“Indeed. But they didn’t simply become human,” he corrected.
“They became mortal.”
Something about the emphasis he placed on that word made my stomach tighten faintly.
“Their bloodlines continued through the generations that followed, diluted over time until most traces of what they once were became nothing more than dormant fragments.” And there it was. The part of the story that had been hovering just beneath the surface the entire time. I felt it before he even said it.
“So, what you’re saying is what exactly… that somewhere out there, they are all walking around like completely normal people…” I began slowly, choosing my words carefully now as my pulse picked up again. My voice trailed off slightly at the end as the thought finished forming in my head.
“…there are descendants of these fallen Sirens.”
“Yes.” His answer came instantly and, for some reason, I found that even scarier. Silence settled between us again, thick with the weight of everything he had just explained, and I suddenly became aware that his attention had shifted fully back onto me.
Not casually. Not conversationally, but more like he was now studying me. Evaluating my reaction… the question was…why?
The slow way his eyes moved across my face made the back of my neck prickle. Because the longer that silence stretched, the harder it became to ignore the obvious conclusion sitting right there between us.
“And you think…” I said, finally, my voice quieter now despite my best efforts to keep it steady,
“…that…that I’m one of them?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Which somehow made the entire situation significantly worse. The silence that followed settled strangely between us. Not uncomfortable exactly, butdense, like the air itself had thickened with everything that had just been said and everything that had not. I could still feel the echo of that story lingering in the room. The image of winged guardians cast down into the mortal world, circling my thoughts in a way that was equal parts fascinating and deeply unsettling.
Sirens.
Ancient bloodlines.
Lost wings.
It was a lot to take in for someone who had started the evening worrying about an advertising pitch and whether the dress she’d been forced into made her hips look bigger than usual.
My brain really needed a moment to catch up. Unfortunately, Oblivion didn’t appear to be the type of man who allowed moments like that. No, instead, his gaze shifted slightly, returning to the earlier subject with the quiet inevitability of someone who had only stepped away from the problem temporarily.
“This Bo…” he said. The way he said the name made it clear that whatever patience he had managed to extend during the mythology lesson had now officially expired. I lifted my chin slightly.
“It’s short for Boruta,” I told him for no apparent reason, other than the hope it would stop my mind from spinning. A Siren… how could he think…?
“You trust him.” His tone brought me momentarily out of its incessant loop. But I wasn’t distracted enough not to know that it wasn’t phrased as a question.
“Of course I trust him.”
His eyes narrowed faintly.
“He is a Kobalos demon.”
“Yes,” I said slowly.
“You mentioned that,” I added with a sigh.
“A race not known for loyalty.”
“And most demons are?” I shot back, which earned me a long look.
Something almost thoughtful passed through his expression then, though it was difficult to tell whether it was because of my answer or because I had actually dared to say it.
“You are remarkably defensive of him,” he said after a moment, and I crossed my arms again.
“Well, forgive me if I’m not immediately siding with the man who tried to magically imprison him five minutes ago.”
