Siren - Hazel Grace Page 0,13

can’t find his own brother. I have men all over the southern hemisphere under my command, but Lorne escapes me every time.

Just like Davina is trying to do—avoiding and evading our friendship.

Her defenses are up, she doesn’t trust anyone, and she’s scared, while there is a limit to what I can do about it. I can’t give her the answers she needs on how I’m able to step foot on Merindah let alone locate it.

It was naive of me to think her being in my world would change the dynamic of what we are. How I’ve lived in a fairytale of wanting to make her my wife one day and have children of our own.

I don’t need the sea as much as I need and want her, but Davina is a siren, the sea is within her and what makes her who she is.

And I can’t compete with it.

I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been here, chained to the floor of the room I was brought into. My shackles are long enough for me to stand and walk a small circle, but it strengthens my frustration at being padlocked in this space.

Rubbing my forehead, I think about my crew, more than likely coming up with a plan. I don’t think they fully understand what they’ll be walking into—I didn’t know what the hell I was roaming into.

I was told by my father that this was practically an uninhabited island, in the middle of nowhere, where only a few people may reside. It didn’t make any sense, but I did as I was told, giving myself a change of scenery from the mountains and valleys of Lothbrok.

Now I’m locked up in a paradise of hell with bitter women running the show.

The faint sound of footsteps patter along the tiles, and I jerk my attention to the door as it opens.

Rose-colored hair peeks from behind it, then steps into the room, leaving it open for the next body to walk in behind her.

Davina.

The little bloodthirsty siren who left the room the other day without uttering a single word.

“I’m Isolde,” the other announces like we haven’t met before as she stands a safe distance from me. “You will eat.”

I don’t respond, just continue sitting on the hard floor.

“He doesn’t look harmful,” she suddenly states, tossing a loaf of bread at me. I scoff loudly for them to hear, not bothering to catch the item she threw at me. Obviously they haven’t heard all of the alleged myths about me then.

My name is written and spread off the lips of people everywhere from where I’m from. I didn’t earn Dagen the Blood Axe just because I could hold one.

I’ve butchered hundreds of men to protect my people. Loyalty and pride flow through my veins just as my blood does freely.

So harmful wouldn’t be lost on a conversation about me.

“He’s haughty and ignorant,” Isolde professes then jerks her attention to her sister. “Absolutely not.”

Davina fixes her with an insistent look, not backing down from whatever the hell it was that Isolde answered “no” to.

“Out of the question,” she digresses, adjusting the spectacles on her nose. Davina narrows her eyes.

“I won’t bite,” I offer as both of their eyes fall on me. “Hard, I mean.”

Davina stares at me while Isolde looks back at her.

“Atarah will—” She stops then rolls her eyes. “Five minutes.” She turns on her heels and begins to leave the room. “And I won’t knock.”

Slamming the door behind her, she leaves me to bask in the one siren who captivates every inch of my body.

This is what they are all about.

Seduction.

Beauty.

A fatal monster.

I perk a brow. “Still don’t speak, eh?” She continues to stand there, giving me the full view of her body under very little clothing.

Today she’s wearing a pink bandeau covered in pearls and seashells, her naked torso of ivory glistening in the sun overhead, with a white skirt of meshed material that gives me more of a regard of her toned legs.

But what’s different is the crown, the one made of not just seashells, but old pendants and chains. They drape over the shells of different shapes and colors, professing her rank.

“If you’re going to stare me to death, please, just take my knife and stab me a few times in the chest.”

Silence.

“What do you want?”

More silence.

I sigh, rubbing one of my temples with a chained hand. “Well if you’re going to mute me to death, it’s working.”

I think I see a smirk, but it disappears just as quickly