On the edge of the room the crowd thins, leaving several feet between each body, where a person can actually stop to breathe. Here groups gather to sip beverages and gossip about what’s happening across the room. Who is dancing with whom. Who is dressed best. Who is the prettiest.
“Too skinny.”
“Agreed, no breasts at all.”
I turn eagerly, eyes narrowed and immediately ready to pounce when I meet their eyes and confirm the two men were, in fact, talking about me.
“I don’t agree,” a younger voice echoes next to them. “She’s perfect.”
My stomach sinks, ice filling my veins, sobering my mind, the hunt forgotten as I study the face of a boy just shy of adulthood with silver hair, smirking at me. His hands in his pockets casually.
His eyes are filled with... want.
Except this isn’t the hunger I’ve been searching for. This isn’t carnal or animalistic. It isn’t corrupt and inconsiderate of pain. This isn’t lust.
This is deeper than that, purer, and it throws me for a long moment. What is this?
Is he the boy from my dreams?
The men next to him roll their eyes and move on to scrutinizing another passing woman. The boy’s attention doesn’t leave mine, however.
At first glance, he appears to belong here. His attire is appropriate—a tuxedo and bow tie, but his hair is wind tossed, his eyes wild. Immediately I know he doesn’t belong in this place any more than I do.
He takes a few steps towards me, holding out his hand. “Dance with me?” There is an ache in his voice that makes me dizzy. Desire and confusion fill my soul, combined with several other emotions I have no name for.
I hesitantly take his hand. He pulls me deep into the crowd and onto the dance floor. We fall into step with the other couples. He pulls me in closer than he’s supposed to, his waist touching mine, his eyes pinned to me. They dig so deep, searching way beyond the surface, into the depths of my soul.
He leans in, keeping the rhythm effortlessly, as he whispers in my ear, “I’ve been looking for you.”
I pull back to search his face again. “Who are you?”
Every muscle in his face remains calm and relaxed, but his eyes are intense, full of hope and pain and longing. “My name is Nalin,” he says.
The name sends a jolt through my body. How do I know that name?
“Remember me,” he pleads. The ache in his voice is back, and I can’t move. Can’t breathe. He pulls my body along, the only reason I’m able to continue dancing for that long moment. My feet catch back up, and I look over him. His hands, his arms, his neck, his stubbled cheek. The golden stump of an earring I hadn’t noticed before.
I narrow my eyes. “I’ve never seen a gentleman with an earring before.”
He raises his eyebrow like he just now realized it was there. I cast my eyes back down and—it’s gone.
I gasp. “How did you...”
He smirks, sending ripples of pleasure over my skin. How does he do that? Make me feel like that...
“Touch it.”
The amusement in his voice is enough to convince me it’s worth the strange moment—a lady feeling up a gentleman’s earlobe mid dance—to uncover whatever secret he’s holding.
I reach up and feel the hard prong of the earring... even as my eyes see my fingers touching only soft skin. How?
He chuckles.
I know I should know him. I do know him. I just can’t think how.
My fingers are trembling when the stranger—Nalin—releases me. I turn to see the shaggy-haired boy I danced with last. His eyes are full of anger and jealousy.
Nalin blinks, taking in his expression.
“Hey!” the boy says.
Nalin’s expression turns to a calm anger, his muscles tensing.
“Thanks for keeping her warm for me, while I was off getting her a drink,” the boy says, working to keep his true meaning veiled—he only partially succeeds. The harsh edge in his voice is enough to make it very clear he’s very much not grateful. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Name’s Nalin.” His smirk is sarcastic and puts a smile onto my own face. “And I’m fairly certain she doesn’t belong to you.” A growl simmers under the surface as he says the last few words.
I get the distinct impression that he wants me to belong to him, instead. I shouldn’t like that... but somehow there’s part of me that does.
And another part is terrified of that desire.
I step back, away from them. “Wait!” the nameless boy says, pathetically. Now I turn and run from them both, so unsure what to feel about any of this. Confusion crashes down on me.
“Whitley!” Nalin calls, but I don’t stop. How does he know my name?
I push through the crowd, not bothering to mind my manners as I shove into shoulders and ignore the gasps and groans and splatters of drinks hitting the floor. At the edge of the room there are several doors. There is a man leaning against the far wall, watching me with steady eyes, his arms crossed. His gazes settles on my wet eyes and he steps forward to approach me.
I clench my jaw, annoyed. Can’t I find even one moment of solitude to just think? It’s not proper to enter any halls I don’t know, and yet I do anyway. I push through the first door I reach. It’s likely a servant’s hall, leading to the butler’s pantry or kitchen, but it’s dark and quiet and I don’t care one bit that I’m not supposed to be here.
I press my eyes together, pushing farther down the hall. There’s still no one in sight, so I lean against the wall and allow the flood of emotions to bombard me.
Confusion pounds in my head. Some nameless emotion pulses through my heart.
I wrap my arms around myself, squeezing my upper arms tightly, until the skin stings under my nails.
How do I figure all this out if I can’t remember?
“Oh no!” a voice sing-songs in ear. “What’s wrong, dove?”
I look up to young man, in his early twenties. The same man who moved to approach me in the ballroom. Why did he follow me? I narrow my eyes, and my lip curls up. There’s a glint in his eyes that catches my attention, like he’s a fisherman whose line was just tugged.
I look up to him, tilting my head. Are you who I’ve been looking for?
He leans down. “You should know better than to go off alone. Pretty little thing like you.” His tone turns darker.
The old Whitley’s heart pounds in panic. The monster’s pounds in anticipation.
“Why?” I whisper.
He smirks. That hunger I’ve been looking for is so obvious in his eyes. The feeling now swirling through my chest is a simple one. Easy to justify.
He steps forward, too close. He towers over me. “Because of men like me,” he smiles, grabbing my upper arm.
He thinks I’ll be easy prey. He’ll pull me into some dark corner, have his way with me, and I’ll be forced to pretend like it didn’t happen or all my value will be long lost. No man will marry a defiled woman, whether it was her fault or not.
He wins.
He gets his jollies off and no one will ever know how awful of a person he is. Because his victims won’t accuse him without paying a worse price.
I look up into his shadowed face. “Don’t you know you shouldn’t prey on pretty women?” I ask him sweetly.
He narrows his eyes. “Why not?” he says gruffly, not amused with my reaction. He wants me to panic.
“Because of girls like me.”
Bluff
I’m paralyzed as Whitley disappears into the crowd of annoyingly beautiful fabrics and painted faces. Like I’ve reached for something—leapt—only for it to disappear the moment my fingers should have grasped it for good.
She was here. And just like that she’s gone.
God, it felt so good to see her, be near her. To touch her. But it wasn’t enough. I need more.
“Look what you did,” the annoying kid says, arms crossed like a pouting toddler.
“I probably saved your life, lad,” I tell
him, then push my way after Whitley. The reason he felt so immediately drawn to her, the reason he’s so possessive, isn’t entirely because of Whitley’s natural allure. Though of course she is beautiful, now she also holds a magic—and that magic’s entire function is making men want her.
This is not a fact I’m very fond of. Especially considering she clearly doesn’t remember me at all. But then again, it’s unlikely she’ll reciprocate any of those same feelings for these men. She’ll simply want to rip them to shreds.
That part I don’t mind so much.
I smile as I cross the room, searching for her again. That moment we shared was... intense. More so than I’d anticipated, but then it’s hard for me to control myself around that girl. Hard for me to remember that she doesn’t know me, doesn’t understand that I’m justifiably in love with her.
I don’t suspect, after that interaction she’d stay out in the open. She may look for a safer place to hide and regroup. If only I’d spent a few more moments trying to get into her head, figure out what her goals are. Has she reverted back to the old Whitley—remembering only what it was like before her father fled the city? She clearly remembers pieces of that life—and doesn’t remember me, so it’s believable that in her mind she’s a high-society lass. Or is she being pulled by her siren instincts, simply using the world she knows well to hide her true self?
If the first is true, she’ll find herself back with Jeb, which means he’s the one I should follow. If the latter is true, she’ll be searching for a safe place to hunt. I decide to try out that route first, because it’s a more urgent desire. I can follow Jeb home later and still achieve the same end.
So I push through the crowd, travelling the general direction she fled. This house is so big, she could have gone anywhere, surely. I could search the house for days and still not find her.
Instead, I find a quiet spot beside a pillar and close my eyes. If she’s using her siren magic, she may just be audible. Focusing on the non-human stirrings around me, I search for magic. A low melody purrs. In only a moment it’s gone, followed by scream of agony.
Except the scream did not require my sensitivity to magic to hear. Several heads around me look up suddenly.
Damn she moves fast. I rush though the first door I find in the direction of the sounds and sprint down a dark hall. If anyone else finds her, covered in blood in front of a dead body, she’ll be arrested, stuck in jail— or worse. This might be considered a “refined society,” but it is not difficult for them to act according to violent superstitions. And this is just the opportunity they’d need.
I must find her first. I must get her out of this place.
I finally see a dark form on the ground. The silhouette of a woman’s head lifts. An unmoving body under her. “Whitley,” I whisper. She hisses as me, eyes shining in the darkness, and I wince, stomach twisting in disgust. I clench my jaw and force myself to remember that this is still her. That this is not her fault.
Footsteps sound behind me, and I act immediately. I rush up, grabbing her by the hand and pull her farther into the massive home. She growls but follows along, tripping awkwardly. I push through a room with just one small window, but I’m followed immediately by several men. Their mouths drop open as they behold Whitley, her plump lips, silky blue dress and blond hair dripping with crimson liquid.
“A demon!” one man says. There are five of them, and more on the way, I’m certain. We’re backed into a corner. Heart pounding, I turn to her. Her eyes are bluer than I’ve seen them since that day on the beach. Except the emotion in them now is fear.
Sadness. Confusion. And terror.
“Run,” I tell her, voice breaking. “Run!” I shout as the men in the doorway regain their mental fortitude and rush at me. They’re bigger and outnumber me easily. Even if they aren’t trained and experienced in battle, they still have the upper hand.
But I don’t need to beat them. All I need are a few moments.
All I need is some chaos.
I elbow the first man in the jugular, the second I trip and shove into the third. The smashing of glass from behind me distracts the men for a moment. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a whip of blue silk, and then she’s gone.
Great. Now it’s my turn to figure out a way out of this.
The largest man steps forward to grab me. I throw a punch and heave my full weight into his chest. His massive body plows into the others. It’s not enough to beat them. It’s not enough to get away.
But it is enough chaos to press my way into their pile of limbs and change my form. The large man hops up quickly and swings into thin air. He stops and looks around, searching for his opponent who is nowhere to be found.
I sit up, now a plump bearded man with a golden chain connected to a pocket watch in my waistcoat. “What happened?” I exclaim. And no one gives me a second glance.
Whitley
Broken glass bites the skin of my shoulder and I free fall into the dark night. I twist and just barely mange to pull my feet beneath me before landing on the hard concrete outside the manor.
I crouch, baring my fangs at no one in particular as the pain jolting up my spine simmers. It’s dark and cold. Shouts continue to sound from the window above, and I wonder about Nalin—who saved me from those angry men. I’ve never feared men as a siren before, but I learned during my mob raid that there are some things even my magic can’t save me from. Even high-society men could be capable of terrible violence.
I knock off the stupid heeled boots and run barefoot through the quiet alley, unsure of where I am or where I’m going.
A few things look vaguely familiar, but in the darkness I can’t be sure.
In the distance, men shout in anger. Women whimper and squeal. Footsteps pound towards me. I swallow, knowing their search is not over yet.
But in the other direction, towards the Hudson River, is a different sound: an eerie screech that sends a shiver through my whole body. The screech is followed by another. And another. They twist together, making a harmony that clenches my soul.
The beautiful sound calls to me. Tugs at me. My eye grow wide, and I step towards it, for one long moment everything inside of me wants to join them.
It’s where I belong.
Then I freeze. “No,” I whisper. I shake my head, knowing I cannot let them find me.
And they’re coming.
My heart throbs. My breathing quickens.
They come from the sea, the moving waters not far away. The cool melody drifts closer—pressing in— gently caressing my exposed skin.
I can’t let them win. They want me the same way those men inside the house want me. To use me. To benefit, to profit, whether it may hurt me or not.
On one side are men who want to hurt me—their footsteps and angry shouts growing louder—on the other are sirens who want to take away everything that I am. They did this. They’re the reason I can’t remember.
I won’t let either of them have me. Except I have nowhere to run.
Only one option pops into my mind. I just hope I can reach the entrance in time. I sprint down the alley until I come to an intersection. It only takes a moment to register my surrounds and them I’m off again. Another turn. Another few hundred feet.
Their song grows louder. The weight of the magic hovers over my brain.
I skid to a stop in front of the hole in the ground. I slip inside the dark tunnel and wrinkle my nose at the smell as my feet land in shallow water.
Bluff
I listen helplessly at the sounds outside the manor. The ball is forgotten entirely as panic begins to take hold. Men hold women who sob uncontrollably. Many rush from the building into the night, thinking the killer may still be inside. Others grab their metaphorical pitch forks and torches and rush into pursuit of the demon-woman in blue.
The rumors fly about the attack. The kind gentleman who was mercilessly murdered by a monstrous demon-woman for no good reason at all! No one seem to want to question why he was in a dark and empt
y hall of a home that wasn’t his in the first place. Of course the one that survived the encounter must be the evil one.
I consider joining the manhunt, if only to try to get to her first, but truth is, even if I found clues they didn’t I’d only direct them to her. Plus, the melodies have already begun.
I knew I’d bring them here. I knew once Stede let me go without so much as a bloody nose—they would be right behind me. The moment I found her, they did too.
If I go out there now, they’d only do it again. I need to hope she can escape them, fight off the urge to join them once again. Then once this settles, once they’re off her scent, use what I know to find her again.
I pace the hall, listening. The inhuman screeches are loud enough for even mortal ears to hear—just barely. But it simply registers as a whistling of the wind, or rustling of waves.
They’re coming for her. I bite the inside of my lip mercilessly until the taste of blood fills my mouth. Damn it. I hate that taste.
“Are you well?”
I spin to see Rosemera standing nearby, though not looking directly at me. I purse my lips— I am not in any form she’d recognize. I’m in some random wealthy man’s body.
Perhaps she just guessed? Her approach was generic enough if she’s wrong it wouldn’t too detrimental.
“No,” I answer.
“Did you find her?” she says in a whisper.
“Yes. I didn’t do a very good job keeping her safe though.” There’s a pause. Silence settles between us. “How did you know it was me?”
She shrugs. “Classic worried expression when it comes to this girl.” She smiles a sad smile, looking down at her feet.
I nod.
“Robert wants to leave soon. They’ll feel more comfortable back in their own home.”
“Very well, we can go.”
She doesn’t move for a long moment. “You should probably turn back into my uncle.”
Bound by the Depths Page 11