by Hazel Grace
Until the night Davina and her sister, Rohana, hung from that net, I didn’t believe they existed.
Then there was the slice on my cheek Davina landed that really set in the reality that they were real.
Looking into her eyes, I felt the fear. She looked around my age, determined and strong while hanging onto the net, attempting to cut through the thick threads of the rope.
It was the evening everything changed for me.
Sirens were real, not a made-up drunken tale my uncle believed, and I wanted to protect them.
I wanted to conserve her.
I never would’ve stayed with my Uncle Declan if Lorne hadn’t disappeared. Three years younger than me, my uncle fed me a line of bullshit that he got up and left me behind, wanting to search for treasure and a new world.
He’d never abandon me.
Lorne disliked my uncle probably more than I did and never in a million years would he leave or desert me.
Someone kidnapped him, I was certain of it. Pirates were always looking for deck boys and forcing young children into their trade. I’m afraid my brother fell victim to it, and I’ve been following leads for years only to come up short.
He’s a grown man now, and I fear with the amount of time that has gone by, I won’t recognize him anymore. His face is starting to dim with time inside my head, and I beat myself up with more years that pass. But until the leads dry up, I’ll continue to search for him and try to hold on to the thread of hope that still dangles within me.
“We’re ready to board when you are, Cap'n.” I glance over to my skipper, Ashton, an older gentleman who used to run with my uncle. The gray hairs on his head display all the close encounters of death he’s almost succumbed to, while the wrinkles on his face tell stories of how many years he’s been at sea.
He’s like a father to me, the only other person besides my uncle who remembers my brother. Even though he didn’t see him but a few times, his knowing reminds me that I’m not imagining things.
Port Royal is a busy trading town, and this isn’t the first time my brother has been mentioned being here. The stories about him range high and low, that he’s a merchant, a Hunter, a dirty pirate who’s running from the Banishian Navy.
While all of these could be true, they don’t bother me as much as thinking that Lorne is no longer alive.
I want him to meet Davina.
I want to know if he’s met a woman and if he’s happy.
If he even remembers me.
As every wish and fantasy starts to build in my mind, the moment I step off the ship they crash just as quickly.
The minute the informant tells me that this alleged Lorne lookalike left last night on a ship heading south, my heart falls for over the hundredth time, igniting the repetition of anger and frustration.
I’m tired of coming to this port, where everyone knows his name. Not because he’s famous around the sea but because I come here practically once every three months searching for him.
“One day, lad,” Ashton conveys, the moment he recognizes my obviously fallen face.
He slaps me on the back as I make my way into my corridors, knowing the repetitious drill when I come back empty-handed—leave port as quickly as possible and don’t fucking ask me where we’re going until I come back out on the deck.
My bottle of whiskey is the first thing I reach for the moment my door closes. It’s enough to know that he’s gone, but with every glimmer of promise to find him, I’d rather stop looking altogether because it only ends in one conclusion—self-loathing.
How can someone like me find Davina every time on an invisible island that no other man can see, but can’t find his own brother. I have men all over the southern hemisphere under my command, but Lorne escapes me every time.
Just like Davina is trying to do—avoiding and evading our friendship.
Her defenses are up, she doesn’t trust anyone, and she’s scared, while there is a limit to what I can do about it. I can’t give her the answers she needs on how I’m able to step foot on Merindah let alone locate it.
It was naive of me to think her being in my world would change the dynamic of what we are. How I’ve lived in a fairytale of wanting to make her my wife one day and have children of our own.
I don’t need the sea as much as I need and want her, but Davina is a siren, the sea is within her and what makes her who she is.
And I can’t compete with it.
I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been here, chained to the floor of the room I was brought into. My shackles are long enough for me to stand and walk a small circle, but it strengthens my frustration at being padlocked in this space.
Rubbing my forehead, I think about my crew, more than likely coming up with a plan. I don’t think they fully understand what they’ll be walking into—I didn’t know what the hell I was roaming into.
I was told by my father that this was practically an uninhabited island, in the middle of nowhere, where only a few people may reside. It didn’t make any sense, but I did as I was told, giving myself a change of scenery from the mountains and valleys of Lothbrok.
Now I’m locked up in a paradise of hell with bitter women running the show.
The faint sound of footsteps patter along the tiles, and I jerk my attention to the door as it opens.
Rose-colored hair peeks from behind it, then steps into the room, leaving it open for the next body to walk in behind her.
Davina.
The little bloodthirsty siren who left the room the other day without uttering a single word.
“I’m Isolde,” the other announces like we haven’t met before as she stands a safe distance from me. “You will eat.”
I don’t respond, just continue sitting on the hard floor.
“He doesn’t look harmful,” she suddenly states, tossing a loaf of bread at me. I scoff loudly for them to hear, not bothering to catch the item she threw at me. Obviously they haven’t heard all of the alleged myths about me then.
My name is written and spread off the lips of people everywhere from where I’m from. I didn’t earn Dagen the Blood Axe just because I could hold one.
I’ve butchered hundreds of men to protect my people. Loyalty and pride flow through my veins just as my blood does freely.
So harmful wouldn’t be lost on a conversation about me.
“He’s haughty and ignorant,” Isolde professes then jerks her attention to her sister. “Absolutely not.”
Davina fixes her with an insistent look, not backing down from whatever the hell it was that Isolde answered “no” to.
“Out of the question,” she digresses, adjusting the spectacles on her nose. Davina narrows her eyes.
“I won’t bite,” I offer as both of their eyes fall on me. “Hard, I mean.”
Davina stares at me while Isolde looks back at her.
“Atarah will—” She stops then rolls her eyes. “Five minutes.” She turns on her heels and begins to leave the room. “And I won’t knock.”
Slamming the door behind her, she leaves me to bask in the one siren who captivates every inch of my body.
This is what they are all about.
Seduction.
Beauty.
A fatal monster.
I perk a brow. “Still don’t speak, eh?” She continues to stand there, giving me the full view of her body under very little clothing.
Today she’s wearing a pink bandeau covered in pearls and seashells, her naked torso of ivory glistening in the sun overhead, with a white skirt of meshed material that gives me more of a regard of her toned legs.
But what’s different is the crown, the one made of not just seashells, but old pendants and chains. They drape over the shells of different shapes and colors, professing her rank.
“If you’re going to stare me to death, please, just take my knife and stab me a few times in the chest.”
Silence.
“What do you want?”
More silence.
I sigh
, rubbing one of my temples with a chained hand. “Well if you’re going to mute me to death, it’s working.”
I think I see a smirk, but it disappears just as quickly as I thought I saw it.
“What do you want?” I repeat. “Because I’m not going to tell you anything.” She steps forward, which jolts me back a little.
Standing to have a better position on her, I watch her continue her trail toward me—a dangerous one.
One she should think twice about because if I have a mind to, my chains have enough slack to crush the little thing to death.
“You might want to keep your distance, Blood,” I warn. “It’s not a smart idea for you to get too close to me.”
She doesn’t listen.
The stupid little girl takes no heed in what the hell I just said as she traipses closer with her bare feet. Either brave or stupid, I’m going to take my opportunity if it presents itself.
A foot away, she halts, peering up at me with those stunning greens, and I can’t help but explore her face. Two freckles on the left and three on the right side of her high-boned cheeks, long eyelashes, and a button nose. Her plush lips are pink and impeccable.
And the fucking enemy.
“You don’t know how to speak?”
She blinks.
“I’m going to take that as a ‘yes’.”
She stares.
“I’m not going to say a thing about—you’re wasting your time.”
Another blink.
“This only works to my advantage, Blood. I’ve never killed a young woman before that wasn’t armed.”
With a sword or ax.
Davina has a whole other arsenal that I don’t know about, I’m sure, and unfortunately, I’m going to find out the hard fucking way.
My chains rattle as my hands quickly seize her neck, pressing the tips of my thumbs into her windpipe.
Yanking her toward me, I wait for widened eyes to fill with anguish, for her lips to part in shock, but she remains unfazed.
Unaffected.
Calm.
Until a surge of scorching heat burns the pads of my fingers, immediately getting me to release her. I fling myself back at the pain coursing through my hand.
I can smell the odor of burnt flesh, my instant need is cool water which, of course, there’s none near.
“The fuck,” I bellow, shaking my hand in the air to try and ease the discomfort.
Nothing—again.
Looking down at my fingers, they’re red but the skin is still there.
I jerk my eyes to her. “You magical piece of—” She perks a brow, ceasing my next words.
She understands everything.
She’s not stupid or ignorant. She’s as cunning and smart as the rest of them.
“This no talking shit works both ways, Blood,” I snap. She gives me a once-over, sizing me up, because to her right now I’m nothing.
I’m no threat.
I’m not a worry in her mind.
I’m a prisoner on her island, and I’m not getting out of here unless I tell her what I’ve come for. But I think she has a pretty damn good idea of what that certain something is.
“You can’t keep me here forever, sweetheart,” I sneer, jerking on the chains that still bind me to the floor. “You better make up your mind on what you’re going to do with me.”
I’m not built to be a prisoner of war nor will I stay one. She either kills me or lets me go. And if she does neither, I’ll take my chances and find my way out.
Davina abruptly turns on her heels and walks away. She and I are not done yet.
That’s all her expression said.
I shouldn’t be here alone, but I am—again. This time without one of my sisters. This time without a plan. And knowing deep down that this second visit is going to be as worthless as the last one.
I’m not scared of him, the Viking—Dagen the Blood Axe.
It’s just a name. Question is, how much truth lies behind it? How much blood has he spilled like my sisters state that Vikings do?
Besides his cocky, self-assured attitude, he’s just another human to me. I wouldn’t classify him with Tobias, but he does have that fearless and half-witted air about him.
Intrigued to know more, I found a book on them in my library. They’re known for their brute force and loyalty, allegedly fearless and large in stature. Known to mercilessly conquer cities and villages, killing anything in their path.
It was the chapter about taking over land that really alarmed me. And the more that it sunk in, the more the idea of sending him back out of the veil floating facedown seemed more favorable. His people could then pick up, whatever was left of him, after my sea creatures nibbled off him.
Sitting on the floor, the Viking’s knees are brought up to his chest, looking like a small child instead of the brawny man that tried to strangle me last night.
He doesn’t notice me silently walk in, looking outside the french door at the moon as I contemplate my next move. It only lasts for a split second before furrowed brows and ocean blue eyes bore into me.
His long brown hair cups his face, giving him a barbaric look along with his facial hair and beard. And the longer I stare back at him, the more his brows deepen like I’ve done something to him.
It’s quite the opposite, and he should know that. I’m sure he wouldn’t let strangers march all over his land. But here I stand, a few yards from the agitated man that is now my prisoner, and I should be thinking of ways to get rid of him.
Not curious.
“Miss me already?” he grumbles, looking back at where he was looking before I walked in.
I answer by stepping deeper into the room, aware that I’m more powerful than him and not fearful of the muscles that bulge from his shirt. Or the thighs that could stomp me into dust. I was afraid of what his plans were and what else was going to happen due to his being here.
It was self-righteous suicide. Which made no sense because he doesn’t seem like an idiot.
“Still not speaking, are we?” he asks, still staring outside.
Pretty much, yes.
He doesn’t deserve for me to speak to him, but I’ll have to at some point. And as much as he doesn’t frighten me, I sense no fear in him either, which does nothing for me because dread makes people do stupid things.
“Did we move on to boring me to death now?” I thrust back a chuckle, no wonder Nesrine likes him, he’s sarcastic and crass like her. “You can leave, Blood. I’m not in the mood for a staring contest.”
I do something risky, something my body warns me profusely not to do, but I force it to anyways—I sit in front of him.
Crossing my legs, I straighten my back, hoping that the innocent look in my eyes gets him to speak.
“What now?”
I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.
Purity, that’s what Father says I am. A sweet shell in a bottomless ocean that he wanted to protect from the evils of this world.
But he’d never be able to do that.
Even undersea, threats were imminent. They were everywhere. Not just from the creatures that lived under the ocean, but the Hunters who chased and captured my species for sport.
“That pretty little face isn’t going to fool me, Blood.”
The warm breeze picks up in the room, encompassing me, but it sends a cool shiver down my spine. I don’t know if it’s warning me or that I’m anxious being in this room with him again. Or it’s that I’ll have to have him killed because he’s too hard-headed, which means I’ll receive no answers.
“You haven’t decided yet,” he claims. “To kill me or get whatever you can out of me first. You’re curious about me just as much as I’m curious about you because your people don’t come up to Scotland and Norway, and we rarely come down here—” He looks at me. “—and you want to know why.”
I nod.
“Does it matter?”
I nod again.
He leans toward me, inhaling a deep breath as though he’s
smelling me. “Too bad.”
My jaw locks as I notice a faint scar above his brow. The straight nose that falls to perfect lips. And the movement of his fingers around a bulky ring.
He twists it on his index finger—an animal of some kind that I know I’ve seen before in one of my books marks the top. It’s gold and gaudy, something Tobias would bring home to me.
“Never seen a ring?” he asks, snagging my attention back up to his face. In my silence, he takes it off and holds it out for me to take.
Extending my palm, he drops it, letting me feel the warmness of the metal on my cool hands. I clasp it then go to slide it down my finger but stop.
This isn’t mine, and I don’t know what it does if I put it on.
“Go ahead,” he urges.
I glance back up at him. He reveals no emotion or intentions of any kind, but I don’t trust him. I hold up his trinket for him to take back, and he does the same, extending his palm for me to drop it in.
“It’s a family ring, been in my family for years.”
I clasp my hands together and wait for more, any small pieces of information that he wants to tell me so I can build a rapport with him.
“Do you have things like that?”
I shake my head.
“Do you know how to speak?”
I shake my head again.
“Interesting.”
I cock my head to the side.
“I mean, that’s unfortunate.”
My brows furrow.
“I’m sure you’d have a lot to say, especially since you can’t say it.”
I crack a grin, something like that. And I bet sometimes my sisters wished I was mute altogether.
“I figured. Are you the leader? You don’t seem like the oldest one of the bunch. They’re your sisters, aren’t they?”
I look at him straight-faced.
“You’re the youngest. The white-haired woman is the oldest. She’s bossy, like me. I’m the oldest.”