by Sonya Blake
“What is it?” Kaia asked, toweling her hair, standing stark naked in the bathroom door.
He felt himself stirring at the sight of her. Could he ever get his fill of this woman?
“Sam?”
“Huh?”
She giggled, cheeks coloring at his wandering eyes. Her laugh and her smile faded, though, and she leaned against the doorframe. “You look… troubled, darlin’.”
He sighed at the sound of her calling him that. “Just thinking about yesterday. I’m worried that what happened to me had something to do with my sealskin.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” He glanced in the mirror and smoothed a hand over his beard before bending to pick up his discarded clothes. “I’m getting this feeling, you know, like it’s not natural, whatever happened.”
“You mean… ”
“Yeah, like it was a… magickal occurrence.”
She lifted her foxy brows. Gave her head a little shake. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m still getting used to the reality of this.”
Sam nodded. He understood how she felt.
She stepped closer, a soft hand on his arm. “Well, there’s nothing you can do about it right now, is there?”
He shook his head. There wasn’t.
“I have an idea.” Her lips brightened into a smile. “I bought some snacks the other day. We can have a VHS tape marathon and pig out on nachos. Sound good?”
He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her bare waist, nuzzling against her neck. “Will you be wearing this outfit the whole time?”
She laughed, and the sound blew away his fears.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The minute she saw the Angeline finally leaving Foley’s Point the morning after the blizzard, Violet lifted the sealskin to her lips again. “Come to me, Sam,” she commanded, and smiled as she watched the small craft change course.
It proved to her what she’d thought impossible: that Kaia had used some form of protective magick to guard her property. The perky bitch was perhaps smarter than Violet had thought. If Kaia had used a protective charm, that put to question why she had done such a thing. Was she a witch who cast protective wards over her home by habit? Maybe. Did she know Violet’s secret? Impossible.
When Violet was sure the Angeline was making its way to her property in the center of the harbor, she ran downstairs and past Emory in the kitchen. She went barefoot through the snow until she came to the land’s edge, where she flipped the switch that would open the boathouse door. With a high ceiling to make room for fishing instruments and a deep bottom carved out of the rock, it was perfect for Sam’s lobster boat.
When the Angeline was safely inside, Violet flipped the switch to close the door. Her feet burned from the cold as she watched Sam walk out to meet her. His eyes were vacant, pupils dilated, his gaze directionless.
“Carry me to the house.” Violet wrapped her arms around his neck and felt him lift her off the cold, hard ground.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Kaia started tidying up the minute Sam left, needing to pull the house together before the realtor showed up at half-past ten. As she swept and scrubbed, her body felt light. Felt whole. More whole than it had since the night she had first changed into a siren. She’d been so afraid of herself in the days between, so afraid of what was waiting just under her skin. Afraid of the other siren who’d attacked her.
In fact, now that she was thinking about it, she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of that siren in days… somehow that wasn’t comforting. Kaia felt her good mood plummeting. She squeezed her eyes shut at the image of the siren’s face as blood plumed around her. Had Kaia killed her? God, she hoped not. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and fought back a sudden sob.
No, no, no. This was no time for a breakdown. She had less than forty-five minutes to get dressed, tidy up the bedroom and the living room—both of which had been destroyed by her and Sam’s lovemaking—and clean up the mess from dinner and breakfast in the kitchen.
Sam had offered to help, but she’d told him to go home and work on his paintings. She’d vacuum the popcorn strewn across the living room carpet. She’d wipe up the coffee smudges on the counter and the stove. She’d scrub out the pot they’d used for cooking chili. Make the bed. Put dirty clothes in the hamper. Wipe curly red hairs and globs of toothpaste out of the sink. She had nothing better to do.
“Dammit!” She grunted as she moved her fingers too hard over the scratch on her face, opening it up. Blood, scarlet and oily, streaked her fingers.
Did you kill her?
Kaia dampened a washcloth and pressed it gingerly to the cut on her cheek for a few minutes. Then, groaning like a beast, she swiped clothes off the floor and chucked them haphazardly in an empty drawer that would have to serve as a makeshift hamper. She stubbed her big toe on the doorframe of the bedroom and let out a roar as she soldiered onward, down the stairs, into the wrecked living room. She gathered nearly a half-dozen used glasses and mugs, wondering how two people could go through so much dishware, and was working up a sweat vacuuming when she just had to stop.
“To hell with it,” she grumbled, kicking the vacuum off. She brushed her hair out of her face and went to the window overlooking the bay.
The water was dark and peaceful as a holy place. It called to her. And, yes, her white-haired nemesis called to her, too. At least, Kaia hoped she did. She hoped she was alive, because she could not bear to live with herself if she was a killer. That was so, so very far from who she wanted to be.
The windowpane was cold when she pressed her fingers to it. Her breath fogged the glass. The coolness of it felt good on her bruised, broken cheek when she pressed it there and shut her eyes, listening to the constant crash and hiss against the rocks of Foley’s Point.
“I hope you’re out there,” she whispered to the siren. “I hope you’re okay.”
Kaia pulled away and looked out at the bay again, eyes centering on Thursday Island. The Angeline wasn’t there. Maybe Sam had decided to go into town to the post office to pick up the art supplies he’d ordered. He’d mentioned something about that. Or groceries. He couldn’t exactly drum up the essentials out there on Thursday Island, could he?
With a sigh, Kaia turned from the window and wheeled the vacuum cleaner to its home in the hall closet, before rolling up her sleeves to tackle the kitchen.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
By the light, Sam judged it to be midday. He was tied to a chair, bound by wrists, ankles and neck with a thick rope. The room was well lit by windows encircling its octagonal circumference. He was high up, and could see only the dark spires of snow-dusted hemlocks and the white chevron of a gull circling the gray. There was something familiar about this place. A smell, or…
He head the sound of a door opening. Footfalls ascending steps. The creak of the wood floor under a person’s weight behind him. Then he smelled the perfume he knew so well: grassy vetiver and sweet jasmine warmed with a hint of ginger, grounded in a whisper of earthy patchouli.
“Violet?” His voice broke when he said her name.
There was something else, something indefinable in her perfume. Something he frankly did not like. It was in all the perfumes she created, and he could never quite put his finger on it. But whatever it was, it made him want to gag.
She sidled in front of him, black hair swinging to her waist. She wore a loose black dress, a pair of fur-lined moccasin boots over wool stockings, and a silver skeleton key dangling between her breasts on a delicate chain.. Her makeup was perfect, as usual. She didn’t look like a person you’d expect to tie somebody to a chair and leave them in a basement. Or an attic. Or whatever this place was.
The cupola, Sam realized. The circular room that crowned the Wilde’s magnificent Victorian on Main Street.
“Why am I here?” he asked.
“Sam, we need to talk.” Violet frowned and went to sit on top of an old trunk nearby.
“That’s fine,” he said. “How ‘b
out you untie me? And tell me, Violet, how the fuck did I get here? ‘Cause I’ve got no memory of it.”
She lifted her arched brows and twitched her lips into a fleeting curve. “No, of course you don’t. And you won’t remember being here, either, when I’m done with you.”
“Done with me?” He pulled against the rope, feeling it grate against his wrists, pull at the sockets of his shoulders. He was beginning to sweat. “Why the fuck do you have me tied up?”
Was this some kind of sexual fantasy of hers? Sam hadn’t known Violet to be particularly kinky. Other than raking her nails down his back and pulling his hair, she’d never shown any inclination toward this type of sexual play. He had a bad feeling it wasn’t about sex at all.
Violet cast her baleful eyes upon him. “Stop struggling, will you? It’s not just rope that binds you to the chair. You’re spell-bound, Sam. You’re not going anywhere. Not till I say.”
Sam stilled. “You’re a witch,” he said, not so much a question as a realization.
Violet lifted a shoulder. “Among other things,” she purred.
“What do you want?” he asked, fighting his instinct to struggle against the ropes.
“Let’s talk about how you’ve been cheating on me.”
Sam slumped against the back of the chair. He should’ve seen this coming. Well, not this, exactly. Not being held against his will, possibly drugged, possibly abducted.
“Hey,” he said, suddenly connecting the dots. “This isn’t the first time you’ve done this to me, is it? Two days ago, I don’t know what happened, but I lost track of an entire day. Felt sick as a dog afterwards when I came back to myself. Was that you?”
A lurid smile spread over Violet’s lips. “It’s really a pity you don’t remember that day. I suppose I could reverse the forgetting spell…”
“Violet! This is—this is crazy.” He tried kicking out his legs, only to find that the rope binding his ankles was attached to his neck. Gagging, he felt the blood squeeze through his eyeballs and nostrils.
Violet approached him and stuck her cool fingers under the rope around his neck and loosened it, clucking. When he turned his head toward her wrist to bite her—his instincts were an animal’s, after all—she slapped him. Hard. His beard protected him from some of the sting, but still, his left eye was tearing and he tasted blood.
“Fuck!” he shouted, spraying saliva. “Fuck you!”
Violet laughed and stepped away, shaking her head. “We’ll get to that eventually.”
“Violet, look,” he began, trying for a rational tone. “I get it. I’ve been dishonest with you. You’re hurt. That’s… that’s understandable. But this? This is crazy.”
Violet leaned down and put her hands on his thighs. “You want to leave me, Sam? For her? Just say it. That’s all I want. I want to hear you say it.”
Sam kept his mouth clamped shut as Violet’s fingernails pinched through the denim covering his legs. He had to think clearly. Play his cards right. She was telling him she wanted honesty. He’d give her that.
“We never had a commitment, Violet,” Sam said between his teeth. “Our relationship was just physical, wasn’t it? You don’t even know me.”
She pushed off him, laughing bitterly. “Oh, I know you, Sam. I know you better than you think. Better than Kaia ever could.”
Sam didn’t like the sound of Kaia’s name on Violet’s tongue. He wanted to tell her to leave Kaia out of it, but something told him that if he were to give an order of any kind, he could bet that Violet would do the exact opposite. She wanted to be in control. That was what he needed to give her.
“You know, you’re probably right,” he said, then stopped himself from speaking more.
Most humans, Sam had observed, were not comfortable with silence. If he didn’t talk, she would. And then he could hopefully figure out how to use her words against her.
A raven squawked outside. The wind whistled under the eaves of the cupola. Violet sighed.
“See, I’m confused.” She lowered her brows and shook her head in puzzlement. “I’ve met her, Sam. She’s nothing special. She’s not even that attractive. I mean, she’s… stumpy.”
Sam swallowed the metallic taste of blood in his mouth from where Violet’s slap had cut the inside of his cheek on his teeth.
“I’d use the words petite and curvy, but okay,” he said.
Let her have control, dammit.
“Stumpy,” he echoed. “Sure. She’s not as beautiful as you.”
Sam’s head spun with the lie. Kaia was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Still, he had to play Violet’s game if he was going to get himself free.
“And there’s no way she’s as intelligent as me, either,” Violet added, widening her eyes. “That hillbilly accent? Does she think that’s cute?”
I do.
“I don’t think she can help it,” Sam said. “Just like me. I know I talk like a Mainer.”
Violet snorted. “You do,” she agreed. Her brows lowered in thought. She sat on the trunk again and stared at him. “Is that what it’s about, then? She’s easier for you to relate to? Blue-collar upbringing. No college education. Working a string of shitty jobs. Failing to make it as an artist. She grew up in a ranch house that might as well have been a double-wide.” Violet rolled her eyes.
Sam frowned, wondering how Violet had gotten this information about Kaia.
“Oh, I know all about her. It wasn’t hard to find her social media accounts online. Not that she has any following to note. She doesn’t even post regularly, but there was enough information on there for me to get the picture. So? Is that it? Do you feel like I’m too good for you, and she isn’t?”
Sam nodded. That would work. “Yes,” he said. “You are too good for me, Violet. Where did you really think this relationship could go, huh? Did you think you could take me out to dinner with my dirty hands and my Downeaster accent and introduce me to your father? Me, the lobsterman you’re dating?” He laughed. It did sound ridiculous. “Did you think your family would approve of me, pay for a big wedding and invite all their friends in the one percent to meet their poor son-in-law? Did you think you wouldn’t be embarrassed by me, Violet?”
She pursed her lips, eyes burning into his. “I don’t have a family,” she said. “This?” She held up her hands and gestured to herself. “This isn’t even my body.”
Sam’s head spun. He didn’t get her meaning. He hoped his silence would draw her out.
“I’ve been on this earth a long, long time, Sam. Imagine if each day in your life was a lifetime in itself. That’s how long my time has been.”
He swallowed, fearing her more as he looked up into her cold gaze.
Violet stood and paced to the window. “I know you’ve had your share of lovers. Last summer alone there were five that I counted. That loud blonde, Amy, who you picked up at the Hook and Anchor. The single mom, what was her name? Oh, Therese. The one on vacation with her parents and her kids. Boy, was she miserable. And before that, scores. I wonder if Kaia knows about your track record.”
Sam gritted his teeth. He wanted to defend himself, to say he’d always been honest with those women and told them he didn’t want a relationship. And most of them had been fine with that. They’d just been passing through, looking for a little summer excitement.
“Of course, there was that one a few years ago… Riley Patterson.” Violet laughed, slapping her thigh. “Remember her?”
He did.
“Skinny little waif of a thing,” Violet continued. “Got a summer job on the ferry boat. You’d end up the days at the Hook, and, well, one thing led to another and eventually she was sleeping out on Thursday Island. And when summer ended she was heartbroken.”
Even though she’d promised she wouldn’t be. Yes, Sam remembered Riley. He remembered her letters sent from her university campus. Her emails. Her phone calls. All unanswered. She’d stopped trying to reach out to him eventually.
“Poor Riley,” Violet sighed
dramatically. “Of course, there was Paige Mather and Larissa Moody and Rosalee Thompson, too,” she added.
Sam felt like he’d just been slapped in the face. Those were girls he’d been with when he was a teenager. How did Violet know about them? He certainly hadn’t known Violet at that time, no more than to see her on the street, the strange girl living alone in the big house with a live-in tutor who homeschooled her.
“Oh, I know about those poor girls, too,” Violet said. “I saw the tall, dark-haired boy who worked with his dad on the fishing boat. I made friends with the biggest gossip in Camden Hills High, Chrissy English. Remember her?”
Sam didn’t.
“I didn’t think you would,” Violet admitted. “Chrissy had the biggest crush on you. But you never noticed her. Not for a moment. Oh, and who could forget your first? Tara. Wasn’t that her name? Wasn’t she… older?”
Sam shook his head. He didn’t want to be reliving any of this. Violet, however, was hell-bent on dredging up his past, holding him accountable for every woman he’d ever been with, as if each one had been a betrayal against her.
“Tara came to Quolobit Harbor your second summer,” Violet said. “Her family rented the house on Foley’s Point, didn’t they?”
They had.
“She was eighteen and you were what, sixteen?”
Something like that. Sam was struggling to keep up with her. She remembered more about his life than he did.
“And her parents were lushes and her little brothers were assholes and she was always hanging around downtown by herself and you’d drive around together in her parents’ big old Buick station wagon.” Violet laughed, like it was her own fond memory. “They were the kind of rich people who wouldn’t buy themselves a decent car. Tara was wearing cute clothes only because she’d earned the money herself, babysitting. And Tara… she took your virginity in that Buick. Didn’t she, Sam?”
Yep.