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I need to pick up jogging more seriously if I am going to keep up with Aleks. Aleks, with his swimmer’s build and forearms lined in lean muscle. With his sharp mouth and the way the tightness in his posture melts away when I look him in the eye and call him “boy.”

I came here to Monstralia with a plan. Be the coach he needed. Give him the tools to win. Keep a professional distance.

If I were stronger, if I did not have such a weakness for boys with a lower lip red from biting, for boys with the confidence to walk into a group of strangers with a hanky in their pocket clearly flagging for a Daddy, I might have stayed away.

But then I saw his desperate eyes and his hips grinding on the shifter’s thick thigh. There was no way I could stand by and watch him get off with someone else. Impossible.

The trail curves, and the final rays of sun shine into my eyes. I wince, squinting against the harsh light.

Suddenly, I stumble, somehow managing to catch myself, even as the jerking movement yanks the headphones from my ears.

Ringing fills my head. Loud, familiar, home and mine and come, come to me, come to me.

I have been here before, years ago, in another jungle on a different continent. The song, though—the song is the same. Even after all this time, I would know it anywhere.

This was not supposed to happen. But maybe there is a part of me that knew, the moment I knocked on Aleks’ apartment door, we would end up here.

It is too late for anything but surrender as my body is jerked from the path by an invisible force. Branches slap at my face, biting through my skin. A least one of the plants is thorned, but my body does not stop, legs and arms pumping as hard as they can.

Faster, faster, get to the song, get to him.

Water splashes under my feet. I cannot stop. Clear water fills my vision, and I barely have time to take a breath before my body breaks through the surface of the water, sinking, straining for the song.

It is louder here, clearer than before. It is not music as I have known it. Words feel too clumsy to describe the sound. Even “sound” is not fully accurate, because my bones vibrate, too. Even as my lungs burn, my body feels full and right and in awe of the beauty of this thing I am experiencing.

I cannot see clearly under the surface, but even through the blur I catch a flash of pale green. Surging forward, I chase it. Reaching, straining for him.

Down, down, down.

Closer. I am almost there…

Chapter 14

You Did Not Die

Aleks

Since arriving in Monstralia, I haven’t been able to quiet the need to sing. It’s there, ever-present in the back of my throat. Swimming with the vocal filter on isn’t the same, and I’m left with a constant, unsatisfied itch like I need to sneeze.

I should be relieved we made it through to the medal round. I should be happy.

But as I watched the film, a feeling of dread took up residence in my stomach. The problems in our practice weren’t magically solved when we performed together. We were out of sync. Incompatible. Both talented, sure, but in an event where you are judged as a cohesive team, individual talent can only get you so far.

What if what Cora and I did out there together today is the best we are ever going to be together? What if the incompatibility is something we can’t overcome in two days?

I tried and failed to nap while Javier went to pick up our dinner, unable to quiet my head. As I lay in the bed that smelled like Javier’s tea tree shampoo and his sweat, a part of me wondered if he was there beside me, if I’d had his finger in my mouth, if I would have been able to slow my mind down.

I gave up, and after writing a note to let Javier know I was going out, I went to the village to get cigarettes, but the need to open my mouth and fucking scream was clawing at me. Daddy would be proud of me, I thought to myself as I turned around, instead making my way down the path to my spring-fed pool.

When I went to the previous Clash of Creatures, each siren colony was given access to a remote pool where they could swim without vocal filters. Between extensive signs and written warnings in the info packets given to all the attendees, people knew to stay the hell away from the siren pools, like we knew to stay away from the nature preserve where the weres and other canine shifters could transform.

This year, the pool is mine alone. I haven’t found time to visit before now. I’ve always preferred practicing in the designated practice pool that is a more comparable environment to the pool where we compete, even if it means wearing the vocal filter.

Tonight, I needed the water. I needed to sing.

The water is perfectly cool against my scales. Finally, finally my head starts to settle. I’ve run through my routine twice, my song filling the water and the air around me.

I’m curling lazy, slow circles around the rocky bottom of the pool. With my face turned up to the surface, my song is quieter now. Still strong, but no longer urgent.