The Atlas Six (The Atlas 1)

“Oh, I know where you are,” she drawled, beginning to toy with her hair. She was slightly blue, as always, and exceptionally vascular, so that Nico could see the indigo rivers splicing like kintsugi over her bare breasts. “It wasn’t very difficult. Naughty,” she chided as a preening afterthought.

“You still shouldn’t have been able to get in,” Nico said gruffly.

“Nicolás, how is it my fault if your creature wards were left unattended?”

Fair. It had crossed his mind briefly at the time they’d set them up, but he couldn’t very well tell everyone else why he needed to guard against one mermaid in particular.

Well—he could have, but he doubted anyone would take it seriously. Besides, Eilif wasn’t dangerous to him. Just… fishy, and mostly unhinged.

“Now, about my son,” Eilif began.

“No,” said Nico flatly, because despite Eilif presenting little danger to him, Gideon was a separate concern. “Do you know what it cost me to put up that ward in the first place? Leave Gideon alone.”

“Well.” Her pale lips pursed. “I see you have no understanding of progeny.”

“Neither do you!” Nico snapped. “You use him, Eilif, and he hates it. If Gideon wants you out, you’re staying out.”

In answer, Eilif’s eyes dropped to his hips.

And then lower.

And she stared.

And stared.

“Stop cursing my dick,” said Nico impatiently. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

Eilif threw her arms up with a sigh. “You know, I’m getting very tired of you,” she informed him shrilly. “Shouldn’t you die soon? Gideon’s had at least seventy mortal years by now.”

“He’s twenty-two,” Nico said.

“What? Impossible,” Eilif scoffed.

“I threw him a birthday party,” Nico said. “Which, by the way, you missed.”

She waved a hand, uninterested as usual in the traditional customs of motherhood. “Then he’s been a child for centuries, at least!”

“He’s not a child, he’s an adult. He’s at approximately a quarter of a mortal lifespan.”

“That doesn’t sound right—”

“Well, it is!” Nico said indignantly, and Eilif gave a loud, cerulean groan.

“Give me my son,” she barked, unconstrained. “He needs me!”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“How will he eat?”

“He eats fine.”

Her eyes narrowed, unconvinced.

“You know, we were fine before you,” she accused him, bemoaning it with a sullen howl.

“That’s not even close to true,” Nico said. “You left your infant son in the woods of Nova Scotia and then proceeded to show up every few years just to make him chase you through the dream realms. I wouldn’t call that being ‘fine,’ unless we’re only counting you.”

“