The Siren's Heart

by Helen Scott

  “Crazy, huh?”

  “Just a little.” She paused. “Mom gave this to you?”

  “Yeah, apparently it was what I was wrapped in when my biological mother dropped me off.”

  “Wow.” Cin whistled, still staring at the embroidered corners in her hands.

  “So, I need a favor.” Aster pulled her hair down and redid the bun, making sure everything was in place, or as much as it could be given her hair had a mind of its own.

  “If I can help, I’m all yours.” Her sister stared at her expectantly.

  Aster took a deep breath, but the words didn’t want to come out. “I, uh, well, I need . . . The thing is, Mom suggested I go and speak with Hermes’ kids since his symbol is obviously on the blanket.”

  Cin looked down, and Aster pointed to the hare.

  “I just need someone to get me to Mount Olympus.”

  A peal of laughter broke forth from her sister before she looked up. “Oh, sorry, you’re serious?”

  Aster nodded and absently reached for the lotion that was on the counter, putting some on her hands, the lavender and lilac smell soothing her. It was the same lotion Cin had used since high school, and every time Aster used it, she felt grounded, safer.

  “Well, Sunshine, I don’t think I can get you there. I can barely make it to the furies’ cave in the Underworld, and unfortunately, Thad’s out for work. He should be back next week, if you can wait?”

  “Could you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at her sister.

  “Before, I would have said no, but after meeting my biological mom, I say yes.”

  Aster knew that Cin and her bio-mom had been butting heads, but she hadn’t realized how bad it was. “I don’t want to wait. Plus, I can’t, so it’s a moot point. I need to solve this now, before my eye and these weird vision things get worse.”

  “I wish I could help, I really do, but something in my gut just tells me if I try and get into Mount Olympus, I’ll smack up against it, like running into a glass door or something. It’s not where I’m meant to go.”

  “I get it.” The three words were like lead balloons in her stomach as she spoke.

  “Try Alec or Hal? They might be in town.”

  “Can you jump me over there? I’m exhausted.”

  Cin nodded with a smile. “Happy to help.”

  A moment later, she was in Alec’s kitchen with a surprised but welcoming Ellie, though Cin had left, claiming she had some kind of research to do for Hades.

  “Hey, Ellie,” Aster said, trying to keep the dejection out of her voice.

  “Hiya. What brings ye here?”

  Aster succinctly relayed the situation, and as she reached the end, Ellie’s brows drew together, giving Aster a sinking feeling in her stomach.

  “Sorry, I wish I could help ye, but Alec and Hal are off together. Apparently some eejit was able to get their hands on one of Hera’s peacocks. Needless to say, she’s not best pleased. The two of them have gone off, and I dinnae expect them back for a while. It depends on if the wee beastie is still alive, or if its feathers have gone walkabout. If that’s the case, then I wouldnae expect to see them for a while since they’ll have to track down the feathers.”

  Her hopes crumpled around her. She was going to be stuck with these visions and only one functional eye for a while.

  “Thanks anyway, Ellie.” She hugged the curvaceous brunette and headed out the door, box in hand once more.

  Aster walked for over an hour, just wandering around, trying to figure out a way out of this corner she seemed to be stuck in. The nausea wouldn’t leave her alone, either. She was starting to think everything was related somehow, like she had all the puzzle pieces, she just needed to figure out how they went together.

  When she realized that she was back in front of Dem’s house, she wanted to scream. She knew he wasn’t busy. There were no errant peacocks or other assignments pulling him away at this particular moment. He could take his reasoning, whatever it was, and stuff it.

  She needed him, dammit.

  Pausing, she gathered and tried to calm herself before she went inside. She would not be knocking at his door anymore. Oh no, she was going in there and demanding that he take her. A flush rose on her cheeks at the way that statement might be misconstrued. Phrasing, it was all about the phrasing. She walked forward and threw open the front door.

  Chapter 7

  Randall stood in the center of the room. The dark rock surrounding him faded out into mist, making it seem like the room went on forever, but he had been in it many times before. He knew the walls were there. Glancing up, he took in the carved stone that resembled people who he had always assumed were supposed to represent the founding members of the Order of Talos. Their eyes, though carved from rock, seemed to stare down at him.

  He was completely exposed and at the mercy of the other Order members. He had been stripped of his rank and robes after the last debacle where they not only succeeded in capturing Poseidon, but someone he guessed was a blood relative, and one of the siren brothers. If he hadn’t let his need for vengeance overwhelm him, then he would have been a hero to the Order. Instead, they were all standing there judging him.

  “So tell us what happened, Brother Randall,” the High Brother said, and just as Randall took a breath to respond, he spoke again. “Just so you are aware, Sister Margarite was slaughtered by Poseidon after almost giving her life helping you. As were Brother Francis and Brother Edmund.

  “You are being held accountable for their deaths, as well as the injuries sustained by the other members of the Order as they tried to find safe harbor. Did you know that Poseidon transported a few of them to Death Valley, and the rest, including myself, were stuck up in the Alps? Frost bite, dehydration, heat stroke, we all could have died. Before you tell me what happened, I want you to take a moment and think about the chaos that would have ensued if the members of this group all vanished at once.”

  Rage consumed Randall, and he felt the pebbles around his feet beginning to tremble. He hadn’t figured out how to control his newfound ability yet, but he knew if the Order found out, they would have him executed. It was the way they thought he’d had it easy. Couldn’t they see his prosthetic leg? The hitch in his step? They weren’t the only ones who were injured, and they hadn’t been tortured first.

  How much could he really tell them without exposing himself further? How much should he tell them? Going into this meeting, he’d planned on only giving the most basic details, but now they needed something to sink their teeth into, and he needed something that would sway their support in his favor. He took a deep breath. The cold, damp scent of the stone filled his nostrils as he shifted his weight off his prosthesis for a while. The ground he had been standing on was unforgiving.

  The memory of what had happened to him was almost too fresh. If he hadn’t been a wealthy man, then he wouldn’t have survived. Fortunately he was, and he did.

  Poseidon played with him the way a cat played with a mouse, and Randall was used to being the cat. The beatings came at random times. The god didn’t much seem to care who it was he was unleashing his anger on. The fury that rolled off him was not caused by Randall, but being the god’s prisoner made him the punching bag.

  He could still see the remnants of the other beings who had served as punching bags in his cage. A broken fingernail here. A dark stain on the floor there. All of it combined to make him shudder with disgust.

  The cell he was confined to was in Poseidon’s palace—he’d known that much—but he had no idea where on the globe it was located. It was cold, even when Randall was able to stand in the light coming through the window that was placed up at the edge of the wall. It definitely wasn’t enough to heat the room, and neither was whatever kind of heating system the god used. Then again, he was a prisoner, so it wouldn’t surprise him if there just wasn’t any heating in his cell.

  Most of the time, he dreamed of escaping with the knowledge of the location and returning to the Order. They would worsh
ip him if he brought them the god they had lost. Images of him replacing the High Brother filled his mind and made the beating somewhat bearable.

  Once, Poseidon had beaten him sufficiently enough that he wouldn’t be able to move for days, possibly even weeks. He suspected that he had a broken rib or two, and possibly even a fracture on one of his cheekbones.

  The god seemed to know that he’d gone too far if he wanted to keep his new toy alive. After a point, whenever he was done with the beating, she came in and healed him. Her hands were always gentle and cool on his skin. Her eyes shied away from him most of the time. Innocence radiated out of her, leaving him longing for her touch. There was nothing he loved as much as corrupting innocence.

  In many ways, she reminded him of Robin, his banshee, but if he let his mind remember what happened, then the anger would rise to the surface. So he started focusing on their physical differences.

  Her hair was black with an almost green undertone to it instead of Robin’s vibrant red, and her eyes were a strange blue. It wasn’t one he’d ever seen before. It reminded him of old glass, when there used to be a bluish tint to it. Her mouth was plump but narrow, and her body was almost waifish in its thinness. She had small curves, showing just enough that she was a woman and no more. He could imagine her walking the runway at a fashion show, showing off the latest daring designer creations.

  Randall started smiling at her when she came in to tend to him. Well, he would smile as much as his bruised, swollen face would allow him. Her eyes would dart to his face and then down, before she began tending to whatever wounds Poseidon deemed needed healing.

  The first had been the ribs and the fractured cheekbone, followed by a large gash on his face that ran from his forehead down past his chin. The god’s blade had carved him up that day. When he’d sliced Randall’s face, the blade had slipped and gouged his chest as well.

  “What’s your name?” he’d asked after what felt like weeks of torture, not that he was ever asked any questions.

  Randall knew it had only been a few days, if that, based on the number of meals he had received and the way the light reflected through the myriad of window and skylights that hung above him in the high ceiling.

  Big sea-blue eyes looked up at him through thick lashes that matched her ebony-green hair. “It is not for mortals to know.” The words flowed out of her, reminding him of a flowing stream.

  “I would much rather be able to thank the most beautiful woman in the world by name.”

  She flushed, and he knew in that instant that she would be his. Their sessions continued after every beating, as did his compliments and vocal amazement at her skills and kindness. Finally, she told him, “You may call me Naida.”

  “Well, Naida, it’s truly my pleasure to meet you. I’m Randall.” He smiled his most charming smile at her, and a blush stained her cheeks.

  “How long have you been cleaning up his messes?” He dared not use the god’s name, as it seemed to hold some kind of power since they were in his home.

  “Centuries. You are just one of many.”

  “You are wasted on this work. He doesn’t appreciate you the way he should.” He waited a moment before softly adding, “The way I would.” He looked at her through his eyelashes, making himself appear bashful at the admission.

  “That is kind of you to say, mortal, but you know nothing of our ways.”

  He moved toward her, asking her to explain their ways to him, certain that the loin cloth he’d been forced to wear flapped to the side as he did so. Her cheeks flamed as her eyes connected with his manhood. She found him even more attractive than he had initially thought. In that moment, he knew it would be a cake walk to seduce her. He might find her attractive and her touch soothing, but she was the key to his escape, and that made her invaluable.

  The weeks progressed, and they fell into a simple routine of her healing him and him asking questions about her life. Finally, he made contact, stroking her face with his disfigured hand. In that moment, she’d abandoned her healing powers and her hands had simply touched him. He played up how much her touch pleased him. Encouraging her and praising her until she moved more confidently, her touch becoming sure and strong.

  When he kissed her, she gave herself over to him. It was easy from that point to pleasure her. It was like she’d never experienced a kind or pleasurable touch before, and all her reactions were enthralling, each one stronger and more exuberant than the last to the point that he was worried they would get caught. Finally, after many sessions where he’d shown her pleasure she’d never known, he claimed her as a man claimed a woman.

  Something was different, though. Maybe it was because she was immortal, or not fully human, but he’d never experienced such a joining of two people. When he came in her, it was overwhelming, and not just because he hadn’t been able to have sex in months by that time, but because he could feel himself inside her, feel his seed spreading through her warm core. He felt so connected to her that it made him uncomfortable, and he almost regretted the fact that he was going to have to screw her over to escape. Almost.

  They lay together every night once he was healed from the day’s beating, and shared stories. She would tell him memories of her long life, and he would share ways in which the world had changed. One night after they’d had sex, he brought up the topic of helping him escape. He knew that the longer he stayed there under Poseidon’s thumb, the closer he got to being beaten to death. Her initial reaction was to shy away, but he cajoled and sweet-talked her until she began to come around to his side.

  Every once in a while, he would allow himself to wonder what was happening to Eclipse and with the Order, but those were his dark days. Twice he thought about giving up—both times were after particularly vicious beatings—but after he’d released his anger through sex, he’d calm down and reassess his plan. It was working, slowly. Those were also the days when he scared her the most. She always told him that he didn’t, but he could see it in her reaction to him, the way she moved from his touch. In the days following, he would always be extra sweet and promise her that it would never happen again.

  When Naida finally agreed to help him, it felt like the sun had suddenly started to shine. Everything was different. He noticed more, planned every aspect of his escape in multiple ways using the information he’d gleaned from his late-night sessions with the strange woman.

  She left his cage unlocked while she went to speak with Poseidon about his injuries. Randall was supposed to make his way straight to the exit where she would meet him and transport him to the closest city. He heard them talking as he skulked down a hallway.

  The sound of the god’s voice had filled him with a white-hot rage that burned in every cell of his being. He no longer cared that the door was only a few feet away. All he cared about was hurting his captor. Vengeance drove him back down the hall toward Poseidon, just as it drove him to survive the beatings and his captivity. The sirens were going to pay for stealing from him and damaging his reputation with the Order.

  The deep booming voice echoed down multiple hallways, so it took longer than it should have to find them. When he did, though, the sight of the god brought on a bloodlust in Randall’s veins that he’d never experienced before. The trident that had pierced his skin so many times was resting against the wall off to the side of his throne. Rushing in, Randall grabbed it and swung it at the god. A startled grunt filled his ears, and then the trident was out of his hands.

  He knew he’d injured Poseidon, which made him rethink how powerful the gods really were. What if all this time, the Order had been fighting a weak enemy who only appeared strong? It was that idea more than any other that made him leave and abandon the fight. Before the god could take his life, Randall fled, running full tilt out of the room and out of the palace.

  Somehow Naida had made it away from Poseidon and had transported him somewhere. It wasn’t the closest city like they had agreed on, but then again, they hadn’t agreed on him attacking Poseidon, either.
She probably wasn’t able to be away for more than a few seconds.

  He later learned that she had taken him to Greenland. All he knew at the time was that it was cold. There was blood on his legs, but when he went to wipe the wound, he discovered that it wasn’t his blood. His instincts that he’d injured Poseidon had been correct.

  Half of him rejoiced in having his freedom and having hurt his captor on the way out. The other half was screaming about the fact that he was only wearing a loincloth and was surrounded by what felt like the dead of winter. Snow covered every surface in sight except for either the ocean or a large lake to his left. A mountain rose in the distance, but it was all white. The only way he knew it was there was from the angular peak framed by the blue sky. The sun burned his eyes while the wind, which stole his breath, brought him sounds that didn’t make any sense in his head. Dogs barking and a buzzing sound he couldn’t understand.

  Fury pulsed through his system. Randall knew this was all the fault of those infuriating sirens. Ever since they had started interfering with his business and his life, nothing had gone to plan. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.

  The ground underneath him began to shake, and small pebbles rose up through the snow, hovering in front of him. When he reached out to touch one, they all fell under the snow once more. He was losing his mind. The thought swam around in his head like a shark through the water he walked next to. It was ready to latch on to any doubts, exploiting them and making them seem larger than they were.

  His skin was mostly numb with a slight prickling sensation. A wave lapped up his left leg, making the cold feel bone deep. Randall stumbled from the numbness, or from muscle stiffness—at that point, he wasn’t sure. Watching his leg, he tried to bend his foot, to no avail. All he knew was that he had to keep moving, keep searching for any signs of life.

  When his foot didn’t connect with the ground correctly, he tripped, falling on his face. Stones and pebbles from the rocky shore hidden under the snow dug into his hands and knees. It didn’t hurt too much, but then that was probably because everything felt numb. Lying there, he struggled to find the energy to get up, and when he attempted it, he only fell once more. Soon after, he lost consciousness.