Siren Misfit

by Eve Langlais

  “The sirens want to meet you.”

  Unexpected answer. I paused rather than reply. Was he toying with me? I had to know. I whirled to face him. “They want me? For what? Did they say why?”

  He pointed to his lips. “I’ll take payment first.”

  The man never gave up. However, now I had to know. I closed the gap between us, lifted on tiptoe, and smashed my mouth against his. I meant it as a quick embrace, the barest of touches. Ha. As if. Heat ignited between us. My lips slanted over his. I tasted the powdered sugar of the donut. I—

  Blinked in confusion as he stepped away.

  “Thank you.”

  What? My lips tingled. He didn’t take advantage.

  He held up the tiny piece of paper. “The note is short and to the point. It says you are to arrive two days before the next full moon.”

  “Arrive where?” I asked dumbly, astonished that he’d actually upheld his part of the bargain.

  “Their island. Alone. And according to the instructions, you must fly in. No boats.”

  An odd request, but given my terror of water, perfectly fine with me. The truly strange part was the sirens suddenly contacting me out of the blue. “What do they want?” Until now, all my attempts to contact them had been met with silence. Then again, if they only communicated via animals that usually graced my deep fryer, then that explained a lot.

  “Doesn’t say why. Judging by your expression, this is a surprise.”

  “You could say that. I’ve been trying for months to get them to talk to me. So excuse me if I’m a little shocked.”

  His turn to frown. “This is the first time they’ve contacted you? But you are a siren.”

  “I’m a half-breed.”

  “Your other half being…”

  “Mermaid.”

  He glanced at my legs. Understandable. “I’m a non-practicing mermaid.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  I shrugged. “No idea. But probably the reason the sirens haven’t wanted to talk to me before.”

  His turn to say, “Why now?”

  Why indeed? “Guess I’ll find out soon enough. When should I leave?”

  “Never. You aren’t going.” With that declaration, Conan crumpled up the note and tossed it into the garbage can under the sink.

  The nerve had me gaping. “Excuse me. Give me that message. You don’t get to decide what I do.”

  “In this, I do. The sirens are dangerous.”

  “Duh. So am I.” I rolled my eyes. Hadn’t he seen me holding off the armies of Hell and Heaven? Not exactly something I wanted to repeat, but I’d done it.

  “Never said you weren’t dangerous, but you haven’t had the centuries of training they’ve had.”

  “Centuries?” I might have squeaked, which I’ll admit was really un-siren-like and embarrassing. “I didn’t know they lived that long.”

  “A trade-off because they have such low birthrates. Like the elves.” Spoken so nonchalantly.

  Sometimes, my world seemed just a little too Tolkien. Cool, right?

  “Doesn’t matter how old they are. I’ve been trying for the past two years to meet with them. I am not ignoring this chance because you feel a need to interfere in my life.”

  “It’s not interfering. It’s common sense. You going to their island alone is a bad idea.”

  “Well, that’s not up to you, is it? I have to go. I need help with my power.” An admission I’d only ever made to two other people.

  “Surely, there is someone else you can ask?” He frowned. “There is no one else, is there?”

  I shook my head. “Not that I’ve found.”

  “You will go no matter what, won’t you?” he said.

  No need to nod, he saw it my eyes.

  Guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when he said, “If you must go, then I shall accompany you.”

  Chapter 8

  “Over my dead body.” Lana added an extra note meant to make a mortal man’s ears bleed. Good thing Jory wasn’t entirely mortal.

  He soaked in the heat of her emotion. “Don’t be difficult. You cannot travel to the siren’s isle alone.”

  “Their message told me not to bring anyone.”

  He snorted. “Of course it did. The sirens love their ultimatums. Doesn’t mean you should obey.”

  “You think I should defy them?” Her lips pursed. “How is that supposed to help my case?”

  “Less defiance, more setting a tone. You are an unaffiliated siren, they can’t command you. Think of it, do you really want to go there only on their terms?”

  Jory could see she mused over his words as she murmured, “They’ll think they have power over me.”

  “Exactly.”

  Her glance at him held a pensive curiosity. “What do you suggest, then? I require instruction, and I need to find out more about this.” She pointed to her throat.

  A nice throat meant for nibbling. Also, a dangerous weapon that required honing. On that point, she proved entirely correct. “If you insist on visiting, then it’s only proper you travel with a bodyguard.” Lucky for her, he was perfectly qualified. It also gave him even more of a legitimate excuse to spend time with her. Figure out what drew him to her. Because if it weren’t magic, then…what? Fate?

  He didn’t believe in that crap the poets spouted about love at first sight. Vikings didn’t wax eloquent or pine over any woman. They slid between her thighs a few times and moved on.

  Exactly what he needed to do here. Sate his lust on the wench, get her out of his system, and move on.

  She seemed determined to make things difficult, though. Fighting him at every turn. Her nature as prickly as her acerbic wit. The problem was, her attempts to avoid him kept failing. On the contrary, the more she asserted herself, the hotter he got for her.

  “You want to go as my bodyguard?” She stared at him then laughed. A full-throated sound that sent shivers dancing up and down his body.

  “This is amusing because?”

  “You are the last person I’d choose.” She lifted her nose. “If I need a bodyguard, then I’ll hire one. Someone of my choice.”

  “I’ll knock them out and take their place.”

  She gaped at him. “You can’t do that. And who says you’d even be able to?”

  He smirked. “Hire someone and see.”

  “Why are you so determined to come with me?”

  “Because.”

  “Because is not an answer.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes.” He paused. “It. Is.”

  “I am done dealing with you.” She fluttered a hand as she left. “I’m taking a bath. When I am done, I expect you and any stuff you brought to be gone.” She paused, turned. “Leave the donuts, though.” She slammed the door to the washroom shut. He heard grumbling drowned out by the sound of running water.

  Want to bet she cursed him out? The very idea brought a smile. He sat down and bit into another donut. They truly were delicious. A nice change from the eggs, ham, sausage, bacon, toast, pancakes, and hash browns in Valhalla.

  “You better be packing!” she hollered. The words held a note of imperious command. They might have worked on a human.

  Instead, he worked on one of the coffees. Cool, and yet the caffeine still gave him a zing.

  As if he’d leave now. Things were just getting interesting. And naked. He glanced in the direction of the closed door, picturing for a moment her body behind it.

  He now had a frame of reference burned on his retina from when she flashed him in the bedroom. The green below a shade darker than on top. But odder than that, the fact that she appeared to be a mix. Siren and mermaid? Impossible, of course. Yet who other than the woodland dryads had green hair? The difference being, saltwater poisoned them.

  Who was Lana, and why couldn’t he stop thinking of her?

  The door to the apartment opened, and drawing his dagger, he aimed it in its general direction. The sight
of blonde hair and a bright smile stayed his hand.

  Claire, the woman who’d given him the key to the apartment, flounced in. She slammed the door shut and began talking immediately. “Oh, good, Lana’s not up yet. I wanted a chance to explain before—”

  The door to the bathroom whipped open. “Claire!” Wrapped in a thick, terrycloth robe, hair a green contrast against the white fabric, Lana emerged, voice terse.

  “Oh, poop on a stick.” Claire’s smile turned upside down. “You’re awake.”

  “Yes, I am awake, and not too fucking happy. Can you guess why?” Lana’s gaze flashed with the gale force of a stormy sea.

  “Did he get your coffee wrong? Because I specifically told him two sugars, two cream.”

  “Don’t you try and play innocent.” Lana wagged a finger. “Explain why you thought this meathead would make a good roommate!”

  Meathead? Most people claimed he possessed a hard skull. It had kept him alive in more than one fight.

  At the rough query, Claire bit her lower lip. “I had to do something, and he was available.”

  “I told you I had the money to cover Beth’s part of the rent.”

  “It wasn’t about the money.” Claire scuffed her foot.

  “Says the woman who charged me a king’s ransom.” The shrewd lapin extorted a large sum for the privilege of seeing Lana again. Fool that he was, Jory paid it.

  “I wasn’t talking to you, Conan.” Lana’s gaze veered his way, and he basked in the irritated heat.

  “Just making it clear that I am here of my own free will.”

  “You and your free will need to take a walk,” Lana snarled.

  “Jory’s not going anywhere.” Claire stood in front of the door with her arms crossed, shaking her head. “We need him as a guard. Especially since the incident.”

  “Are you still worried about the demons?”

  Demons? Jory sat up straighter.

  “Demons aren’t what’s worrying me.” Claire waved a hand. “They only came after us because of Beth. We should be perfectly safe now that she’s queen.”

  “Then why would we need a guard? Think someone will come after us and use us against Beth again?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Whereas Jory snorted. “It will be a while before anyone tries to force the new Queen of Limbo’s hand. She chose her consorts well. An ice dragon and a genie. A deadly combination.”

  “Again, not talking to you.” The high-pitched notes hit him and warned him to be quiet.

  Instead, knowing she glared hotly at him, Jory tossed her a wink.

  The growl she uttered might have held a note of annoyance, but he noticed the spot of color in her cheeks.

  “I can tell by the way you’re shivering you’re worried about something else. Spit it out. What are you hiding?” Lana’s tone was sharp, and Claire winced.

  “I was going to tell you after the first time, but then that stuff happened with Beth, and I forgot, and then they showed up again…”

  Lana crossed her arms and tapped her foot. He noted the nails painted a light pink with fine white lines, like tiny seashells. “I am losing patience, Bugs.”

  Claire’s shoulders drooped. “Some guys came looking for you at the club.”

  “And you sent them packing.”

  “The first time, yes. The second time, they were waiting for me outside.”

  “They accosted you?”

  “Yes.” A meek reply.

  The air in the apartment suddenly shifted. A breeze ruffled Lana’s hair, and he could almost hear the caw of a seagull and smell the damp brine.

  “Someone attacked you, and I’m just hearing about it now?” Exasperation trilled the words.

  “I, um, handled it,” Claire stammered.

  “You handled it?” Lana’s voice dropped to a low tone. “Are we going to have a problem?”

  Watching the conversation happen, Jory felt as if he were missing something. Whatever the connection he didn’t catch, the women were perfectly aware.

  “It’s fine,” Claire hastened to reassure. “It was just the one time. I promise it won’t happen again. But the important thing here is the guys at the club were sailors and were looking for the girl with the greenish hair.”

  This was the first Jory had heard of it. When he’d answered the ad, it had simply read, If you were the guy who hit on my green-haired friend, call me. She needs a favor.

  Of course, it wasn’t Lana asking for the favor but Claire. And it took only a few minutes of conversation.

  “My friend Lana’s in danger. I need—”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Are you sure? You might need to move in and—”

  “I’ll do it.” Before he made arrangements to meet the bunny and get access to the siren. Erm, the apartment. Either way, he’d gotten what he wanted. Which was really all that mattered.

  Except now, it occurred to him that he should have asked more questions. “Is someone trying to kidnap Lana?” Jory interjected. Because that was not acceptable at all.

  Two sets of eyes rounded on him, but it was Lana who snapped, “Stay out of this, Conan.”

  Too late.

  Claire nodded. “I think that’s what their plan was. The ones in the alley had those plastic tie thingies in their pockets.”

  “Where are those sailors now, Claire?” Lana’s question emerged carefully and quietly.

  “Taken care of. Don’t worry.” Claire’s cheeks sported a round spot of color.

  “So, on the basis of some guys looking for me, you thought it was a good idea to invite this meathead”—the pale hand with long fingers waved in his general direction—“to live with us.”

  “He can fight,” Claire complimented.

  “I also bring sustenance.” He swept a hand in the direction of the counter.

  “I don’t need a man to feed me. I am perfectly capable of ordering delivery myself.” She glared at Claire. “I want him gone.”

  “Ahem.” He cleared his throat. “As a tenant, I do have rights. You can’t evict me without proper notice.” It was the argument the Valkyries used whenever Odin tried to eject them.

  “Ugh. Why me. Why?” Lana flung her hands and stalked back into the bathroom, the door slamming shut. A moment later, he heard the water running.

  Claire let out a breath. “Well, that went better than expected.”

  True. No blood this round, and Lana didn’t even try to go for the dagger he’d left on the counter and stab him in the heart.

  “What’s this about men searching her out?” he asked. Possible suitors? Assassins?

  “I don’t know who they are. They wouldn’t tell me. But it can’t be good. Lana can’t be found. None of us can.” Claire’s lips turned down.

  “You think she is in danger.”

  “Yes. But she won’t listen to me.”

  “Which is why you requested my services.”

  “Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.” Claire glanced at the closed bathroom door. “She seemed pretty pissed.”

  “Fear not, in time”—a long time, possibly—“she will see reason.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that.” Claire’s nose wrinkled. “She hates relying on anyone for anything.”

  “Then it’s time she learned.”

  And he planned to be the man to teach her.

  Chapter 9

  No matter how much I argued, Conan just didn’t listen. He insisted on accompanying me to see the sirens. Despite all my complaints, I was kind of glad for it.

  While I’d never admit it aloud, the idea of visiting those women on my own freaked me out. Everything I’d learned about the sirens, which was sparse, had only served to build them into something bigger and more dangerous than they probably were.

  I only had legends to go on, and mixed ones at that. So many fairy tales mixed up sirens and mermaids, making them out to be one creature when, in reality, they were quite different.

  For one, sirens lived exclu
sively on land. Islands being their preference. In days long past, they used to populate several, but as humanity spread, the sirens’ hunting grounds shrank. As creatures of Earth who didn’t like to leave their isles and trust their fates to the rolling seas, they chose to stroll the beaches, singing to the winds around their isles, luring sailors to their doom, their melodies haunting and irresistible. The shipwrecks brought them the goods they needed and the bodies to do their bidding.

  But being a siren only explained half my heritage. The other half was the complete opposite, given mermaids couldn’t sing sweet songs. They didn’t talk at all, and it wasn’t a wicked witch who took their voice, biology did. Don’t let the humanish facial features fool you. Mermaids had more in common with fish than humans. Ever try and have a conversation with a fish? Me neither.

  The closest I could manage to converse was via the conch shells. The person on the other end communicating in practically a whisper, a gurgle of syllables that was hard to follow at times.

  Was it any wonder I preferred trying my luck with the sirens first? At least with them, I shared a common tongue. And let’s be honest, despite all my curiosity, the ocean still terrified me. Bad enough that I’d have to fly over one.

  As far as I could discover, there remained only one isle with sirens. In the Bermuda Triangle of all places. Given they enjoyed their privacy, forget catching a regular flight to reach it. Nope, getting there required a special charter plane, the pilot a bushy-haired man in his fifties. He didn’t speak much, greeting us on the tarmac with a grunt.

  Yes, us. Because Conan—my self-appointed guardian barbarian—opted to join me. And by opted, I meant he followed me and refused to leave me alone.

  Claire asked to come, too, but one peek at her twitching nose, and I knew she’d be a nervous mess. Hell, my own guts churned with trepidation. The sirens wanted to see me. Why?

  Would they finally answer my questions? Could they explain how my human mother had a mixed-up baby? Would they know who my father was?

  I used those questions to distract me from the fact that we’d soon be flying over water. A great big fucking ocean of it.