Siren - Hazel Grace Page 0,23

Davina.”

I chuckle deep within my chest. “I wouldn’t call it that, darling.”

Brylee’s eyes still bore into my head, but there isn’t shit she can do about what I’m thinking. It’s the one thing they can’t control, which feeds my cockiness.

“He isn’t scared of us,” Brylee bristles. “But he doesn’t like being held by women.”

I point a finger in her direction. “True.”

“Your women not strong enough, Viking?” Isolde taunts.

“Wanna let one come on this island and see?” I counter. She grins, amused that I think any human can take her on.

If Davina can throw me across a room, well…

Brylee’s brow perks, and I know she saw, heard, or whatever the hell she and Atarah are doing, that Davina hurled me a few feet.

“Wish I could’ve seen that,” Brylee conveys.

“I’m sure,” I deadpan.

“What did Atarah see?” Isolde asks.

“Davina throwing the Viking across the room.”

Isolde’s eyes fall on me. “Really?”

Atarah’s breathing starts to become labored and loud, her hand suddenly clutching Brylee’s arm. Her whole frame starts to convulse while her eyes are still clenched shut.

“Take it easy,” Brylee coos. “You’re trying too hard.”

I don’t know which entertains me the most—the difficulty of them trying to read my inner thoughts or the struggle that Atarah is experiencing to push and shove away the useless nonsense and find the things she’s seeking the most.

Serves her right for acting like a bitch.

“Stop,” Brylee snaps, her hand going to her forehead.

Isolde grabs on to her other arm. “What’s wrong?”

Brylee shakes her head, pressing her lips together to stifle back what looks to be pain. “This isn’t right.”

“What isn’t?”

Brylee’s crystal blue eyes zero in on me. And so does her arm, seizing my shirt and yanking me in her direction.

“Why are you here?” she snarls. “What did your father want from here?”

I don’t flinch, keeping my face emotionless. “Rich soil.”

“There are forests and sand here,” Isolde retorts. “Your father is either a fool or you’re a liar.”

I look over at her. “Prove it.” My back hits the hard tiled floors, followed by my skull, with Brylee’s full weight on top of me.

Sitting on my stomach with both of her legs on either side of my waist, she leans over to get in my face.

“The truth will spill from your lips,” she leers. “If you think our not being able to read you is all that we have, you’re mistaken.”

“Looks like you’re having a hard time,” I mock. Brylee lifts my body, bringing my back off the floor, then slams my head right back into it.

“We might have to beat you stupid then. Don’t think my little sister will stop us from—”

“We have to go,” Isolde alludes suddenly. Brylee doesn’t move, ready to rip my throat out. “Help me with Atarah.”

That gets her sister to move. Climbing off me, Brylee and Isolde help a dazed Atarah off the ground.

Nothing else is said as they guide her out of the room, leaving the small puddle of water in their midst. It won’t be the last time they’ll try to get my truths to spill from me.

Either they’ll kill me or the little one with red hair will. And I’d rather look at Blood when she makes me take my last breath.

At least some of this would’ve been worth it.

I’ve read somewhere that the third time's the charm. I don’t really know if that’s completely true, but since I learn from my books as of late, I try it.

Stepping into the room where Dagen is kept, I peek around the heavy door to see what kind of man I’m going to face today. The manipulative one or the one who straight out wants to try and strangle me again.

Instead, I’m met with something I wasn’t expecting to see.

Dagen the Blood Axe—shirtless.

His muscles are a work of art, like a sculpture made of stone, painted with faint red lines—scars. One starts on his bicep, moving down to his forearm, and another runs down his back, starting from his shoulder and trailing underneath his pants. Water trails down his frame like a river, flowing through little crevices in his stomach muscles as he uses a sponge to wash himself clean.

He’s what Nesrine would call an idol.

Atarah would say he was Hades.

I would say he’s a man of many faces. Ones I’d love to peel back and learn, but he’s taught me enough already about what the definition of a Viking is, and I don’t want to kill him this time.

The traitorous door squeaks as I push it open more, which has Dagen