by Gaja J. Kos
My thoughts must have shown somewhere on my face because he shrugged and lazily swirled the wine, filling the atmosphere with its potent aroma. “Anger or fear cause more problems than they solve, piccola. If you give in to their clutches, the rise to the surface is far longer than it would have otherwise been.”
A little to my surprise, I’d taken Santino’s advice to heart and enjoyed my meal in pleasant silence, the quiet only occasionally ruffled by a casual remark that, while seeming out of place given the circumstances, felt so right in the intimacy of his apartment and company. Only when the last of the pasta had been cleared away and our wineglasses once more refilled did Santino return to the grim origin of our peculiar situation.
“Caz, my former partner, still works for the police. I’ll reach out to him, see if he can find anything on the PI or his…employers.” That last word dripped with distaste, but it wasn’t his obvious aversion to Rusalkas that made me clutch my wineglass tighter. No, that involuntary jerk had everything to do with what I’d instinctively felt he would say next.
“He’ll scour the official and unofficial channels alike.”
I forced myself to loosen my grip before I cracked the delicate stem. “Your partner isn’t human?”
It wasn’t the supernatural aspect that caught me off guard, but rather the odd time frame it was nestled in.
From what I’d learned during my brief stay on land, the police had added quite a large number of supernatural individuals to their ranks—not only because of their superior strength, but to make up for the knowledge humankind lacked. Yet for all the open-mindedness the world at large seemed to exhibit now, the inclusion of non-human assets had only happened two years ago… So either Santino had only recently quit the force—which I somehow doubted—or his partner must have done his own undercover stint whilst applying for the job. Long before the magic hit.
“Caz has always been inventive,” Santino commented with a smile to his voice, confirming my suspicion. “Kept a supply of blood handy for any random tests thrown his way, and the only people to witness his true strength were the criminals he brought down.” A real smile now played across his lips. “Quite impressively, I must say, even when limited to only his human form.”
Curiosity stirred, and I took a long sip of my wine. We had far more important things to discuss now that Santino seemed to be open to the unpleasant side of our rendezvous, but I simply couldn’t resist asking. “What is he?”
Something shifted in Santino’s gaze—that same shadow I had seen when I admitted my nymph heritage. His words, however, held no emotion as he said, “Perelesnyk.”
The breath whizzed out of my lungs as if someone punched me in the gut.
A Perelesnyk. An incubus dragon.
I must have paled, because Santino was beside me the next moment, those silver eyes scanning my face and one arm ready to catch me in case I tumbled down from my chair.
“Are you all right?”
I nodded, then drank the rest of my wine in a single gulp while Santino reclaimed his spot on the opposite side of the table. He was giving me space, but the tension visible in the corded muscles of his lean body let on he was still far from being relaxed himself.
Still waiting to intervene, I realized.
“I’m sorry,” I made myself say with a weak smile I knew could hardly mask my duress. “I know it must seem odd to you that a water nymph could be shaken by anything of the supernatural variety. But myths are myths. Even for my kind. Well, former kind, at least.”
“Dragons can have that effect on people,” Santino agreed, an odd mix of amusement and vigilance lurking in the tone of his voice. “But Caz is a good man. And he’s a great cop. On and off the books.”
I nodded, trusting his word and more than a little angry at myself for reacting in such a manner. While fear is something I had little influence over, prejudice was another thing altogether. Judging an entire species based on one dragon’s actions was, in its core, just as bad as the Rusalkas hunting me for being a mermaid. I let out a breath and squared my shoulders, finally meeting Santino’s gaze without the presence of doubt etched into the lines of my face.
“So what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” I asked, changing the subject, but not without cause.
It was getting late, and the food, as well as the frequent shifts, were making me drowsy. Yet despite the exhaustion, I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep without having at least a sliver of a plan to hold on to.
“You stay here.”
His response was quick, casual, as if me staying at my boss’s place while there was a bounty out on my head was a perfectly normal thing to do. Santino’s silver eyes dug into mine, squishing my objections.
“I can’t keep watch over you if you wander around town, and the boarding house is not safe enough. I’ll pick up the rest of your things when I go out in the morning.”
He nudged his head towards the club table, to the light glint of metal I noticed only now. My purse.
“You left it at the bar before you stormed out.”
Gods, it said a lot about my state of mind that I hadn’t as much as noticed my purse was missing for an entire day. Then again, I hadn’t needed one for a century, and having something draped over my shoulder was a sensation I hadn’t grown accustomed to well enough so that its absence would bother me. Still… I obviously needed to shut down for the night before I lost my head, too, as my grandma liked to say.
“Thank you,” I said as I stood, Santino doing the same on the other side. Exhaustion slithered through me, a rolling force that bloomed as the presence of danger receded and weighted heavily on my eyelids. I glanced at the love seat, then Santino. “If it’s not too much trouble, do you have a sheet I could use to cover—”
“Nonsense,” he cut in. “You’re taking the bed, cara, and that’s nonnegotiable.”
He meant it, too, because as my lips parted in objection, Santino was already moving to the wooden stairs—although ladder was perhaps a better term—leading up to the gallery. I ascended behind him, all the while marveling at how high the slanted ceiling was in this part of the apartment. There were no walls up here, only a light railing that lined the edge of the floor and gave a wonderful view of the kitchenette and living room spread down below.
From this perspective, the space seemed even more endearing, and the king-size bed dominating the open bedroom plan drew me in with the sweet promise of temporary oblivion. I plopped down on the mattress, unable to keep my eyes from closing at how good the cool caresses of silk felt against my thighs. My bed in the boarding house was functional, but this… It was divine.
When I opened my eyes anew, Santino was watching me, his sensual lips touched with the ghost of a smile. He sat down on the edge of the bed, close enough to touch if I moved even the slightest bit.
I didn’t take that leap.
But Santino did.
He brushed his knuckles against my cheek, the touch so light, yet heated, that a soft moan I refused to give voice to swelled in my chest. The inviting curls of his hair fell forward in a silver cascade that framed his handsome face, yet for all the breathtaking beauty, I couldn’t help noticing the edge of sadness that lingered in his eyes as he gazed down upon me, bathing my skin with the warmth of his.
“Rusalka or not,” he whispered, and I shivered beneath his touch, “nobody deserves to be hunted for what they cannot change.”
His fingers trailed the line of my jaw and dipped down to my neck, exploring and caressing the sensitive skin, then, finally, skimmed across my collarbone. He exhaled, eyes like burning moonlight as he met my gaze. Then, as if tugged back by an invisible force, he straightened, leaving me stranded and cold in the sudden absence of his touch. With silent strides, he walked over to the stairs, one hand already on the railing.
I heard a long breath uncoil from his chest before he turned around, shadows dancing across his stark features. “I’ve learned how hard second chances are to come by, piccola. Regardless of how
difficult or impossible it may seem at first, you should never waste them. Buona notte.”
7
Wings and fire. Wings and fire were all I saw.
The morass was burning, its lazy ripples evaporating as embers licked the surface, scorching those desperate enough to try and reach it in the fleeting hope of subduing the dragon with their voice. I clung to my sisters as we swam the other way, our legs kicking in a crazed attempt to touch that divide where a small trickle weaved from the murky body of water—a river, becoming clearer and clearer as it cut a path through the woods. To safety.
Only none of us could see past the blood. We stopped, a tangle of hands and frightened echoes. With our vision obscured, we couldn’t go forward. Couldn’t risk the swim through the ocean of all-encompassing fire unless we wanted it to be our last.
If the absence of water wouldn’t shrivel our bodies, the embers would certainly turn them to dust.
I linked my fingers with Iza’s, but when my hand reached for Angela’s, all I felt was a too warm current pressing against my palm. Lips parted in horror, I glimpsed a flash of her white dress beyond the veil of crimson, the billowing fabric becoming more and more remote as she swam straight up. Higher.
A muffled cry tore from my chest, echoed by Iza’s frightened gasp.
What was she doing? Didn’t she see the motionless, raw bodies illuminated by the sunlight and fire filtering down from above? How could she hope to succeed in what they all had failed?
Tears burned at the back of my eyes, each stray drop whisked away by the morass.
I couldn’t watch. I could stand to see Angela’s body destroyed in such a way…
Yet at the same time, I found myself unable to tear away my gaze from her nimble silhouette. As if by will of some sadistic god, the water cleared a path between us, stripping away the curtain of blood and exposing Angela as if she were standing on a stage. The centerpiece of a grisly performance.
Every detail was a vicious stab into my heart. I saw the water boil around her. I heard her melodic voice twist into an agonizing scream…
She would never be able to reach the magic nestled in her core in time. Not even to utter a single, damning word.
Nobody could escape Mesechyn.
He was death brought on silent wings, finality wrapped in a coat of cinder. The story of his existence slithered on currents that seeped from battlefields like blood from his victims, leaving no Rusalka untouched.
And Angela would be the next to spread the tale, her words written in the purest crimson.
Fire licked at every bit of her exposed skin, her legs kicking franticly at the steaming water. She sought to get away even as her face, her arms, first blistered then darkened into a black so deep I knew she would never recover.
Iza’s hand uncurled from my fingers to wrap around my forearm. She trapped me in an unyielding grip as she tried to pull me away—but all I did was stare as a single white talon pierced Angela’s abdomen, sending ripples of her blood to curve across the water in their lethal, magnetic dance.
“Liana,” Iza screamed, her fingers digging into my skin, “we have to go.”
“Go where?” I mumbled, my voice distant, detached, as if I already weren’t a part of this reality any longer—walking the path to Veles’s realm and leaving the world of substance behind.
Somehow, I managed to escape the ensnaring ripples of crimson and shifted my gaze from Angela’s pierced body to Iza. But instead of their usual warm green, her eyes were a piercing silver-blue.
They ripped me away from the blood-tainted waters, infused my lungs with a sudden, forceful rush of air, and cast me into a dimly lit room.
I gasped, heartbeat frantic as uncertainty of where I was squeezed my insides. But then the smoothness of Santino’s voice washed over my skin, cradling me in the embrace of reality and calmed my harsh breaths.
“Liana, it was a nightmare. Just a nightmare,” he whispered. “You’re safe with me, piccola. You’re safe. But we have to move.”
I blinked past the remnants of the haze, only now realizing Santino was towering over me, one hand braced against the mattress, the other still holding my arm. The spill of his silver curls was disheveled, his mouth pulled into a thin line even as there was nothing but an odd sense of tenderness lingering in the corners of his eyes like half-forgotten whispers.
“What’s happening?”
“We have to leave town for a while, cara.” He sighed. “I spoke with Caz tonight, and it appears the Rusalkas have gone all out in trying to claim your tail. The PI—he isn’t the only one who’s come…”
The countryside rolled past me in a blur of shadows, sporadically interrupted by the flicker of lights that indicated we had passed yet another town. I was sitting in Santino’s Bordeaux red Jaguar convertible, the canvas top rattling softly in tune with the vibrations of the road. We had barely spoken on our dash through Piran to the secure garage where he kept his car, focusing more on not being seen than the actual threat which had led to us fleeing the apartment.
Luckily, Santino had dropped by the boarding house and grabbed a change of clothes for me before his late-night meeting with Caz had sprung our flight in motion. There was something comforting about being dressed in my own garments once more, the outfit compiled of a white short-sleeved top and a knee-length, floral skirt, made of lightweight polyester. I’d learned from my mistake, and had no desire to wait for extensive periods at a time for my clothes to dry—or steal another towel to cover myself up—in case I ended up in the water again.
Although as far as I could tell, we were moving away from the ocean.
I hadn’t seen all that much of the world in my brief human life, and only the older—or more brazen—Rusalkas were allowed to venture beyond the morass, so my knowledge was gravely lacking. But I recognized enough of the landmarks—along with a few signs—to know we had passed into Italy. Something Santino later confirmed himself, although he refrained from speaking more on the subject.
He clearly didn’t like that we were forced to run like some convicts in the dead of night, so I didn’t press him. I simply gazed out the window, taking note of the telling, ever-shifting silhouettes of the shadow-filled landscape. I pieced the little bits of information together until I was certain we were driving somewhere north, headed deeper into the heart of the continent.
While it didn’t guarantee us safety from the Rusalkas, since any body of water served them just the same, I was hoping the sudden change of atmosphere would throw the PI off our tracks at least for a little while. My sisters must have informed him of my affinity for the seaside, and if he wasn’t yet aware of Santino’s aid, he had no reason to come looking for me here.
As the cover of darkness started to wane, I propped myself against the cool glass and glanced at the man behind the wheel.
Santino’s gaze was fixed on the road, his hands relaxed as he steered us down the gentle bends, but I could see his mind working behind the calm facade. The rush of his thoughts was written in the tightness of his jaw, in the way he pursed his lips, so faintly I would have missed it if I hadn’t paid as much attention to him in the past as I had. But most of all, I could feel it rippling from him, the slithers of agitation as he mulled over whatever dreadful news his former partner had delivered.
“Are you ready to tell me what’s going on?” I asked softly, almost hating to break the silence even though I knew I couldn’t stay ignorant for much longer. If something happened…
Santino’s silver-rimmed eyes flashed in my direction, then settled back on the road. “When I asked Caz about the PI, he recognized the stronzo immediately. It appears Milan Kauer,” he spat out the name, “has had more than a couple of run-ins with the force since I’d left. And none of them had been of the cooperative, good-willed nature. They have a file on him for associating with known hitmen, some of whom the bastardo allegedly has on retainer… But nothing that could be backed up by facts.”
“So the shooter from Moon Bay?”
I shivered, the image of blood called up by Santino’s words mixing with the crimson of my dreams. Firmly, I reminded myself that Caz wasn’t like Mesechyn. That he wasn’t some terrifying tale from history every Rusalka dreaded would become reality once more, but a fire-breathing cop, who worked as hard as he could to rid the world of scum like Kauer. The rational part of me knew I was right, but it was hard to suddenly let go of decades worth of fears. As unfounded as they might have been.
I shifted uncomfortably and pulled one leg up on the edge of the seat, hugging my knee. “So what did Caz say that made you believe we had to leave the country? Who else is after me?”
For a moment, Santino remained silent, nothing but the lights from the gas station we passed playing on his utterly still features. Then a heavy breath uncurled from his chest, and his silver eyes locked on mine.
“The reason Caz was near Piran in the first place is because he was tracking a large group of Kauer’s flunkies after his source reported they noticed some unusual movements on their part.” He shook his head, the heaviness in the air growing. “Cara… They all came for you.”
8
I had known the Rusalkas’ hatred for mermaids was deeply rooted, but even after Moon Bay, I hadn’t considered they would go to such lengths to secure my death. This was more than a hunt. It was personal. As if the mere thought of me alive somewhere in the world was the worst possible crime. I bit back a sob, blinking to dispel the tears that burned in the back of my eyes, then dug my nails into my skin until little half-moons bloomed beneath them.