by Eve Langlais
Jory only wanted to copulate with one thing. One woman.
He’d never bedded a siren, and he knew she’d never been with someone like him.
The woman saw him. He knew she did because she looked right at him. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. They would look perfect wrapped around his dick.
A smile tugged at his mouth.
The siren turned her back on him.
Which almost caused him to stumble.
What was that about? Women did not ignore Jory. On the contrary, they threw themselves at him. Quite literally at times. He’d learned to just ignore and drag them until they released their grip and fell off.
Playing hard to get. He’d heard of this ploy, he’d just never seen it used against him. It did titillate. He quickened his steps as he neared his objective.
Around him, people exclaimed as tables appeared, festooned with checkered tablecloths. Platters of fruit, meat, and pastries layered their surfaces. A fountain spouting golden fluid, and a matching one with red, were bordered by a tower of glasses.
Wine.
Food.
He slowed for a second. Didn’t even question their appearance because he knew it was probably the work of that djinn, Gene. The one who’d delivered that speech to the supernatural council about the Nephilim and how she needed their armies. Jory was one of the first to stand and quickly say, “I’m in.” He needed a workout.
Apparently, he’d made the right move. An invigorating battle, a prophecy fulfilled and moving aside for a new one to appear. Sustenance. Plenty of females giggling in his direction, yet he kept moving until he stood alongside the siren, who stood chatting with a blonde who shivered.
And that was when he made his epic introduction. “Hello.”
She didn’t reply, most likely on account of her voice still recovering from the song.
“I heard you singing.”
Not even a twitch of her head.
“I have something that can fix your throat,” he graciously offered.
She didn’t glance in his direction.
Her friend stopped talking and took notice. She glanced up, way up.
Her nose twitched. “Um, Lana. I think that big dude wants to talk to you.”
“Not interested.” The woman called Lana walked away from him. That was more than playing hard to get. Obviously, a lover of females. How else could she resist?
Whack.
The solid blow to the back of his head didn’t rock Jory, but it did cause him to scowl and look down. Way down.
A wizened crone, leaning on her cane—the same one she’d probably used to hit him—shook her head, the thick, gray strands of her hair a wild bird’s nest in a storm. “Still an arrogant twat, I see.”
“Still violent,” was his riposte. He then smiled and scooped up the old lady into his arms for a hug that had her slapping at him and exclaiming, “Put me down, you gigantic oaf. Have some respect for the Oracle.”
“You know I respect you.” He also loved the old lady. He gave her a big, smacking kiss on the cheek before setting her down. “Congrats on getting the prophecy right.”
It was the tiny female in front of him—Lilith, the oldest and only living prophetess—who’d predicted this day.
She harrumphed. “There was never any doubt this moment would come to pass.”
“So, what’s next for you now? Going to finally take a vacation?”
She eyed him. “Actually, I am. But before I go, a few words for you.”
Jory was frightened of few things. Very few. No batteries for the Xbox remote, no beer in the fridge, and any prophecies involving him. Especially since Fate was a bitch, who had a grudge; whom he’d hoped had forgotten all about the incident.
Lilith opened her mouth, and Jory could have groaned as she uttered in a deep voice meant to be heard, “The evil didn’t stop with the Nephilim. A wrong needs to be undone. The waves have never forgotten. They will be reunited after the battle—”
Battle? I like battles. A random thought dashed with the rest of Lilith’s speech.
“—of the heart and mind. So says.”
He waited a moment after her last word before prompting. “And?”
“And what?” Lilith asked.
“It sounds incomplete.”
The crone shrugged. “Not my problem. I just give the prophecies, I don’t make them.”
“But you think it involves me?” At her nod, he added, “Are you sure? Because—”
A crack of her cane on his shin cut him off. “Figure it out yourself. I’m off to start my trip.” The Oracle knelt and grabbed a handful of the newly minted grass then crushed it in her hands, releasing the magic. She inhaled the motes of it, her eyes closed.
The lines of age eased, the body straightened, the cane fell from supple fingers.
A much more vibrant Lilith stood before him. “That’s better.” She stretched and popped her joints. “Toodles.”
“Wait, you didn’t even write it down.”
Lilith waved a hand, and a piece of paper drifted down. He snared it in a fist and noted it torn, the bottom, right-hand corner missing. Along with the incomplete last sentence of the prophecy.
As for the one person who could fix it? Lilith strode away from him and sketched a portal in the air. For a moment, he glimpsed rolling, purple waves and a white, sandy beach. Then…pop, it dissipated, taking the Oracle with it, leaving him with a dire note.
He stared at the words. They seemed kind of ominous.
Fun.
It could take a while to solve.
He didn’t have anything more pressing right now.
Still, did he really want to live his life based on the words on a slip of paper? He knew fate wasn’t set in stone, and words could be interpreted in many ways. If you asked him, the whole prophecy and predicting the future thing was a scam. They just twisted everything to fit whatever happened.
In this case, Lilith had probably meant something like he’d adopt a dog. Or a cat.
Or a bird. A singing one.
His glance strayed around, looking for the greenish strands of a certain singer.
But she appeared to have disappeared.
And all he had was a name. Lana.
Lana’s loss. If only she’d stuck around, he could have ruined her for all other men.
Now, someone else would get lucky tonight. Except, no one else appealed. He ended up spending the party with a bottle of honey Jack whiskey and no one to drink it with.
When he got back home with his gang, the victory party lasted almost a week. A week of drinking and eating, but no wenching.
He didn’t debauch a single woman.
Didn’t find himself attracted to anyone at all. None possessed a haughty attitude or fresh, sea-breeze scent.
Had eyes that mesmerized.
On the seventh day, hungover like a werewolf after a glutton-filled full moon, he figured out why he wasn’t interested in banging anyone else.
The damned siren had cast a spell on him with her song.
The green-haired wench had cursed him to be monogamous. And they weren’t even dating!
Was it any wonder that he did something he’d never ever done before in his long life for any woman? He asked around. Found out her name really was Lana, Lana Periwinkle to be exact—obviously, an alias. Her address? Somewhere on Earth. Which proved to be a rather vague and daunting task.
Good thing he had connections—in other words, he spoke to the consorts to the new queen of Limbo who were kind enough to give him a location after he claimed the woman dropped an earring. When Simon said, “I’ll bring it her.” Jory replied, “After the trouble I went to filching it so I could see her again?” The dragon bought the lie and Jory hunted Lana down.
And when he knew she stood behind the locked door, he roared, “Fix me!”
Chapter 4
Bang. Bang. Bang. A peek through the peephole showed that Conan had found me. Not his real name, I’m sure, but the one I’d given
the behemoth on the battlefield who tried to get into my pants. Not very well, I might add. His pickup line of having something to soothe my throat was right up there with other cringe-worthy moments such as “I’ve lost my teddy, can I sleep with you instead” and my favorite, “You’re the lucky winner who’ll suck my dick tonight.” Needless to say, none of those ever worked.
Ever.
But some guys didn’t grasp the word no. Conan being one of them.
How did he find me? I leaned against the door as if that would keep him out. He didn’t sound too happy. I just couldn’t figure out why. Last time I’d seen him in Limbo, he was chatting to some short, old broad who appeared to be going for a Yoda vibe.
I hadn’t stuck around for the winner’s party, interesting as it seemed. The idea of being around a bunch of drunk demons and elves—who I’d heard were grabby and had forgotten all about the fact that they’d tried to murder each other—didn’t appeal. I worked in a strip joint. I knew what to expect once they tossed back a few glasses. I found Beth, hugged her—kind of, given her guys weren’t interested in letting her loose for long.
“Glad you’re not dead,” I whispered.
“Me, too,” she said back.
We might have said more, but her men were getting mushy, the wine was flowing, and I just wanted a bath.
Before I could relax, though, Claire and I had a mess to clean up.
During our kidnapping, the demons had gotten a little rambunctious. Tearing up pillows. Smearing literal shit on the walls.
Assholes.
Beth’s boyfriend—Gene, the genie…or djinn more accurately, I suppose—who’d brought us home with a snap of his fingers, took one look at the place and tsked.
“This won’t do. Ask me for a wish.”
“Seriously?” was my dry reply.
Claire didn’t question. “I wish this mess was gone.”
Poof.
Our apartment had nothing in it. Not a single thing.
Genies, always taking words literally. I sighed. “I wish for it to look the way it did before the demon attack.”
Another rumbly poof and Gene wavered on his feet. The magic needed drained him, but our place was back to normal, including the plaid couch, the overstuffed club chair, and that picture of Claire, Beth, and I laughing, immortalized forever in a photo taken on our first New Year’s Eve together. I smiled, but poor Gene wasn’t. He looked rather gray as a matter of fact. See, while it was easy to make things disappear… Creation? That took some power. He’d need to recover.
“Go back to Beth.” I shoved Gene towards the door before Claire could ask him for something that might kill him, like world peace.
I only relaxed after he was gone. Alone at last. With Claire, which didn’t count.
Her, I could tolerate.
“I need a bath.” In a bad way. My skin itched, tightening at the lack of moisture. Claire knew better than to get in my way as I headed for the bathroom, stripping.
I had my sea salts sprinkled in the water in seconds, and didn’t wait for them all to dissolve or even for the tub to fill before I sat in it.
A huge sigh left me as the fluid caressed my limbs. I could not say why I needed to soak so often these days. Used to be I could bathe once a week and keep myself hydrated.
Now? I watched television at night with my feet in a bucket of saltwater. Something was happening to me. Something to do with my mermaid side, and it was accelerating.
Whatever it was also affected my hair. I could no longer keep ahead of the greenish tinge. No amount of peroxide could make me blond anymore, and I was about to stop trying.
Claire wandered into the bathroom, wearing a cotton onesie pajama, two glasses in hand. Chocolate milk for her, a merlot for me.
My BFF had a sweet tooth, and before you think, who doesn’t, I should add that she took it to extremes. As in her room had stashes of treats all over. Given her fetish for candy, you’d think her favorite holiday was Halloween.
Wrong!
For some reason, maybe because of her floppy bunny ears, Claire’s time to shine was Easter. She even decorated for it.
Weird. I know. But I have to say, the food we got to eat that long weekend was stretchy-pant worthy.
Claire began the conversation as she often did. “I thought we were going to die.”
“But we didn’t.”
“You did a good job with the singing.”
I couldn’t help but swell at the praise. “Did it hurt?”
Her nose wrinkled. “No.”
Which was good. It meant I’d learned some measure of control. “Glad that’s over.”
“Me, too.” Claire took a sip of her chocolate milk before asking, “Think we’ll still see Beth now that she’s like Queen of Limbo?”
“Queen of Limbo?” I said with a snort.
“Well, she did kind of bring it back to life.”
Guess she had. And if she were queen? Then, good for her. She deserved something good in her life. “Who says she’s gonna live there?”
Claire’s eyes lost focus for a second. “Just a feeling. Beth never did truly belong on Earth.” Weird thing to say, but I could understand. There were times I didn’t feel as if I belonged either.
“Even if she does decide to live in Limbo, I’m sure she won’t forget us.”
“What about rent? How are we gonna manage it?” One down. That left two of us to split the cost.
“I’ll pick up a few extra shifts to cover it.” Rent wasn’t cheap, especially when you required a place with an oversized tub and had a subscription for salt that cost more than a car payment per month.
“Or we could find another roommate.”
At that suggestion, I snorted. “And exactly how do you suggest we find one? Dysfunctional mermaid and chocolate-loving bunny looking for someone to rent a bedroom who won’t sell us to human scientists for experiments?”
“We aren’t the only weird ones around,” Claire huffed.
“We aren’t weird,” was my reply. Total lie. But I wasn’t about to agree with that word. Special. Different. Exotic was my favorite description.
“We need a roommate,” Claire insisted.
“If you’re worried about the cost, don’t. I’ve got some cash stashed away to keep us flush.”
“What about when you leave?”
For a moment, I ogled her. “Why would I leave?”
“Did you not see how that guy was eyeballing you?”
I drew a blank. “What guy? The demon one?”
“No, silly.” Claire giggled and rolled her eyes. “The big one who wanted to,”—she dropped her voice—“soothe your sore throat.” She waggled her brows, and I gaped.
Then laughed. “Hell, no. He’s much too…” —handsome and sexy— “arrogant for my liking. He probably likes to watch himself in a mirror during sex.”
This caused Claire to giggle even harder. “Lana! You didn’t even give him a chance. And he was sweet-looking.”
“You think he’s so hot, why don’t you give him a twirl?” I graciously offered, and yet it left a sour taste in my mouth.
Claire’s nose wrinkled. “Oh, no. He’s much too big and scary for me.”
My friend, a true bunny scared of everything and yet brave too because of her guileless nature. Claire, the first one to raise her hand to try bungee jumping or zip lining. Yet when it came to dating, she shied away from everyone.
I, on the other hand, didn’t find Conan—that big hunk of man—daunting at all. My biggest problem was that he consumed my thoughts.
Seven days and seven nights of recalling how he looked. Of wondering what would have happened if I’d gone off with him that night. Seven days of masturbating under my sheets and not feeling satisfied. It made me wonder if I’d been hasty. No use whining over it, though. The guy had no way of finding me, and I wasn’t about to ask Beth for help.
Which was why, one week later, when I answered the pounding at the door, I didn’t expect to see his face.
>
But I’ll tell you one thing, yelling at me first thing in the a.m. instead of being my delivery fellow with my coffee and needed donuts wasn’t going to fly.
I yanked open the door, glared, and said quite succinctly, “Fuck off.”
The problem with slamming the door in the face of a giant?
One easy guess.
He kicked it in.
Uh-oh. This wouldn’t be good. Judging by his angry face, shit was about to get real, which worried me a bit. How would I explain his body, and most especially the blood pouring out of his ears, to the cops?
Again.
The last time I’d killed someone—who turned out to be a serial predator in the neighborhood—I was a minor so that record should be sealed. What if, though, someone remembered? Started asking questions. I didn’t need the men in white coats coming to steal me away. I saw what happened to that dude in The Shape of Water. Electroshock and beatings? Not my idea of a good time.
Which meant I shouldn’t kill Conan, but like hell would I cow before this angry Neanderthal. I stood my ground and held up a hand. “Get out before I am forced to act.” Ever since the battle in Limbo, I’d gained some much-needed confidence. At least now, I knew I could kick some ass. Or should I say ears? Whatever. I wasn’t defenseless.
Conan didn’t look intimidated at all. Nor was he half naked anymore. On the contrary, he’d showered since I last saw him, thrown on a pair of hip-hugging jeans worn in enough that they molded to his corded thighs. A form-fitting Henley covered that luscious chest, and big, white high-tops shod his feet. He looked like a wrestler barely contained in clothes with his long, blondish hair tumbling around his shoulders. It made my fingers itch to braid it.
“What did you do to me?” he bellowed.
“Me? I’m not the one going around kicking in people’s doors, acting like a bully.”
His eyebrows tried to join into a Bert-sized one as he frowned. “You cast a spell on me.”
“I’m not a witch, you moron.” I was a siren. Most of the time.
“Your song broke me.”
I eyed him up and down. “Don’t look broken at all to me.” On the contrary, he appeared, hale, hearty, and much too delicious.