“Shit, Vivian!”
He crouched next to her, desperately searching through the blood and shredded clothing for a pulse, steady but weak. She was alive, thank Maat, but she was a mess.
Clicking his earpiece he put in a request for Nell, magic healer and Drum’s new wife, to be summoned. He daren’t risk transporting Vivian until the Doctor had a chance to gauge her condition. Thank fucking Maat he’d moved the lounger. Kneeling beside Vivian he managed to find one of her small soft hands, sticky with blood.
“I’ve got you honey.” He crooned under his breath.
His eyes searched the surrounding skyline, knowing somewhere nearby that vampire bitch was watching and probably smiling her ass off.
Something white caught his attention, switching focus he watched as a small white gift card fluttered from out of the sky. Snatching it out of the air before it could land on Vivian, Nate glared down at it with hard eyes. One word… combination threat, promise and a name… Destiny.
Nate crumpled the card in his fist, the vamp Queen with the stripper name. Well he hoped she realised destiny was a two way street. It was well past time to sharpen some stakes and fuel up the flamethrower.
Chapter Four
Charisse hummed the theme song to the Muppet Show under her breath, dabbing a large dollop of bright blue paint onto the canvas in front of her. The afternoon sea breeze plastered the voluminous chocolate brown muumuu she wore to her body and tugged playfully at the brim of her oversized floppy sun hat.
After a final few brush strokes she moved back a few feet to critique the final product. It was done. Already? The last seven weeks had been incredibly productive ones… work wise. It seems all it took to get her to focus was to meet a gorgeous annoying man resistant to her charms combined with a slight crisis of conscience.
Since Hadleigh’s party, she’d mentally run through her meeting with Nate over and over again. With hindsight she’d finally come to realise that the cringe factor involved had not been Nate insulting her humming or his failing to succumb to her Siren charms. No, the shocking fact about the whole incident had been how all too easily she’d slipped into mega-bitch Siren mode, and tried so desperately hard to seduce the man.
Seriously, what if he hadn’t been immune? She might have melted his brains, all because in a petulant snit she’d felt the need to bully him with her Siren powers to prove some obscure point that she was a desirable woman. It was that first day on the rock all over again. I am Siren, hear me roar.
Even now, as she absently cleaned her brushes, she blushed with embarrassment and shame. Oh Charisse, stop thinking about the man and dwelling on the past, what’s done is done. Except for the occasional family party it wasn’t like she would be bumping into Nate again. And so what if she did, she’d already proven at Drum and Nell’s wedding meld party that she could be in the man’s vicinity and avoid him like the plague.
It kind of helped that every time the man came within a fifteen foot radius Bettina bitch-rock gave a hard yank on their shared bond. Psycho rock had been acting way more possessive than normal since her little encounter with Nate. Night and day there was a constant pull on the bond now.
Nights, she determinedly ignored the bitch, managing the ache with meditation and sleeping pills. Most days she’d given in of her own accord, paddling out to spend some quality time with her paints… not, she assured herself, to placate Bettina.
She thanked the Goddess daily for her ability to paint. She couldn’t imagine having to spend hours on this bitch-rock every day, with nothing to do but twiddle her thumbs and listen to the subversive suggestive incomprehensible whisperings of Bettina. It would have been like being stuck in a Star Wars movie marathon for life… ‘come to the dark side Charisse’ twenty-four/seven.
Soon after her initial introduction to Bettina she realised it was no accident that the women in her family had chosen the careers they did. Her mother was a writer, Aunt Maddie a poet, Aunt Cecilia had built a weather station on her rock located in the Philippines Sea where she studied typhoons. And Aunt Fiona, who many in the family believed to have drawn the short straw with a rock located in Antarctica, had become a world renowned naturalist with her study on penguin colonies.
Daily, Charisse wondered if their rocks were as bitchy, manic and downright demanding as Bettina? A question she could never ask out loud. And because of the rules of being a Siren, a question her female relatives could never answer. But somehow Charisse thought so. This symbiotic relationship between the Sirens and the rocks according to myth and legend had been going on for centuries. Though of course the Sirens got all the bad press, no one ever thought to blame the rocks.
It was a frustrating way to live, she knew what the rocks got out of the arrangement; she had yet to work out how the Sirens benefitted. The scales felt firmly an irretrievably weighted in the direction of the rock, the never-ending maddening hunger that was Bettina. The bitch-rock craved cruisers, tankers, destroyers. Hell, Bettina wanted her to lure in a whole naval fleet. Not on Charisse’s watch, no way, no how. For almost fifteen years now she’d been feeding Bettina on the meanest of rations.
Bettina might bitch and yank on the bond but it was Charisse who aimed her Siren’s call, deliberately attracting only speeding macho fools in flashy speedboats or on ridiculously loud jet skis. Men, who hooned around the ocean, thinking nothing about how their actions affected local wildlife or anyone else forced to share the waterways with them.
Charisse liked to call it the asshole diet or sometimes the dickhead cleanse.
These egotistical thrill seekers, hyped up on speed and their own macho self-importance were perfect fodder for Bettina. Even so, when they did finally manage to stumble onto the rock, Charisse barely gave Bettina a minute or two to siphon off the excess of their emotions before she escorted them back to their boat or jet-ski; dazed, lovesick and confused. It was actually kind of rewarding to watch them motor away well under the speed limit.
Sure they’d be tired and a little lethargic for a few days, but they’d soon recover, the memory of the gorgeous woman they’d encountered on a rock in the middle of the ocean a hazy half-dream.
Stretching her arms out wide to get the kinks out of her muscles Charisse turned towards the coastline. Now that she was finished work for the day she could indulge in a little sneak peek at the handyman fixing up Great-Great-Uncle Maurice Bennett’s gothic cliff-top mansion.
Maurice had gone to the Goddess a few years ago now and Charisse had been wondering if his son, Great-Uncle Gard, was finally having Kaleidoscope Folly renovated with an eye to selling it. It would certainly explain all the trucks over the recent few days coming and going. If so… well Charisse had become rather partial to the eccentric monstrosity after almost fifteen years of looking at it on a daily basis. Perhaps she should give Auntie Kath, Gard’s wife, a call… hmmm, but in the meantime, where was the golden Adonis? He’d been there the last five days in a row, she hoped today wasn’t his day off or he was working inside. She needed a little eye candy pick me up.
Oh there, up on the roof again, well not quite on the roof, more like hanging off the roof by what looked like a harness and ropes, dismantling the rusty guttering on the upper most, third tier of the house. She allowed her eyes to drink in his form. He had to be tall, even from this distance she could figure that out, and thanks to his propensity to work without a t-shirt she knew he was golden tanned and ripped.
Today, like every other day, he’d tied a bandana around the lower half of his face, smart, you never knew what types of building materials were used in old houses. His hair shone golden blonde under the harsh rays of the afternoon sun. Hmmm, if she weren’t afraid of ruining the fantasy by actually speaking to the man, she’d hunt him down and test her theory that the up close visage was just as fantastic as the faraway.
Seriously, who could this guy be? Perhaps he was one of the artisans from Reverie Valley, the artistic community, one town over inland. He had to be, no one from outside the
Sanctuary would surely be allowed to work on one of the family homes.
Charisse winced as Bettina gave an extra hard yank on the bond. Hmmm, she supposed she should be going… maybe in a few minutes. To placate the demanding diva she absently begun to hum the Star Wars theme, okay perhaps placate wasn’t the right term, but it was a fact Bettina bitched less when she was making some use of her Siren powers, even if it was tuneless off key humming.
Mmmm… back to the hottie. Who it seems had company she noted, as a cloud of dust rose from the circular driveway at the side of the house. Despite the dust, the bright red paintwork of the car gleamed, reminding her of Darcy’s car.
A flicker of movement to the right had her refocusing on the handyman, who was using his legs to push off from the roofline, dropping like a stone three storeys to the unkempt garden. Squinting she watched as he began to run, sending the harness and ropes flying to the ground as his booted feet ate up the ground with impressive speed.
Where he thought he was running to, she wasn’t sure. There was dense forest land to the right of the house but that was five or so miles away. If that really was Darcy on his tail, then he didn’t have a hope in hell of escaping the wrath of the Council Special liaison when she was in bounty hunter mode. Except hottie handyman wasn’t headed for the forest, he was headed for the cliffs. Oh Goddess, he wasn’t seriously going to clamber down to the private beach was he? He’d be trapped for sure. Except he bolted past the pathway to the beach and kept running along the edge of the cliff towards Corkscrew Point, where the winds swirled and surged so unpredictably.
Goddess, he couldn’t seriously be considering… she’d only begun to contemplate the horror when he launched himself out into the air. Charisse squeezed her eyes shut, she couldn’t watch. Of course that meant five seconds later, when she opened her eyes to search the choppy waters cresting against the rocks under Corkscrew point, she had no idea where he’d landed. Stupid woman, she berated herself, running to the far edge of Bettina, trying desperately to pinpoint his location. If he was hurt perhaps she could call for help or paddle out and get him.
Up on top of the cliff Darcy was just now coming around the side of the house, no doubt she’d seen her quarry’s leap, as she raised a fist in the air and made several rude gestures before her shoulders slumped and she returned the way she came. Seriously? Darcy wasn’t even going to check the man was still alive?
Feeling useless and agitated Charisse paced the edge of the rock. What should she do? Call the coastguard? Those guys would all too eagerly take her call, but in all likelihood her presence nearby would mean they’d be way too distracted to do their actual jobs. Damn her Siren soul.
As Charisse paced, Bettina squeezed, yanked and dug vicious invisible nails into their bond, reminding her of a fractious toddler having a temper tantrum fit. Stupid diva bitch, everything always had to be about the rock she supposed. Absently she started to sing under her breath, anything to calm the demanding cow whilst she dealt with the problem at hand. Where was the body? The least she could do was note the direction it was floating, call the authorities and give the poor man’s family some closure.
Overhead the seagulls squawked as the breeze began to pick up, churning the waters, making it even more difficult for her to see her quarry.
Oh Goddess. Oh Goddess. What should she do? She was on her umpteenth futile pacing of the rock’s edge when a large, warm, wet hand clasped her ankle in a grip just shy of bone crushing. Her shocked scream was so loud it scared away the seagulls.
“Cyd?” Nate pulled himself out of the water, like Adonis rising from the ocean depths. His hair slicked back from his chiselled face, water running in rivulets down over his lean muscular chest and rock hard six pack, his bare flesh glistening with gold glimmers under the sun’s heated rays. His trousers were plastered to his legs like a second skin, whilst his feet were encased in sturdy work boots. How he’d managed to swim with those weighing him down she’d never know. Absently Nate rubbed his ear and winced. “Quite a set of lungs you have on you there Cyd.”
“Nate?” Charisse’s hand was plastered over her racing heart. “Oh my good Goddess, you scared me. First with that lunatic jump and then grabbing my foot, you… you...” She leaned over and punched him as hard as she could on the arm, shaking out her sore hand even as he grinned at her and then laughed. Wow, that was some smile. Made a nice change from all the frowns and scowls she’d been on the receiving end of at their first meeting. But it wasn’t enough for her to forget the stupidity of his actions. “What were you thinking, diving off Corkscrew point like that? You could have died!”
“Nice to know someone around here cares.” Nate shook out his hair, sending droplets of water flying.
Thanks to Bettina’s scratching and clawing at the bond Charisse was able to keep her attention focused on his face, rather than follow the progress of several droplets as they carved a path down that magnificent golden rock hard chest. Umm, er, don’t go there Charisse, eyes up remember. She shifted on the spot, as a bolt of what felt like heated electricity charged down the bond, causing her to suck in her breath at the pain that coursed through her.
“You okay?” The frown she’d come to know and… well not love, was back on Nate’s face as he stared down at her.
“Fine… I’m fine.” She had no idea why Bettina was panicking, in fact, here was a prime - over-sized even - specimen of the male race and Bettina was making no attempt whatsoever to feed off of him. Could this day get any weirder?
Nate was eyeing her up and down, noting the sensible worn sneakers on her feet, the voluminous long sleeved muumuu that covered her from head to toe, the white smear of zinc sunscreen across her nose, the oversized sunglasses on her face and the all but obscuring everything large sunhat jammed onto her head. “Interesting outfit.” He finally commented.
What! Oh, of course it was Nate. She needed to get used to the fact that he didn’t slobber all over her or shower her with compliments. No, when he looked at her, he no doubt saw a woman with fizzy hair wearing an imminently sun practical, if rather hideous outfit. Oh Goddess, she hadn’t even run a brush through her hair this morning before pulling it into a pony-tail. And this colour did nothing for her complexion but make her look like death warmed over. This was so embarrassing. No wonder the man was busy looking around the rock rather than continuing to look at the hideousness that was her.
Nate hadn’t come down in the last solar flare. He knew that whatever had its claws sunk deep into Charisse loathed the way his attention was captured and held by that ridiculous blanket thing she wore, the gusty breezes making it cling to those narrow hips, fantastic long legs and full breasts of hers. He could actually see the black creature tightening and squeezing her psyche when his focus shifted from her gorgeous body to that enticing wide mouth of hers.
With a determined effort he’d yanked his gaze from her completely and scoped out his surroundings. Something any warrior of Maat should have done first when arriving at a new location, rather than spend his time wondering how long it would take him to cut all that material off of the gorgeous woman in front of him.
The rock was large, bordering on small island proportions. Even at high tide he doubted the sea did no more than lap over the very edges. The centre of it was covered with sand like a beach and that was where it looked like Charisse did most of her work. He noted the easel and canvas set up under the shade of a billowing colourful sheet of tarpaulin. One end attached to a tall pole, the other attached to what looked like a small metal shack with windows, that someone had painted a glossy red.
“Is that a… ship’s cabin?”
“Yes. One of the larger industrial fishing vessels ran aground out here about ten, no, eleven years ago during a storm. It was easier to dismantle it than try and tow it back to the docks so I offered to purchase the main cabin.”
“And they just said yes? What about the fisheries and wildlife departments, they’re just okay with you squatting out here?”
Charisse laughed, it came out low and husky and did not so surprising things to the lower half of his body, thank Maat his trousers were practically dry already.
“I petitioned the local Council for permission.”
“Of course, and just how many family members of yours sit on the Council?” Nate began striding across the rock. Something about that painting had caught his eye.
“Hey don’t touch that… the paint’s still wet in places.” She came to a halt beside him, breathing hard. Goddess, the man moved like lightning, no wonder Darcy couldn’t keep up with him.
“This is good.” Nate eyed the canvas with interest. “And familiar.” The scene was of the ocean horizon, waves cresting, seagulls wheeling overhead as a storm hinted in the distance. Nate leant over to get a better view of the signature.
Behind him Charisse squirmed in place, soft colour filling her cheeks. She wasn’t used to people, especially men, paying attention to her work whilst in her company… usually they were too busy waxing lyrical about the shape of her eyebrows, the shell like proportions of her ears or some such other nonsense.
“You’re C.Hariss? The painter?”
“Umm… well yes. Would you like a drink?” She twirled and headed inside the cabin without waiting for his response. Outside again she wasn’t surprised to find he’d made himself comfortable in one of the two collapsible striped chairs she kept under the shaded veranda she’d rigged to the front of the cabin.
Nate took the cold can of soft drink from her, popped the top and gave a grateful sigh after he’d drained half its contents. “Thanks.”
Taking the seat next to him, Charisse felt awkward, she wasn’t used to entertaining men – period. Oh she had plenty of male visitors, but none who expected a conversation from her. Usually there were just lots of flowery compliments, tearful declarations of love and a lot of marriage proposals whilst she worked hard to fend off their advances and get them off Bettina as swiftly as possible, before the she-bitch could over eat and develop indigestion.
To Seduce A Siren Page 4