I rolled onto my back and blinked open my swollen eyes. I wiped the crusted remnants of my stomach from my mouth with the back of my sleeve. A thin sliver of light peeked over the horizon. Dawn.
What had I been thinking? I hadn’t been thinking; I’d been desperate. When Niko told me she’d seen me at South Beach flirting with another woman, I panicked. I ran to the parking lot, but she’d already left.
Texts, calls—I’d tried everything, even knocking on her door, but she wouldn’t respond. The idea that I’d hurt her, that I’d lost my chance with her and relegated myself to a life without her, terrified me.
Niko was right; I’d been such an idiot. I thought I’d been protecting my freedom, but I’d been living in a prison of my own making. I’d convinced myself that the steady flow of adoration—one audience to the next, one woman to the next—meant I was set for life. There’d never be a shortage of devotion, however empty. Better than the alternative of opening my heart and tying myself to someone only to have them lose interest or be horrified by my true nature. For all the bullshit I talked about adventure, I’d never been willing to take the risk.
And what good was freedom if I couldn’t share it with Lena? Without her, I’d never find freedom from the what-ifs and regret. I’d refused to look past my selfish need for independence and consider the possibility that life with Lena might be its own adventure, and instead of holding me back, she’d swim along with me.
The realizations were more than my rational mind could handle, and I became frantic to reach her. My siren’s compulsion held an answer, and I’d eagerly—and thoughtlessly—followed its instinct.
I sat up, and the world spun around me. I swallowed back what would have been a dry heave and struggled to my hands and knees. I had to make it back to the house before the next surge of backlash attacked my already weakened body. With the little strength I had left, I hoisted myself to standing and stumbled forward, each step twisting a hot knife behind my eyes, the pain nothing more than I deserved.
Chapter Fifteen
LENA
I wiped down my mat, mopping up the sweat pooled there from practice. It had been especially hot, the heat and humidity amping up this late in May and adding their own punishment to the practice room. Only two other students had attended class, and they’d already left, so I tidied up the space in peace.
I rolled up my mat, walked into the foyer, and considered the studio, soon to be my studio. Harry had given me my own set of keys so I could come and go as I pleased while we finalized the sale. It would take at least a month to complete the transfer, and in the meantime, I could make plans for the refurbishment and help with teaching.
I gathered my things and walked outside, fishing in my purse for the keys to lock the door.
“Lena?”
I spun around to find Niko standing behind me, hands shoved into his pockets and a hopeful yet worried bend to his tight mouth.
I had exactly zero desire to talk to him, especially if he was on some ill-advised messenger errand for Elias.
I’d wanted my anger to kill any remaining thoughts of forgiveness, but my outrage had dissipated over the past two weeks, replaced by memories of the hurt in his eyes, the sincerity in his voice, and the gentleness in his touch. Yes, he’d violated my trust and, worse, tried to manipulate me, but he had sought me out to explain, and my brain latched onto his words: “But none of that matters if you’re not in my life.”
Now, I wanted to give him another chance. Maybe that made me a pushover, but part of me—a large part of me—didn’t care. I had picked up and put down my phone so many times over the past two weeks I’d lost count. Fingers hovering above the screen, trying to think of the right words. But each time, I put the phone down, determined to protect my fragile heart. I’d had to carefully stitch it back together again, and it was barely holding in one piece.
“Niko. What are you doing here?”
“I—” He cleared his throat. “I stopped by your house, but you weren’t there. I need to talk to you.” His voice sounded tentative, his words clipped and halted with worry.
I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
He ran a hand down his face, and his eyes darted around the parking lot. “Can we talk somewhere private?”
Worry invaded my stomach. “Sure. We can talk in here.”
I unlocked the studio, and we went inside. I flipped on the lights and gestured to one of the benches by the cubby holes, but he shook his head and started pacing across the foyer.
“What’s going on, Niko?”
“It’s Elias.” He stopped pacing and squared his shoulders to face me. “He’d kill me if he knew I was here, but…” His jaw twitched. “He’s my best friend. He’s my family. I can’t watch him do this to himself.”
I narrowed my eyes in confusion. “How about you start from the beginning?”
He examined his feet, clearly struggling through some inner turmoil. “Right. Okay.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wiped the palms of his hands on his jeans, and looked up. “Elias told me you know about us. Or, at least, he thinks you do.”
He stared at me, waiting for acknowledgement. I replied with a terse nod.
He blinked, his eyes expectant as if waiting for me to run or pass judgment. When I did neither, he let out a breath and nodded.
“Right. So, you know about our compulsion, our need to draw people to us with our voices. The adoration, the devotion, the positive emotions it evokes in others satisfies our compulsion. It’s why our song is inescapable.” He paused, eyes shifting.
