Siren - Hazel Grace Page 0,44
retorts. “She sees what she sees.”
I see a shape of white start to pace the room, obviously irritated that she doesn’t know how long this is going to take. Atarah and I have that in common.
“He doesn’t know love,” Isolde offers. My brows furrow immediately. It was an odd thing to see, but she’s not wrong.
I don’t think I’m capable nor do I want to experience it. It’s a worthless emotion really, the point of marriage was loyalty and commitment while producing offspring to keep your legacy alive. Everything else was nonsense.
“No, he’s not married,” Isolde voices. I didn’t hear anyone ask her a question, so I pull my eyes away for the first time and find Davina standing behind her, in between two of her sisters.
“If you wanted to know more personal details, Blood,” I state with a smirk, “you could’ve asked me yourself.”
She fixes me with slitted eyes when I look back at her sister, Isolde.
“Blood, there is a lot of it,” she announces to the room. I almost scoff, in a room of another set of beings it might give someone pause, but not these she-devils.
“Is that why you call me Blood?”
I shake my head. “It’s because of your hair.”
“What?” Isolde asks.
“I wasn’t speaking to you.”
“Are you speaking to him?” Brylee asks out loud. She must answer ‘yes’ because she continues. “Why? He doesn’t need to—” She stops, and it frustrates me that I can’t hear Davina unless she wants me to.
“He’s a warrior,” Isolde digresses. “He’s fought in many battles, been injured.”
“How many times?” Davina asks. I glance at her again with an exasperated look, but she ignores me and fixes her attention at the back of her sister’s head.
“Well over a dozen.”
“Nineteen,” I answer.
“He was tended to by that woman in the furs.” Davina cuts her eyes to me.
“Edda,” I tell her, looking for any sort of jealousy to spark in her pupils—none.
“He’s supposed to marry her,” Isolde falters. “His father wants and speaks of it several times.”
“That’s such a disappointment,” Nesrine mutters next to my right ear. Davina’s eyes follow her sister, whose hand brushes my shoulder and glides across to the other.
Isolde looks at Nesrine. “He isn’t sold on the idea.”
Nesrine shows up on the other side of my face. “Now that is interesting. Tell me, Viking, how will you ever go home to boring-looking women when you’ve seen the best there is to offer here?”
Again, another fact. All of the sisters are exotic beauties, each with their own different features and shades, but the only one I’ve been slightly fascinated with is the one who doesn’t speak out loud.
I try to keep reminding myself that their powers are something that might be addictive. I have no clue if it’s my thinking or if they are doing something purposely to keep my guard lower than it should be. But the more time I’m here, the more I find myself opening to them—especially her.
“He’ll be the leader of his people,” Isolde quips, her brows slowly starting to descend. “But he doesn’t know if he wants the power.”
“Of course, I want it,” I retort. “I’m the eldest son of Oryn the Great. It’s my duty to—”
“Relax on the honor,” Nesrine mumbles on the side of my face. “We wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to stay here.”
I pull myself away from her and turn my head in her direction. “I don’t want to stay here.”
Her black eyes glimmer in amusement. “Of course you do. What man wouldn’t—” She stops her next words, head slowly turning in the directions of her sisters, which I can only guess on the one. “You need to stop coddling him.”
Silence fills the room, and Nesrine straightens her back seconds later, leaving my space.
“Don’t leave me in suspense,” I announce, pulling my head to Davina. “What do you want to do with me, Blood?”
“You already know what I want from you.” She meets my stare, bold and exquisite. Her crystal-green eyes collide with her hair, already making her stand out.
And I hate how much I notice it.
“Can you read my mind if I whisper something to you?” I ask.
Davina’s brows snap together. “No.”
My lips lift. “Then I’ll say it out loud. I’m hoping what your wanting to do with me involves your plush lips and my hands meshed in your hair while I—” My long strands are yanked back as I stare up at Atarah’s pearl-colored eyes glowering down at me.
“Watch your dirty mouth,” she seethes. “I’m growing tired of you