Iglower at the witch, who just smiles widely as if she knows I’m watching her. She can’t see a damn thing; her eyes are gone. But it feels like she can. That filthy bandage of what used to be white material is wrapped tight, hiding the hideous injury. It just reminds me that she thinks she’s untouchable. And her scent, that’s what’s really driving me crazy. Wild blackberries, earthy, sweet, a little tart. The blackberry bush is as thorny as she is. Why have I never smelled it on her before? And how did I miss it invading the house?
I should rip it out by the roots and drown it in salt.
Fuck it, I storm across the room and yank her to me, looping coarse rope around her torso.
“Is this really necessary?” Becky snarls, her arms fold over her chest; the abnormally pale Fae Prince glares at us from nearby. We come from different worlds, but we were old Sirens long before he was born. We are myths and legends, one he has no respect for.
“We gave her space, and she disappeared for three months. Even your pack,” I snarl the word, “couldn’t find her.”
Becky presses her lips together, ignoring the accusation.
Our Strega won’t talk to Becky, no, instead, she focuses all that vile wickedness aimed at us. I can almost feel her animosity pressing against my skin. I fight the urge to snarl into her face, refusing to lower myself to her level.
Ronit, Canto, and Lirin are outside, trying to wrangle our pet back under control. I’m not sure if they are succeeding or not, but it doesn’t matter; I need to focus on the problem in here.
The Strega.
I wrap three more loops of rope around the witch and glare at her, daring her to use her vile tricks to escape, when she doesn’t protest, I cautiously step back. She’s bound from her knees to her throat with thick, coarse rope from a ship that crashed onto the beach two months ago. Right, this might be able to keep her here. Maybe.
“I, for one, am amused.”
I turn and glare at the demon lying on my couch. His waist-length, long black hair fans out around him. His skin, which is normally red, is a healthy bronze human colour, but his eyes don’t look normal. No, those eyes are red and mark him for the demon he is. His human mate is standing in the doorway, light brown hair floating in the wind, looking out at the beach, watching that asshole playing in the surf.
“Are you?” I ask sweetly. “I’m so glad I could be of service to you, Demon.”
He smiles widely. “Appreciate it, mate.”
Mate? What is that accent? It’s foul. I bare my teeth, my temper set to explode.
Becky groans. “Don’t tell me you’ve been watching Australian television.”
“Crikey, that’s a big one,” Diablos says in what has to be the worst accent of any species in all time across every world.The demon waggles his eyebrows and strokes an imaginary mustache with black-tipped talons.
“Why are you all still here?” I snap. “Fuck off already.”
“Because,” Becky snarls, redirecting her anger right back at me, “you stole my Grim.”
“We didn’t steal anything,” I say hotly. “She did. But you have him back, so go!”
“Reed,” Brio warns. He is always the voice of reason and moderation, reining in my temper and helping me find control when I can’t.
I tilt my head back and breathe deeply, but it doesn’t help anything. There are people in our space, and I miss the oceans. Our oceans. This earth ocean is dead, the songs and life that used to live in it are hushed, dying, fading. It feels empty. I just…miss home, and I shouldn’t.
It’s a secret not even my shiver knows. I’m not supposed to like being a Siren. I’m supposed to be trying to get free of this curse.
But when I look at the witch, it feels like she knows. Like she might tell them that I don’t want to go back to our Fae lands, that I don’t want to walk on land anywhere, and I hate her all the more because of it.
I shudder and tear my eyes away from her smile.
“What name are you going by these days?” Brio murmurs. His voice is lyrical and so beautiful to hear. Brio was the true musician, becoming a Siren just made him that much more.
She turns her head towards him. She’s tall but fine boned, like she never gets enough to eat. Her movements are jerky, almost birdlike. Her skin is golden brown, and her hair is all different shades of pale gold, but it's messy and matted at the moment and appears dark brown. She’s covered in blood, but it doesn’t bother her, and I think she was wearing a T-shirt at one stage, but it's no more than rags that wrap around her, revealing almost as much as they conceal.
Everything about her says feral. Untouchable. Beautiful. Wait, what? Not beautiful. At all.
“Mei.”
It takes me a moment to realise she’s answered Brio.
