A few of the younger, less worldly, Valhalla warriors were still in pursuit, Darcy arched a fine dark eyebrow studying Charisse’s straggling admirers intently for a split second, a smile suddenly teasing the edges of her mouth. Even the most inexperienced and dim-witted of warriors could interpret her new expression as one of happiness that she’d finally found volunteer test subjects to test out her new filleting knife. Darcy didn’t even bother to watch the handful of youths scurry away, too intent on getting Charisse alone to care how much she’d frightened the youngster.
Charisse appreciated the rescue, phew, fresh air. She tossed back half the contents of her gin and tonic in celebration. She’d made an effective escape from Great-Aunt Alma and her evil match making machinations, dealing with Cousin Darcy, in comparison, would be a breeze.
They came to a halt under the shade of a large tree. Hadleigh and Vaughn’s meld party might have been held outdoors, but given the large number of party guests, it was still quite the crowd. But trust Darcy to find a nice quiet out of the way spot. She was about to open her mouth to express her thanks but Darcy beat her to it.
“I need you to do me a favour.”
Charisse sent her cousin an incredulous look. Damn, she should have remembered that the lesser of two evils was still effectively evil. She’d done favours for Darcy in the past, had the scars to prove it… well, not physical scars marring her perfect porcelain skin, but deep, deep psychological scars.
What else was there to do or say but decline politely. “No way.”
“You haven’t even heard what it is yet?”
Charisse took a moment to appreciate Darcy’s outfit of the day; thigh high red boots, black stockings edged with white and red ribbons, a black tartan micro mini and a red silk waistcoat over a white bustier. With her black Louise Brooks styled hair, full cupid bow mouth and ice blue eyes, Darcy really did look, as her sister Nell often maintained, like she’d escaped from a convent school where she majored in burlesque.
Charisse let out a soft, almost breathless laugh. Every man in a twenty foot radius who wasn’t a close blood relative paused and turned her way. Ignoring the sudden attention, Charisse kept her gaze firmly fixed on Darcy. When squaring off with a mad dog it didn’t pay to let your attention stray. “Sorry, let me be more succinct. No fucking way.”
Darcy’s head snapped to the left, a retractable baton suddenly in her hand. Her gaze locked on a warrior so young he still had peach fuzz on his cheeks. “Take another step and I’ll introduce you to Mr Baton.”
The warrior backed away carefully, smart enough to keep his eyes downcast as he went.
“Since when did you start naming your weapons?” Charisse eyed the black glossy, state of the art, flick baton.
Darcy shrugged negligently. “I find it makes people more wary.”
Charisse noted Darcy’s blue eyes had turned the hard colour of a wall of glacial ice. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s what makes them more wary.”
“Now where was I? Oh yes, the favour, it’s right up your skillset.”
“As opposed to your knife set?”
“So funny… so beautiful.” Darcy sent her a sweet smile that scared Charisse all the way down to her antique gold Kate Spade wedges.
“You’re resorting to flattery? Whatever it is, I’m definitely not doing it.” She couldn’t count the number of hours, thanks to Darcy, she’d spent washing blood out of her hair.
“I’m trying to be nice here.” Darcy forced her smile larger still, widening her eyes and then fluttering them innocently.
“Stop that, you don’t scare me. We’re in a public place.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed speculatively. “We won’t always be.”
“Darcy! What’s climbed up your butt and turned toxic?”
Darcy’s mouth tightened in frustration, an unusual expression for a girl who pretty much always got what she wanted, via fair means or - more enjoyably for Darcy –‘underhanded, devious and painful for other people’ means. “Men! Or more specifically… a man.”
It wasn’t an apology, Darcy didn’t believe in those, but her admission was enough for Charisse to realise her cousin was dealing with a very real challenge for once… and was kind of flummoxed by the rare experience.
“You’ve let a man get under your skin?” Would wonders never cease? Darcy was interested in a man… and not just to see how much damage she could inflict on a male test subject within a specified time constraint.
“He’s the most annoying… frustrating… elusive…” Darcy’s teeth were clenched together so tightly she couldn’t get out any more words.
“Ooh, tell me more?”
“Char, I swear to the Goddess, he’s not normal.”
“Sounds like a perfect match.” Charisse couldn’t help but tease.
“No one… no one has ever evaded a trap I’ve set for them… let alone multiple ones.”
“Err, a trap? Hold on… you’re not crushing on some guy are you?”
Darcy blinked, suddenly taken aback. “I’m not trying to kill him. I just want to pin him down and get some answers.”
“I didn’t mean, crush, as in destroy, Doofus.” Charisse rolled her eyes. “I meant crush as in… oh forget it.” Trying to teach Darcy about the softer emotions was an exercise in futility. “Okay I’ll bite, who is this mystery man who can miraculously avoid your sinister traps? And what information does he have that’s got you so… off your game?”
Darcy shifted uncomfortably on the spot; she loathed feeling so useless, frustrated and impotent. Until four months ago, those emotions had been completely alien to her. All that had changed when her cousin Hadleigh had contacted her with the most improbable ridiculous story. A story she had yet to verify… yet bone deep, she knew it to be true. And it didn’t get any less embarrassing every time she shared the story… even if it was only with family members that she counted as close friends and allies.
Goddess, Darcy sighed harshly, she’d already sunk so low as to request Charisse’s help, it was time to rip off the embarrassment band aid again. “Hadleigh learnt a few months ago that I have… that I’ve been marked… magically. All she was able to discover, at the time, is the mark is designed to keep men at a distance from me… a look but you can’t touch kind of spell.”
Charisse’s face was pale as she eyed Darcy with sudden empathy. No wonder Darcy was acting so much more erratically than normal. “Goddess Darcy. How long and… who would dare? This man you’re chasing, he put the mark on you?”
“Nate? No… but he can see it. He’s the one who told Hadleigh. And now… now, that golden sun-loving, sand-eating pile of muscle, refuses to share anything else he knows. I’ve sicked Hadleigh on his ass. I’ve plotted, I’ve planned, I’ve stalked… and obviously now I’m desperate… that’s where you come in. I need you to talk to Nate for me.”
“Wait, Nate? Isn’t he one of Maat’s elite warriors?”
“Yeah, so? He’s still a man. Just walk up to him and open your trap. He’ll be putty in your Siren hands after the first vowel.”
“You have such a unique turn of phrase. Why don’t you just pick up a phone and call the guy?”
Anger and frustration bought two spots of high colour to Darcy’s cheeks. “He won’t take my calls. I told you. I’ve tried every approach known to man and some I’ve made up. Every time I try to ‘oh so accidently’ bump into him, I get within ten feet of the man, and he just up and disappears. He’s like fricking Houdini. You wouldn’t believe how elaborate some of the traps I’ve been setting for him have been… his instincts are uncanny.”
“Well, he is an immortal warrior.”
“No one is that good.”
“Yet he continues to roam free… must be kind of embarrassing for you?” Okay, so she shouldn’t tease Darcy, but seriously, it was so rare to see her thwarted… it might never happen again.
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “So are you going to help me or what?”
“No way. I’m not getting between you and a warri
or of Maat. There’s bound to be bloodshed and it takes ages to get that stuff out of my hair.”
“I’m calling the family card. Game on?”
Charisse gave Darcy a disbelieving look before reluctantly agreeing with a nod. “Psycho.”
“Sea cow.”
“Loon.”
“Fish breath.”
“Crackpot”
“Narwhale nose.”
“Bedlamite.”
“Shark bait.”
“Fruitcake.”
“Sea pig.”
“Kook.”
“Blob fish.”
“Nut case.”
“Walrus butt.”
“Berserker.”
“Blubber brain.”
“Looney Tunes.”
“Squid legs.”
“Fl…er… Fruitcake.”
“Hah, repeat.” Darcy crowed triumphantly with absolutely no winner’s grace. Thankfully, since they were in public she didn’t break out into her usual victory dance shuffle and waggle her tush in Charisse’s face.
“Fuck…” Charisse muttered under her breath, her shoulders slumping slightly.
“I win.” Darcy grabbed Charisse by the shoulders, giving her an encouraging shove. “Now go pitch some Siren woo.”
“Honestly, that’s your idea of a pep talk?”
“No wussing out Char. I won, now go forth and coerce.”
“Fine.” With one hand she flung her dark auburn hair back over one shoulder before fussing with the neckline of her dress. Why she was primping she had no idea. The man would be an annoying, cloying, lovesick mess two seconds after she opened her mouth and said hello. Resigned to her fate, she tossed back the rest of her drink before handing the empty glass to her cousin. “Which one is Nate?”
Chapter Two
Nate loved parties. He was especially enjoying this one celebrating the official melding of his Captain and friend, Vaughn, to the tall, gorgeous, and delightfully blood-thirsty Hadleigh. Lucky son of a viper.
Of course Nate had been there when the two had unofficially melded; just over four months ago, when Vaughn had tied himself to a dying Hadleigh, determined that nothing would separate them in this life or the here-after. Witnessing Vaughn’s desperation, the depth of his emotions for the woman he loved… well, it had been kind of a wake-up call for Nate.
Since that moment he’d been assessing his own life and quite frankly, it had come up lacking. Oh, he had a job he loved, friends that were closer to him than brothers and an interfering, but ultimately well-meaning Goddess to contend with on a daily basis. And at last count, on his cell phone contact list, he had over eight hundred lady friends… how disheartening was that.
He adored women. They fascinated him. Not just their lovely and widely diverse and enjoyable packaging but their inner toughness and courage. That was his gift, to read people, to see inside them, right to their very souls, their psyches, to know instantly their foibles and their strengths. And to be honest, women… well women, just blew him away. Their empathy, well-deep core of caring, tenacity and steely determination… for Maat sake, women birthed babies with heads the size of bowling balls and were up and around within a few hours, sometimes minutes.
But women also had the most fears, self-doubts and fragile self-esteem thanks to the pressures placed on them by society, tradition and a world, still to this day, basically ruled and dominated by the male of the species.
That was probably the reason why he had over eight hundred female friends listed as contacts, because he found it almost impossible to walk past a woman and not try to shore up her doubts or repair her self-esteem… with a smile, a wink, a compliment, a laugh, a chat, and yes on more than one occasion - a brief affair.
During his recent self-assessment it had surprised, comforted and yet at the same time depressed him to realise the exceedingly large number of his past flirtations, who had quickly moved from his arms, into stable and loving relationships. He should feel gratified, but after a hundred years plus of flirting, with the best of intentions, he was getting a little… weary.
He wanted what Vaughn and Hadleigh had - a relationship. A give and take, rough and tumble, fights and kisses… he wanted an uncomplicated woman to laugh, live and play with… he wanted… Her.
She was stunningly beautiful, narrow hips, full breasts, tall, probably around 5.11ft when barefoot, skin that was like fine white china, pouty wide soft lips, hair that fell in a waterfall of soft waves down to her shoulder blades, the colour of autumnal leaves, a glossy dark auburn. And those eyes of hers, green, but so clear they reminded him of the calm seas off of Thailand, exotic and oh so tempting.
She was wearing a dark purple strapless sundress that moulded, just this side of tight as to be perfect, showcasing her hourglass figure. The slit in the full skirt split as she walked, letting anyone watching her move catch a glimpse of a beautifully toned calf and supple thigh.
His cock jerked to attention as a hundred, nay a thousand images of what he wanted to do with this woman scorched through his brain. There was only one little - barely worth mentioning - problem with the woman walking towards him. Her inner psyche, her soul, was almost completely engulfed by something black and weirdly scaly. Something dark and mysterious had its hooks deep into this girl.
Maat damn it, just his luck, this vision of beauty was about as far from uncomplicated as a woman could get.
* * *
As she walked towards the tall, sun-kissed, buff warrior, Charisse bit back a sigh of boredom. How disappointing, his eyes were fixed on her as if she was an all-you-can-eat sundae bar at a dieter’s convention. She probably wouldn’t even have to open her mouth to get this one to spill his guts. She wondered what inane compliment he’d start with. She swore to the Goddess she would hurl, if she heard one more time that her eyes were the colour of the first leaf of spring.
Pity, this one was not too shabby, bordering on kind of gorgeous. If you went for the tall muscular surfer type, his sandy coloured hair unkempt, in that all too cool way, as it fell to his shoulders and into his eyes. And what eyes, even from a few feet away she could see the twinkle in those whiskey coloured orbs. Damn him and his chiselled jaw, gorgeous sexy smile and 6.8ft of lean muscular perfection encased in fitted dark trousers and a steel grey silk shirt. He certainly was a confident looking bastard.
She came to a halt in front of him and waited, glancing down at her nails, hmm, she really needed a manicure. A few seconds passed, sometimes it took some of the slower guys a while to find their voice, then a minute passed, Goddess, seriously? Even the most tongue tied of her admirers was usually stuttering out a nervous string of unrelated words by now.
Sighing in exasperation she glanced up to find he was neither moon-eyed nor drooling but glaring down at her with an angry scowl. Gulp, this was new and unprecedented as his candlelit whiskey coloured eyes assessed her with an almost clinical detachment.
Umm, what was she supposed to being doing? Oh right, making conversation might be a good start.
“Hi, I’m Charisse, Hadleigh’s cousin.” She usually didn’t need to say more than hi, but there was no reason not to be polite.
Let the puddling and drooling commence. Except the warrior continued to frown down at her as if she were some complex puzzle that he was contemplating solving… or destroying.
Deep inside a sharp pain shot through her as the rock yanked on their shared bond, like an owner yanks on the choke chain of a misbehaving poodle. Luckily she’d spent practically every moment of the last three days logging hours, no way could ‘Bettina – the bitch rock’, as she’d come to nickname her nemesis, demand her presence today. She wouldn’t miss out on Hadleigh’s big day just because the she-bitch liked to keep a tight leash on her prized possession.
Pushing down on the pain, Charisse forced a small - didn’t want to give the guy a heart attack or anything – smile. “And you’re one of Vaughn’s colleagues…?”
“Nate.” He said the word gruffly. No elaboratin
g, no gushing, no attempt to make further conversation.
Okay, this was a first. To be truthful Charisse wasn’t quite sure what to do next. Based upon previous experience, usually by now she’d be back at the bar using napkins to wipe drool off her shoes. Her eyes flicked to the left as movement caught her attention, Darcy, scowling her way and making shooing gestures with her hands…what? Oh right, she needed to remember she was on a mission.
“Dance with me?” She issued the invitation, holding out her hand, startled when he actually hesitated. Staring at her hand hard with what looked like suspicion in his gaze. She couldn’t help but laugh. A passing waiter stumbled and dropped a tray of glasses, his gaze fixed and full of longing on Charisse. With years of practise she ignored the calamity taking place behind them. “It’s just a dance.” She reassured Nate.
His large warm hand engulfed hers, Nate turned, escorting her to the dance floor. “Every war starts with one small step.”
“Excuse me?” She flipped her hair back over her shoulder, surprised at how nervous she suddenly felt. When was the last time she’d danced with a man who wasn’t a family member or gay… just danced? Maybe never.
“Nothing, come on Cyd, let’s trip the light fantastic.” He pulled her gently into his arms.
“Cyd?” She queried with a passing frown.
“You know, as in Cyd Charisse, movie star from the old Hollywood days, famous as a dancer and considered to have the best legs in the business. You remind me of her when you move.”
Wow, not exactly an effusive compliment, though it was a unique one, kind of refreshing but still, Charisse was more than a little bemused, Nate seemed to be genuinely impervious to her Siren charms. Okay, so not every man buckled at the knees when they first caught a glimpse of her… thank the Goddess. But when she infused her voice with a low grade attraction lure, well… that and a puddle of drool and a pile of napkins was the usual result.
But not Nate, he’d even hesitated over her invitation to dance, maybe she needed to tap into her powers a bit more seriously. “So… Nate.” Her voice husky, low and breathy. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?”
To Seduce A Siren Page 2