, now this is the best part of the day. And here I thought you were getting too somber for your age, Po!”

“Fuck off, Hecate.” He stresses his motion with a tough shake. Extends his fingers with tougher tension. “You kids want to be safe? You want your baby to be? Then get your asses in gear and let’s amp this action. Now.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

KARA

If this was simply an awful dream, I’d wake up and be 9-1-1-ing for a trauma therapist. No. A priest. Because frying in holy water has to be my only available redemption for the catastrophe of this day. The hubris of this plan. The stupidity of thinking Maximus and I could pound even a tiny dent in the most stubborn skulls of the cosmos.

Instead, we’re here, having to make this choice—our only choice—that should be easy in its necessity but is just the opposite. The most excruciating decision of my life.

I’m rushing toward Poseidon’s vessel through a war zone. The broken, howling landscape that should be filled with the laughter, music, flowers, and joy of my wedding day.

Once Poseidon throttles us forward again, blasting out the church’s huge windows on the way, that ice melts into my tears. It bursts from my heart as full and fast as the glass windows, now shooting like rockets into the redwoods. Unstoppable. Uncontrollable.

My husband pulls me closer to his side. Though his mud-caked form is solid, there are conspicuous tremors in his fingers. As soon as I turn fully against him, he pushes a shaky breath into my hair.

“I’m sorry.”

We rasp it together but don’t spare laughter for the great-minds-think-alike stuff. Nor do we waste the moments on depreciating the guilt. They’d be useless words. Pointless blame. We shared the dream of a beautiful peace; we’re shouldering the weight of the ugly disillusionment.

Our systems use the time to combat the frustration in different ways. As his chest clenches on shallow breaths, mine expands and reaches for more room. As my shoulders shake, giving in and giving up, his are as formidable as cement blocks.

We grip each other tighter when our reactions sync again. Beneath my cheek, I feel Maximus’s lungs suck back to his spine as mine do the same. We snap our gazes, forgetting all emotions to try to make sense of what’s happening now. More accurately, where his uncle is speeding us. And how.