Macabre Melody: Reverse Harem Siren Romance (Spellsinger Book 7)

by Amy Sumida

I looked closer at Slate's companion and realized he was another man, not a woman. In fact, there were two men; both of them staying within the shadows of the viewing box. I couldn't make out their faces, just that they were both smaller than Slate. Slim enough for me to have assumed they were women.

  I looked away from the box; I didn't have time to wonder who Slate was keeping company with or where his lady friends were. I had to fight for my life. Again. I settled into place and waited. Sure enough, a pair of Rikshas—bear shifters—appeared at the other end of the arena. They weren't shifted yet, that was against the rules, but they eyed me as if they were already tearing me apart. Jago told me the purse for winning a fight against me had been growing with every match. That's what happened when the winner was a prisoner. I didn't get the loot, so it went into a pot for the next guy. If I kept winning, it kept growing, and if I lived long enough to satisfy Slate—eye roll—I'd get the payout. At least there was that.

  I glanced at Slate again. I was going to shove that money down his throat. He nodded at me as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. You can try, Elaria. I could practically hear him in my head. I'm looking forward to it. That's the thing about getting to know someone; you could read their expressions. Hear them without them saying a damn thing. I hated that I knew Slate that well.

  “Who's up for some blood and music?” The male announcer called out.

  The crowd shouted and stomped.

  I sighed; this was getting old.

  “Oh, yes,” the female announcer added in her purring drawl. “The Spellsinger is still alive and swinging, or singing, rather.”

  Hardy, har, har. I grimaced at her.

  “And today, she faces not one, not two, but three Rikshas!” The man shouted.

  I gaped as another bear-shifter stepped out into the arena. My gaze shot up to Slate and narrowed. He shrugged and smirked at me. Can you take it?

  “Bastard,” I hissed.

  I glanced toward the gate and saw Jago giving Slate the same narrow-eyed glare that I had. He flicked his gaze to me and shook his head apologetically. At least Jago hadn't lied to me on purpose.

  “Fight!” The woman shouted.

  I reached for my magic.

  Nothing.

  I went deeper.

  Kyanite wasn't there.

  A bead of sweat dripped down my temple.

  I tried again. Only emptiness.

  I clutched at my collar in shock as I realized that not only had Slate put me in the ring with three bears, but he had also taken away my only weapon. I was as helpless as Goldilocks, and I was pretty damn sure these bears weren't here to feed me porridge. Shit; is that why Slate had been so quiet last night? Had he been thinking about watching me die? My frantic gaze shot across the arena to the shifters who were now fully bears—three giant, black bears; not a baby in the bunch—and were racing at me.

  “Is something wrong with the Spellsinger?” The woman asked in confusion. “Come on, honey, sing!”

  “Yeah; I would if I could, bitch.” I pointed at my collar furiously.

  Her eyes went wide and then shot up to Slate. I followed her gaze and saw that Slate wasn't in his normal spot near the window but was instead further back in the box; shouting at his guests. One of the men had a tiny remote in his hands and was yelling back at Slate. Did that dumb fuck give his guests power over my magic? Was this his idea of entertaining his friends? I was both furious that Slate would do something so stupid and strangely relieved that it hadn't been him. Still; it was his fault either way.

  “I'm going to strangle him,” I muttered as I jumped out of the way of a raging riksha and started running.

  A claw caught my calf, and I stumbled. The crowd gasped, but I went with the motion; tumbling through the middle of the group of grasping bears. They were enormous, but I was going to use that against them. I leapt and dodged and rolled; all while taking minor hits that nonetheless left a trail of blood across the arena. The crowd was starting to boo and hiss. They hadn't come to watch an unarmed woman get slaughtered.

  I grabbed a handful of bear fur and launched myself on a riksha's back. With my thighs, I clung to its neck as I dug my fingers into its eyes. If you ever find yourself out of your league, go for the eyes, Cer always told me. It was good advice even if it was a tad gross to execute. Fluids gushed over my fingers. I didn't dwell on my disgust. I just dug deeper and held on.

  The bear roared and swung its head wildly; its friends lumbering about in helpless confusion. As soon as I blinded it, I jumped to safety and faced the other two. The blind bear whined and stumbled into the wall as the crowd shouted encouragement at me. Some of them even tried to toss me weapons, but they disintegrated as soon as they hit the shimmering ward above my head.

  My breath sawed in and out of my throat. I was shaking and bleeding from wounds all over my body. I wasn't even sure if I was trembling from exhaustion or if it was from blood loss. My wounds were healing, but those damn bears kept giving me new ones. I wasn't sure how much blood I could lose before I passed out. Would I go into shock? I started to wonder if this was where I was going to die. How ironic; the Goddess of Light dying beneath the earth in a fighting arena with nothing but her hands to defend herself with. Maybe this was karma coming for me. Justice. I had nearly murdered an entire planet of giants, killed two Shining One courts, and made a third court mortal. There was a lot of blood on my hands. Buckets of it.

  The thought stilled the rising panic inside me. If this was my fate, so be it. I'd face it bravely... and fight it to the end. I may have felt remorse for what I'd done, I may have even craved a reckoning, but I didn't want to die. I had too much to live for.

  I ran straight for one of the two uninjured bears. He actually looked frightened. Isn't that hilarious? I had nothing but my little fingers—now covered in eye goop—and this massive bear was scared of me. He actually froze.

  At the last second—when I was about to launch myself onto his back and do to him the same thing I had done to his friend—the third bear barreled into me. I felt ragged claws tear into my side and thick teeth sink into my shoulder. I screamed, and the crowd went silent.

  Then the Beneathers began to roar. Surprisingly, not in delight. They were furious. They were being robbed. They were nearly as bloodthirsty as the bears but that viciousness was now directed at the Zone Lord. Beneathers pounded the stone, shouted at Slate, and even threw things at his viewing box. I was kind of touched. At least, I would have been if I hadn't been previously touched by bear claws and teeth.

  As I felt my bones start to break beneath the weight and ferocity of the riksha, a screech alerted me to a fourth player entering the arena. A monster flew into the bear on my belly and slammed him away just as blood spurted from my mouth. I gurgled wetly as I stared up through my tangled hair at a gray-skinned demon.

  He had a long snout-like nose, floppy horse ears (one of them with a gold hoop in it), and a pair of stick-straight horns shooting back from his temples. His knees bent the wrong way, his thighs were enormous, and his tail whipped out to strike at the Rikshas with its spear-like end. He was fucking beautiful. He bared his teeth at the bears until they backed away.

  The thing bent over me as the crowd shouted in approval—his massive wings blocking out the arena lights—and I saw his gray eyes soften. “I've got you, Diva,” Jago's voice came out of the beast's snout as claw-tipped hands slid carefully beneath my broken body. “You're going to be all right.”

  I couldn't even cry out from the pain as Jago lifted me. I think my lungs had collapsed. I just hung in his arms and bled all over him; hoping that my immortality would kick in soon.

  “This is fucking bullshit,” Jago muttered as he rushed me out of the arena. “I ain't going along with this anymore.”

  It was the last thing I heard before I passed out.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I didn't stay passed out for long. My new, improved immortality had finally started working. I realized that it had been focused on my most li
fe-threatening injuries first; mainly my collapsed lungs and broken ribs. But once I was able to breathe, the healing started to spread outward. It wasn't pleasant. The bleeding stopped, but I screamed as my bones knit back together; searing pain shooting through me like fireworks. Pop, pop, pop; magic realigned my body with merciless precision.

  Jago carried me into a room I didn't recognize. Bright, overhead lights brought me fully back to consciousness, and I blinked against the glare. He laid me on a cold, metal exam table. There were cabinets and countertops lining the walls; medical supplies and small pieces of equipment on display.

  They had an infirmary? Odd. I guess even murderers deserved medical care. If they were the winner, that is.

  “Fuck, you're already healing,” Jago whispered as he tore strips of my leather shirt away.

  “Jago, if you use this as a chance to see me naked, I'm going to knee you in your monstrous balls,” I growled.

  He chuckled. “Checking out my balls, were you?”

  “Of course, baby,” I found the strength to tease him. “You know I've always wanted to see your gargoyle gonads.”

  I groaned as Jago peeled back a blood-soaked strip of fabric and revealed a wound that went all the way to my ribs.

  “Fuck,” he hissed. “Hang in there, Diva.”

  Jago had shifted back to his human form once we'd gotten inside and was now standing beside me naked. I glanced down the line of his muscled body and then shut my eyes.

  “Can you put on some pants?”

  “Seriously?” His tone was aghast. “You're fucking bleeding to death, and you want me to stop helping you to put on pants? You really are fascinated with my balls.”

  “Shut up and get dressed, Jago,” I bit out through my teeth. “I'm not dying.”

  “I'll say when you're not dying,” Slate snapped as he strode into the room. “Attend her; now!”

  I opened my eyes to see a small woman with platinum hair and dark skin come in the room with Slate. She hurried over to me as Jago backed away; grabbing a bottle off a shelf as she came. The woman bent her head over the deepest wound and poured something into it. I hissed as it stung, and the men tensed.

  “I need to clean it to see what I'm working with,” she muttered at the scowling men. “There... oh.”

  “What oh? What the fuck does 'oh' mean?” Jago asked anxiously.

  Slate's jaw clenched so tightly that I thought he might crack.

  “She's healing herself,” the woman said. Dark blue eyes lifted to mine and widened. “Your Majesty, it really is you!”

  I blinked and focused on her; looked her over. I didn't recognize her. She was a Shining One. Not a royal, but not without power either. She wore several pieces of jewelry; all of them showcasing pale green stones with bright pink spots. I touched her pendant; leaving a bloody smear on her chest. She didn't seem to notice.

  “Fuchite,” I whispered. “You're a Shining One healer.”

  “That's right, Your Majesty,” she said gently as she smoothed the hair back from my face. I could feel her power seeping into me; aiding my own healing abilities as she spoke. “My kingdom stayed out of the Battle for Sapphire, but I went with the group that paid tribute to you afterward. I remember you vividly; you looked so small standing beside King Torin, but you held him in the palm of your hand.” She smiled at the memory.

  “Torin,” I whispered brokenly. “Sweet stones, I miss him.”

  Someone growled low; a dangerous sound.

  “King Torin scowled at us,” she went on to cover my heartbreak. “I was terrified of him. And you smacked him in the shoulder and told him to stop being an asshole.” She giggled and then went serious. “Thank you for what you did for us; for saving us from King Galen, and for being so merciful afterward to the ones who refused to fight.”

  The men shuffled awkwardly behind her, but I barely saw them.

  “Merciful.” Tears welled in my eyes as my hand fell away from her. “Not to everyone,” I whispered. “I don't deserve your gratitude.”

  “Nonsense,” she huffed. “You saved Tír na nÓg at the Battle of Primeval.”

  “And nearly killed the entire Jotun race in the process,” I lamented.

  “I heard the story. Your aunt was killed. And it wasn't just you; all of the Spellsingers tried to avenge her. But you pulled yourselves back.”

  “She pulled us back,” I murmured. “My Aunt Alexandra. Her spirit came to us and eased our anger.”

  “See? You come from valiant stock. You were born to be a savior,” she insisted.

  I gave a mirthless laugh.

  Dear Gods; who was this woman? I'd assumed most of Tír na nÓg either wanted me dead or was afraid of me. I had no idea there were Shining Ones who thought I was a hero.

  “You keep fighting don't you, Your Majesty? One battle after another comes to your doorstep.” The power of fuchite combined with my immortality had healed my body completely, but this woman was prodding at wounds in my mind. In my soul. “And sometimes into your very body. You had to fight yourself, and that was the hardest war yet, wasn't it? But you won. You saved us again. We all know what you did before the gates of Howlite; how you stood against your lovers and yourself. You're the bravest woman I've ever met. Let me comfort you, Your Majesty. I can ease the torment I feel inside you.”

  It was too much; after weeks of fighting in the arena and at Slate's dinner table, her sympathy and kind words broke me. I closed my eyes and let the tears come; let her magic seep in and soothe me. I didn't care if the gargoyles saw my weakness. I was too tired, too broken to give a shit. My body trembled as I let myself truly feel the regrets I'd been carrying since I'd imprisoned Faenestra. I'd traded one weight for another.

  “It's okay; you go ahead and cry.” Her hands slid over me gently. Her magic was a cool balm on those burning wounds. “No one will judge you for it.”

  As my heart went peaceful for the first time in months, my tears dried, and I found myself in control again. I wiped at my face in embarrassment; turning away from the gargoyles so they wouldn't see the movement. Then I sat up and took the woman's hand.

  “What's your name?” I asked her.

  “Helene, Your Majesty.” She bowed to me.

  “None of that here, Helen,” I said gently as I leaned forward and hugged her. “Thank you. For your healing and your kindness.”

  Helene smiled softly at me before nodding respectfully to Slate and hurrying out the door. I sighed deeply and finally faced the men. Jago was gaping at me, but Slate just stared. I couldn't read him this time; his eyes gleamed but it was in a way that hid his thoughts. A mirror instead of a blade. It was Jago who broke the silence.

  “A fucking queen?!” He nearly shouted. “You're a fairy queen?”

  “A Shining One queen,” I corrected. “I thought you knew who I was?”

  “You can't be a Shining One queen.” Jago shook his head. “You're a spellsinger.”

  “It's a long story.” I glanced at Slate; he was still staring.

  “Shit.” Jago whistled. “Boss, did you know about this?”

  Slate slid a silencing look Jago's way, and Jago's eyes widened.

  “Give us a minute, Jago,” Slate's voice could have cut me open again, it was so sharp.

  “Yeah, okay.” Jago looked back and forth between us as he left.

  I was about to hop down from the table when Slate moved forward and placed his hands on the table to either side of my legs. I glanced down at the spread of his fingers warily. I could feel the heat of his body and smell him over the scent of blood; clean with a mineral tinge and a spice that was unique to every man. I breathed deeply without meaning to.

  “I've got another job for you.” Slate leaned in close; his words warming my lips.

  “What?” I blinked at him dumbly. Was he talking about work while I was covered in blood, sand, and bear goop?

  “Instead of fighting in the arena,” Slate clarified, “I want you to sing in my club.”

  “You have
a club?” I asked. “What kind of club?”

  “A nightclub.” His lips twitched. “What other kind of club would I want you to sing in?”

  “I dunno,” I muttered. “Banning has a golf club—the membership type, not the thing you hit balls with—and he has entertainment there—”

  “I want you to sing in my club,” Slate gently interrupted me. “Instead of here.”

  My blood went cold as I looked over his expression. As much as I wanted to stop fighting, if I left the arena, I might never get away from him. At least as a champion, I had a chance at earning my freedom. Or maybe my men would find a way inside the zones soon.

  “No,” I said softly.

  “No?” Slate frowned; just a little wrinkling of his brow. He looked as if he didn't know what the word meant.