by Eve Langlais
“Xylo, what about—”
A chop of a hand cut off Cymba. “She’s dead.” Flatly said.
“We can’t be sure—” interjected the redhead.
“Silence, Chella.” The rebuke from Xylo inadvertently gave them identities. “There are many species that can resist our song, mermaids included.” The gaze lasered back onto Lana. “You’ll have to show me more before I even contemplate that you’re one of us.”
“I held off the army of darkness and light for a few minutes.”
“That was you?” Chella sounded suitably impressed.
“Hush,” Xylo barked. “What did you sing? Who taught you?”
Arms crossed, displaying Lana’s stubbornness. “You want answers, then so do I.”
“This is not a negotiation, girl.”
“You’re right, it’s not. It’s you trying to bully me. And I am going to tell you right now, that won’t fly. Let’s go, Conan.”
Go? Lana marched past him for the vine door. Intent on leaving to go…where? Only she didn’t set foot outside. Xylo offered her a tidbit.
“I heard a rumor of a girl who claimed to be half siren, half mermaid.”
Lana whirled. “Not claimed. Am.”
“It’s impossible for sirens and mermaids to procreate together.”
“Because of the whole water thing. But, surely, it’s not impossible. It only takes one good swimmer.”
“It goes beyond more than the watery medium making it hard, there are incompatibility issues. Mainly, there are no males of our kinds, only females.”
“Then how do you get pregnant?”
“We can take human mates. But we only ever have daughters, and they always take after their mother.”
“You implied that the mermaids are all female. Does that mean mermaids do the tango with human guys, too?”
Laughter rang out, Xylo’s amusement almost contagious. “How ignorant you are, girl. Humans and mermaids, despite legends, cannot be together in such a fashion.”
“So how do they have babies?”
“The aquatically inclined can reproduce with each other. The porpoises of the seas are especially eager to aid.”
He could see Lana understood by the greenish cast of her features. Still, she kept her calm. “Well, I’m obviously not a porpoise. And I am definitely half siren, half mermaid.”
“What was your mother?” Xylo questioned.
Lana’s gaze clouded. “I am not sure. She died when I was young without ever telling me my history.”
“Could it be…” Chella turned from Xylo. “Was your mother’s name Bella by any chance?”
Lana shook her head. “No. But she could have changed it I guess. She was dark-skinned, like you.” She pointed to Xylo, who scowled.
“Bella was blue-eyed and blonde-haired. Obviously, not your mother.”
“Well, someone with siren blood was, because here I am. And I can sing.” The last note held a hint of warning that caused Xylo’s eyes to narrow.
“If what you claim is true, then you are an impossibility. An abomination of nature.”
“Whoa. She is not an abomination.” An impossibility, though, he couldn’t disagree with that. Look at how she’d changed him already in such a short time. Leaving Valhalla. Lusting after only one woman. Taking offense for her. He was used to letting women fight their own battles, but with Lana, he wanted to be her partner, to help her shoulder her burdens.
“Stay out of this, Conan.” Lana held up a hand. “Listen, Xylophone.”
“Xylo!”
“Whatever. I didn’t come all this way, almost get eaten by a kraken, and then drowned by mermaids to have you be a rude bitch to me.” Lana’s voice rose in pitch, the words holding a fluting power that ruffled the hair.
It widened the eyes of the women present.
“That voice,” Chella breathed.
“Told you,” chimed in Cymba.
“Do you believe me now?” Lana asked.
Not exactly. It led to more questions, most of which, Lana couldn’t answer. She had no clue as to a possible father. Could give them no clear image of her mother, although, he did hear Cymba whisper to Chella, “Could she be Bella’s daughter?”
The sirens appeared willing to concede that Lana might be the daughter of the supposedly dead and missing fourth sister. Perhaps the mother she believed in was simply an adoptive one or a surrogate, but no one could fathom who the father might be.
Xylo claimed that Neptune had left decades ago as the pollution began to thicken in the oceans. He’d not been seen since. It seemed unlikely that a siren would fornicate with a fish, let alone manage to carry the child to term. Who did that leave who could father a mermaid?
Apparently, the sirens needed to confer about it. The three women abruptly departed, with only Chella turning back when Lana shouted, “Hey, where are you going? What am I supposed to do?”
“Wait for our verdict.”
Chella swept out after her sisters, leaving him and Lana alone in the crystal chamber.
“Stupid, teeth-pulling, stubborn old hags.”
“They’re probably listening,” he noted.
“I hope they are because I am annoyed with them. I didn’t come all this way and almost die to be stonewalled.”
“You can’t force them to give you answers they don’t have.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Because I’m an abomination.”
“Would you like a slap to go with your whine?”
“The expression is cheese.”
“I don’t have cheese.”
She glanced at him. “You’d better not slap me.”
“Then snap out of it. Who cares what those old hags think?”
“They might be family.”
“Family are those who love you and have your back. Everyone else is just target practice.”
Her long lashes blinked over lovely, clear eyes. “It pains me to admit I kind of agree.”
A rustling at the vine-curtained door preceded a bearded fellow entering. “Follow me. I’m to show you to your room.”
Getting to their quarters involved taking a winding path around the towering spire until they reached a twig-woven habitat on a stone branch.
“You’re sticking us in a freaking nest,” Lana exclaimed.
“It is not a nest,” Jory said, checking out the interior. “No eggs.”
“No eggs maybe, but explain that.” She jabbed a finger at the bed, shaped like a bowl, the inside layered in blankets and pillows. “That is totally a nest. Which makes me wonder if those women are even sirens. Maybe they’re harpies.”
“Harpies have wings.” Along with bird legs and foul tempers to match their gassy nature. The quickest way to piss off a Valkyrie was to compare one to a harpy.
“There is something weird going on here.”
“You mean weirder than a bunch of women living on an island with dozens of man servants to cater to their every whim.”
“Why is their castle in the center? Why not overlooking the ocean? Speaking of which, no beaches.”
A keen observation he’d caught, too, when their avian companions brought them in for landing.
“Not all islands are so blessed.”
“Must you have a quick answer for everything?”
He smiled. “Yes. But I know how you can shut me up.” He expected her to yell at him. Tell him no in no uncertain terms. Instead, she approached, and when he held open his arms, she came into them.
Her body relaxed against his. “Though it annoys me to admit it, I’m glad you came.”
“Don’t get too mushy there, wench. Might start thinking you care.”
“Caring is for pussies.”
And family. More and more, the woman he held felt as if she belonged with him.
He’d probably change his mind once he finally bedded her. “Speaking of pussy, don’t you owe me a kiss.”
A soft, amused snort escaped her as she shoved away from him. “And there goes the moment.�
�� She paced the room. “I feel like a prisoner.”
“The door is not locked. We can leave at any time,” he noted.
“Without a plane or a boat?”
“We could hijack a bird.”
At that, she giggled. “Now you’re talking crazy. There has to be another way off this island.”
“There are a hundred ways. I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to leave quite yet.” He reached out for her and reeled her close, the pressure of her body against his a pleasurable thing, not on the same level as naked pleasure, but of a different kind that gave him satisfaction.
“You’re right, I don’t want to leave. Not yet. There are secrets here. I want to know what’s going on.”
So did he. The anomaly that was Lana grew. No denying her siren heritage, and while he might have wondered about the mermaid part before, the incident at sea had changed his mind.
“How is it you can resist the siren voice?” she asked.
“And who says I’m not affected?” When Lana spoke, he listened. He could listen to her recite a recipe for soap, and he’d probably still get a hard-on.
“Don’t lie. I know you’re immune. Why? Are you deaf? My mother was, and Grandma had implants. I couldn’t make them do shit.”
And she’d find it hard to make him dance to her tune, too. “I’m not human.”
“Then what are you?”
“One of Odin’s warriors.”
“Who was your daddy?”
“Who was yours?” he countered quickly, only to mentally curse himself as she went stiff in his arms.
“I don’t know. That’s the whole problem, right? I know who my mother was. At least I think I do. But not a peep about the man who donated his sperm to the cause.” Her words emerged bitter. “Sometimes, I wonder if I had one or if I was created in a lab.”
“Everyone has a father.” Even if that man wasn’t someone they wanted to think about.
“Not everyone. Test-tube babies are made by science.”
“Do you think you were created in a tube?”
“Honestly?” She peered at him, her eyes pools big enough to drown in. “Yes. I do think that sometimes. It would explain the dreams I have of the men in the white coats. Explains a lot of things.” The words emerged low. Sad.
He didn’t like it. He thumbed her chin and angled her face to look at him. “No matter your creation, you are unique. Uniqueness is something to celebrate.”
“Even if it’s broken?”
“I don’t see someone broken, merely a woman finding her way.”
“I think you need glasses.”
Why? He could see perfectly clearly. See that the woman in the circle of his arms belonged there. With him.
See that she needed someone to lean on. Someone to care.
I am that someone.
He knew that with as much certainty as the fact that the sun would rise on the morrow.
His arm curled around her waist, and he drew her on tiptoe so that her lips might meet his. The passion that always erupted between them flared. Demanded.
The fuel was more kisses. The accelerant, roving hands.
The more he touched, the more she also explored, all questions shoved aside for the moment as passion consumed.
Given a bed beckoned, he wasted no time curling an arm round her waist and depositing her within its soft sheets.
She lay back on her elbows, hair tumbling over her shoulders, eyes at half-mast, sultry with desire.
“Strip,” she ordered. No magic or command in the word, and yet his hands tore at his shirt and trousers. He denuded himself for her gaze, harder than he’d ever imagined. Straining for the woman looking him over.
Licking her lips.
“Now, strip me.”
He’d never been happier to obey, his hands skimming her frame, divesting her of the things impeding his view.
It took an eternity of seconds to bare her to his gaze, her alabaster skin gleaming pearlescent, the shadowy vee between her thighs tempting him with no words at all.
Then she parted her knees.
When a male saw Heaven, he dropped to his knees. He also worshipped. Leaning forward, he reached for her, grabbing her around the thighs, tugging her to the edge of the bed, her bottom angled and in the perfect position for him. There was no hesitation or finesse with the speed with which he pressed his mouth against her sex. The heat of her escalated. The honey of her desire wetted his lips. He swiped at her core, tasting the ambrosia.
A single, simple touch, and yet she cried out, her entire body shuddering.
He kept his grip on her thighs, holding her steady as he tongued her, spreading her nether lips, lapping at the core of her.
When her body relaxed, he went after her button, flicking his tongue against the sensitive nub of flesh. Touching it. Sucking it. Teasing it with his lips and teeth.
She responded to his caresses with wild cries and thrashing. Passion quivered within her, urged him on with her guttural moans. The more frantic her need, the more aroused he became.
He wanted to sink into her. Finally claim her with his body. Make her…
Mine.
He could have made her come on his tongue. Could have felt her orgasm on his fingers if he’d pressed them into her sex. But a man could only give so many times before he had to take care of himself.
“Move to the middle of the bed.” This time, he gave the order, and she sidled back to the center, legs parted and welcoming.
He knelt between and took himself in hand. The swollen tip of him rubbed against her damp core. Her hips wiggled, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer.
“Look at me.” Less a demand, more a plea.
She opened her eyes, the tumultuous seas in them sucking him in, drowning him in their depths. He fell on her, the thickness of him sliding into her welcoming heat.
Their mouths clashed with stormy passion.
He rocked into her willing flesh, the slap of their bodies achieving a rhythm, her cries and his groans creating their own kind of music.
Something powerful.
Unique.
Something that bound them together as their ecstasy coiled.
He wanted to let go. To mark her with his seed, but he held on. Pounded into her sex. Stretched her channel. Reveled in the nails she raked down his back even as his balls tightened.
As for his cock, it swelled, ready to burst, but he held on until her body bowed. Held on until the first ripple of her channel fisted him tight.
Only then did he let himself go, let himself burst with her in an orgasm that sent him flying higher than the heavens.
And left him feeling high even when he came back to Earth, still buried within her body.
“That was delicious,” she said, almost purring. The sound sent shivers up and down his body.
“That was just the start.”
A knock had him cursing, but only for a moment as a man—the same one who’d led them here—entered with a platter.
Jory rubbed his hands together. “Just in time. Food and drink.” Heedless of his nudity, he bounded out of the bed. The manservant paid him no mind. His eyes were elsewhere.
On Lana.
Not for long.
When he turned around, his wench gaped at him. “Why did you punch that poor man and toss him out?”
“He looked at you.”
She blinked. Long and sexy. Naked, too, he might add.
They didn’t get to the food and drink until much later. A satisfied man, in so many ways, he fell asleep with a smile on his face. Arm around his wench.
He woke in a dungeon. No woman. It didn’t bode well for whoever took her.
Chapter 13
I’d had the most incredible dream. One where Conan made my body sing and reach heights I’d never imagined. He played me like a finely tuned instrument. He’d even managed to draw my heart into the melody. A heart ready to love someone again.
It made a siren wake with a smile and want to let o
ut a few notes of happiness to greet the day.
Except waking meant realizing I didn’t snuggle a big, warm body. That I no longer had the comfort of a pillow under my cheek. Not even a blanket to cover me. Chill air pimpled my skin, and I shifted only to grimace in discomfort. Pressure at my wrists culminated in a tugging sensation at my shoulders.
“What’s happening? Where am I?” I tried to blink the sluggishness from my eyes. My lids felt so heavy. My body, too. Confusion meant that I couldn’t quite connect all the pieces. I shifted, bracing more of my weight on my feet and legs, easing some of the tension across my shoulders. I couldn’t draw my hands close to me; however, I could lean, my body moving enough to feel cold stone at my back. My naked back.
So that part of my dream was true. I’d gone to sleep with nothing on. But I didn’t recall giving Conan permission to tie me up. Or had I? I didn’t remember much after the wine we imbibed with that fruit and cheese on the tray.
The wine.
Oh, fuck me for being a moron. I’d eaten and drunk what the sirens gave me. So freaking stupid. Now, everything made sense.
“Bitches drugged me.” Muttered aloud.
A shuffling of fabric, the barest whisper of sound, met my words. I fluttered my lashes, my heavy lids refused to lift. Rise, damn you. I command thee.
It was still a struggle, me against my drugged body. I won. Barely. I opened my eyes a slit, enough to make out blurry shapes. I considered it a small victory. Very small.
“She’s waking up.”
I knew that voice. That nervous little voice. A betraying bitch. I’d make her ears bleed once I got rid of the pasty taste in my mouth.
“Che-l-l-l-l-a.” I sang her name, flavoring it with a hint of the grave, the scritch of insects skittering along cold skin.
I got a squeak in reply along with a slap. “Be quiet!”
As if. Quiet meant giving in to their plans. Quiet just wasn’t in my nature. I licked the bead of blood on my lip, the coppery taste acting like a smelling salt. The sluggishness faded, and my eyes managed to open all the way. Blurry shapes took on some definition. I was snapping out of it, but I still welcomed the smack to the other cheek.
That slap fired my annoyance. A low, growling hum emanated from me. It caused no harm, just gave warning.