A throb pulsed down my spine, a reminder of the skin-splitting agony I’d felt as those feathered structures tore free from my back. I chewed the inside of my cheek and shook my head. “No, I don’t have any wings.”
The assistant leveled me with a long stare, and my heart climbed into my throat, but after a moment she flicked her tail and retreated to find my items.
While waiting for her to return, I dragged my gaze to the vaulted frescoes on the ceiling, artwork spanning the inside of the temple’s domed roof. Sealife clung here and there in places, but I could still make out the imagery. A woman with dark cascading hair was fleeing down the curve of a golden beach. Her body twisted in motion, hips torqued, one arm flung forward while the other curled to shield her ribs. Her skin was streaked with blood, and from her shoulder blades, two jagged stumps glistened where her wings had been torn away.
Behind her, a man draped in darkness lurked. His face—half in light, half in shadow—wore an expression of remorse. In his outstretched hands, he held her wings, aqua and white feathers tinged with smears of crimson.
The background swirled with divine allegory: clouds shaped with faces of sorrow or indifference watched from the heavens. In the lower corners, cherubs with hollow eyes fluttered, and on the sea’s edge, the tide curled in like hands, reaching for the woman.
The fabric of the priestess attendant’s cloak brushed my arm, drawing my attention from the painting. “When you tear away a creature’s wings, do not be surprised if they never return to you,” she murmured, gazing at the roof.
“I-is it the story of Agápe?” A lump lodged in my throat.
The priestess nodded. “She fell in love with a human king, but he began to resent the Siren goddess because she had more power than he ever would. One day, he saw her bathing at the beach, her wings splayed, and it was more than he could handle. He took his dagger and carved them from her back, and she fled back to the ocean.”
Power vibrated through me, the space between my shoulder blades burning with the ache of wings longing to break free, but I forced it down.
“What about her wings? Did they ever grow back?”
The priestess shook her head. “No, they never did.”
“And what about the king? Did she ever seek her vengeance?”
“She didn’t need to. When the man’s rage subsided and he realized what he’d done, he cried out for her, begging her forgiveness and asking her to return. He went mad with the pain of it all and slit his own throat. They found him sprawled on the floor, the wings of the goddess laid out on either side of him, a bloodied knife in one hand and a deadly cut across his neck.”
I clenched my jaw to stop it from trembling.
“Lying between her broken wings was the closest he’d ever come to touching the power of the love goddess who had once offered him her heart.”
I rubbed shivers from my scaled arms and clutched my new priestess’s cloak against my chest. The fabric was translucent, as if made from large stretched kelp fronds dyed purple.
“Thank you for this,” I murmured.
“No need to thank me, child of Agápe. You earned it when she chose you.”
I grabbed the rest of my bags from the doorway, carefully stowed the cloak in one of them, and stepped back into the laneway of love. I was ready to go back to the Thálassian palace, share a glass of wine with Alexandros, and then later... later, I would use his hands, his body, and his lips to push everything that had bubbled to the surface in the temple back down deep inside me.
Layla and Porphura emerged from the pleasure store, giggling and clutching more bags. I forced a smile as they looped their arms through mine, but as we drifted back to the palace, my mind was elsewhere, filled with the image of the Goddess of Love fleeing toward the sea, away from the man she’d given her heart to, the same goddess who had granted me a second chance.
36
Skye
Searing pain rippled through my back as wings burst from my skin. I cried out, my body twisting to make room for them. Magic twined up my spine, and the urge to fly gripped me, but something was anchoring me to the ground. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw him—the man from the painting of Agápe—clutching my wings. My breath hitched. His face... his face was that of Parker, and his expression was laced with smarmy vindication.
My eyes snapped open, and I drew a shuddering breath. It had been a dream. Only a dream.
Alexandros lay on his stomach across my stone bed, his powerful back rising and falling in sleep. I was curled against him, my arms wrapped across the ridges of his spine. My cheek rested between his shoulder blades, and one of my scale-covered legs was draped over his tail.
I lifted my face from the merman’s body, tracing a finger down his back muscles, which looked like they’d been sculpted by the sea, as the watery light of morning filtered into my chambers.
“Bella.” Alexandros stirred, his hair drifting with the current.
“Good morning,” I purred as he shifted, turning to pull me into his arms.
The mattress had just enough give to cradle our bodies, the soft sponge anchored to the stone frame so it wouldn’t drift with the swell.
I trailed kisses down his chest, the fine dark hairs scattered along it teasing my lips. Heat built between my thighs as I reached the seam where his torso met the scales of his tail. Wicked thoughts unfurled in my mind, visions of what we were about to do.
