Siren - Hazel Grace Page 0,34
get past the veil?”
She freezes then slowly brings herself to face me again.
“I heard your little fight.”
That gets her to swim toward me. Her eyes slam into my body, and she looks predatory.
Seductive.
A woman that needs to be fucked into submission because her whiny little pirate isn’t going to do it.
The look in her eyes discloses that she wants to kill me for eavesdropping, but from the conversation that I half-heard, she won’t get to venture down that path—yet. The little she-devil needs information from me after all.
I gesture to the water. “No, please, I’ll do the talking. You continue to enjoy your swim.”
My body is suddenly hit with a huge wave of water, shoving me backward until my back hits the ground.
Evil little wench.
Pushing myself up into a sitting position, my clothes stick to my skin as I shove my now disheveled hair back from my face. Only her eyes and nose appear above the water, and I know she’s hiding a damn smirk on her face.
“Sensitive subject?” I jeer.
She ignores me and continues to swim around in a small circle.
“You’re right to keep him away from me,” I proceed. “I’ll use him to my advantage.”
She doesn’t stop, my words ineffective to her ears. She must think I’ll concede to her wishes because I’m free and don’t want to be chained back to a floor.
“You underestimate me, Blood,” I announce. “I’m not like your pirate.”
I’ve killed men like him before breakfast when I was a wee lad.
Learning how to fight at a young age was normal in Lothbrok. For centuries our clan has been thrown in the throngs of chaos when we were at war with the Highlands. It was ruthless and merciless, women and children were murdered just as often as men. Our homes were burned to the ground, sometimes entire villages, and the strike of their warriors was always imminent—always coming.
When I turned seven, my father’s worst fears came to fruition when my siblings and mother were killed. I don’t remember them, maybe because I tried to lock out any sort of animosity that proved to be a weakness. It was best not to be emotionally attached to another human being. But loyalty ran deep within my veins, and that’s how I always stayed with my people and my father.
He never remarried, I watched his heart break plenty of times over the years when I was a child and families would gather together in the square. When siblings would play in the village and I stayed home alone to work. He never pushed me to be social, just a leader.
And that’s what I am.
Which is why I’ll use whatever she cares about to her disadvantage. When you don’t have a weapon, the other option is knowledge; the strengths and weaknesses of your opponents. And since I couldn’t take out a group of Sirens with my bare hands, clues would work just as well.
We might not know each other, never crossed paths before, but I’m going to be something that goes down as a nightmare in her history.
Sitting in the room where I’m held hostage, it’s the only spot that holds any sort of comfort. I’ve already scouted the small island, it’s just a few huts surrounding the castle with no boats or anything large enough for me to float on. Not that I expected to find anything where all these beings swim as transportation, but I thought I’d try my luck.
The door behind me creaks open, but I don’t turn around from the window, already smelling the familiar scent of sea salt wafting through the air.
“I’m not in the mood for the staring contest, Blood,” I allude, too busy pondering the thoughts that plague every second and minute here.
“Who are you?” The voice is deep and gravelly, and I snap my head in the direction of it.
Standing before me is a gray-haired man holding a trident in one hand and glowering at me like I just stepped into a place where I shouldn’t be—which technically I have. I know how it feels when said stranger walks onto any land I own in Lothbrok.
I kill them with no questions asked.
My eyes fall on his shining crown, and I stifle back a groan. When I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I think it just may have.
Shirtless, the man, if you’d want to call him that, cautiously walks over to me, his long hair stopping above his ribs as he slams the bottom of his weapon on the floor.
“Who