“You said you could catch me if I fall? If the bridge isn’t active?” Layla eyed Tempeste, setting her hands to her hips and taking a long, deep breath.
“You won’t like it, but yes.” Something glittered in Tempeste’s eyes, some dark humor that Layla couldn’t quite read. “You won’t die. I promise. By my dear departed mother’s scales.”
“Great…” Moving forward with another deep breath to steady her terror, along with her Dragon’s thrill-seeking eagerness, Layla stepped out onto the slim promontory. A sheer drop-off cascaded down to the right, another just as sheer to her left. Moving forward carefully in the wan light of the stars and that single porch-light high above, Layla put her concentration in her feet, glad she’d worn boots with low heels tonight but wishing for sneakers.
As she stepped to the edge, trying not to gaze down at the water crashing on rocks a hundred feet below, she felt a scorching rise in birdsong, like they screamed in her mind. The feather at her breast pulled again, and Layla took a breath, knowing this was the spot.
“What now?” She called back over her shoulder.
“Take a leap of faith, Layla Price!” Tempeste called out to her, still waiting by the stone wall. “And see what is revealed!”
“A leap of faith. Awesome.” Layla closed her eyes. Setting a hand between her breasts and clutching the silk pouch with Arini’s feather through her shirt and sweater, she said a little prayer.
And then walked straight forward – off the cliff.
CHAPTER 17 – DROWNING
Layla didn’t get far in her leap of faith. One moment she was on land, the next she was plummeting toward the dark rocks and crashing surf. Panic slit her veins in a roar of fire – but then in a vast surge, the midnight ocean suddenly rushed up. Thrust into a hard wall of water with a violent slap like a belly-flop, Layla was inundated by the ocean and heaved back up – over the promontory and straight into Tempeste Durant’s arms. He seized her in an iron grip as the ocean rushed away, leaving Layla spluttering and gasping, clutched close to his warm body as the strangely singular tsunami washed back out.
“What the fuck?!” She coughed, wiping brine and seaweed from her eyes, soaked.
Tempeste laughed, roaring with humor, holding her close as the last of the water flooded off the promontory in a white rush beneath the stars. “I told you that you wouldn’t like it!”
“I didn’t know you were going towash me back out of the fucking sea!” Layla spat, rounding on him. He released her just enough that she could turn, but didn’t let her go completely, the promontory soaked and slippery. Reaching a hand up, he brushed her wet curls from her face with a beaming grin that was less like Reginald and far more like Dusk.
“Well, I guess we know King Arini’s bridge isn’t active right now.”
“Fuck you.” Struggling out of his arms, Layla sat on the low stone wall and slung her legs over, back to the path. With a chuckle, even though he was just as soaked as she was, Tempeste sat and slung his legs over also, currying water out of his short silver hair with both hands. But rather than look pissed at being sodden, he looked exhilarated, a pearl-grey color flecked with gold shining from his eyes now by the light of the far above porch-light.
“There’s a reason my mother named me Tempeste, Layla,” he chuckled as she began marching back toward the harbor and their abode. “I have a fairly wicked sense of humor. Something all my younger brothers learned early in life.”
“Haha, very funny.” She grumped, hating that she was sodden. Even coming from Dusk, a joke like that wouldn’t have been very amusing. She was learning that Sirens had a cruel sense of humor – Reginald and his eldest brother had that in common. An orange-bourbon scent lifted around her and Layla was suddenly aware that it was stronger than in the past hour. With a pang of alarm, she checked the pearl bracelet at her wrist, then the choker and earrings – and found one missing. “Reginald’s earring!”
“Don’t fret, I have it.” Moving forward, he placed the earring in Layla’s palm. “From the sea, to the sea. Such items can never be lost around a Siren, especially not in the ocean.”
“Fine.” Layla was terse as she looped the earring back into her lobe.
“I can see why Reginald loves you,” Tempeste spoke as he watched her with a very frank look now, intense. “You have a temper to match his own. My brother has only given those pearls to two other women in his life. And the second one, Sylvania Eroganis, returned them as kindly as everything else she did while alive. She taught Reginald everything he knew about control, pleasure, and healing, when he arrived at the Paris Hotel a broken man. Avri was his youngling love, but Sylvania was his maturation. You, I don’t know what you are, but you mean enough to Reginald to receive his most precious gift for the third time in as many centuries.”
“The pearls?” Layla frowned, reaching up to touch them. It was news to her that Reginald had learned his control from Sylvania, and that he’d once tried to gift these pearls to her but been kindly denied. The deep and tender relationship between the Head Courtier and Head Courtesan was something Layla would have to ask Reginald about eventually.
“Not the pearls, those are inconsequential.” Tempeste shook his head. “It’s hisabandonReginald’s beginning to gift you with.”
“His abandon, what do you mean?” Layla retorted, wiping water from her cheeks.
“Reginald was once as headstrong and tempestuous a creature as you’d ever meet.” Tempeste eyeballed her frankly in the midnight darkness, sounds of the sea crashing far below. “He learned fear of his power, and thence became severely inhibited until Sylvania taught him how to control it. Now after her death, he begins to show his power once more – don’t think I didn’t hear of him striding through the Hotel barely dressed with you on his arm. And not just because of Sylvania.”
“Is that meant to worry me?” Layla cocked her head, crossing her arms over her chest as a cold wind blew off the ocean. She shivered as it chilled her, her inner Dragon languishing deep beneath the waves of Reginald’s magic now that she was soaked.
“No, only to open your eyes.” Tempeste’s gaze was less austere by the high light of the stars. “Come on. Let’s get you back. We’ll return in the morning and see if we can get you into the Aviary.”
“Awesome.” Layla grumped as she moved forward, rubbing her shoulders with her hands now. It had been a long while since she’d last felt chilly with her Desert Dragon-magic. But the combination of sea water and Reginald’s pearls seemed to accentuate each other, and as Layla stepped up beside Tempeste, it was as if she could hear the crashing of the waves echoed through her bones. She began to shiver hard, and he slung an arm around her casually as they walked, and Layla didn’t shrug him off. The Siren was impossibly warm, as if the touch of cold ocean had made his temperature rise like a fever. As they gained the cobblestone thoroughfare back up the hill, Layla had ceased shivering, snuggled close under Tempeste’s arm like huddling by a radiator.
They moved back up the hill in silence. Unlocking the guesthouse door, they were soon inside and moving up the corkscrewing stairs. Once they were back inside the apartment with the door locked, Tempeste turned and gestured to the shared bathroom. “You should have a hot shower. Reginald’s magic in his pearls is synergizing with the ocean water. The sooner you can get the salt off your body, the better. Freshwater won’t have the same effect. I’ll make us some hot tea.”
“Could have told me you were going to wash me back up out of the ocean like a dead fish.” Layla grumped, though she was less sour now, a smile creeping in at the edges of her lips.
“You have to admit that was humorous.” Tempeste grinned at her as he moved to the kitchen, shucking his sodden suit jacket to a chair. “Besides, if I hadn’t controlled your fall, you’d be dead by now. You’re welcome.”
