Siren - Hazel Grace Page 0,6

questions.”

“I don’t have any answers,” I reply.

“You do, and we will know them.” I glance at the new arrival, but she stays quiet.

“Can’t help you,” I deadpan. Atarah’s shoulders tense before she flexes her slim fingers.

At my defiance, the late arrival steps forward. Her head cocks to the side as her leaf green eyes fixate on me. They don’t match her hair like the rest of her sisters, her skin is fair in contrast to the different shades of the others.

My knees start to tingle as her scrutiny draws up the length of my legs, hitting my abdomen then my chest again.

I’m not scared, I wasn’t when I walked in here, but my breathing quickens suddenly as sweat starts to form on my forehead and palms. I can feel the graze of her irises swift over my broad shoulders, then I feel a jolt from my hips.

Instantly, one of the hidden blades from my pants is in her small hands while she holds it up in front of her face, studying the engravings that Edda had done for me, to keep me safe.

So much for that...

She turns her head over her shoulder, listening to something, but no sound emits through the room. Then her eyes abruptly land back on mine.

I perk a brow. “Don’t know how to talk to a man, wench?” She remains emotionless, passive. Maybe she doesn’t understand what I’m saying.

Her index finger brushes the tip of my blade, and I’m hoping it draws blood, but it doesn’t. A few of the women giggle behind her, but I’m too centered on the woman in front of me.

I don’t trust her next move.

I don’t know what kind of role she plays with all of them, but she’s something different from the rest. They obviously all speak, but she doesn’t need to apparently.

Shorter than the rest, more beautiful, but more miserable. I can see it, hiding behind the tints of all those greens in her eyes. Yet, she stands firmly in front of me, alluding no fear as I tower over her.

“He’s Dagen the Blood Axe,” Isolde announces. “The son of their leader.”

“Really?” Nesrine marvels. “I thought he was just a myth.”

“He will be soon,” another one says. My concentration doesn’t break from the she-devil in front of me, twisting my weapon around as she gapes at it like it’s a treasure of some kind.

“Know how to use it, Princess?” I taunt, leaning down a tad closer. “Because I don’t have all day if you’re going to kill me.”

She flicks her gaze back to me, unamused, with a speck of rebelliousness glinting in it.

No, she’s different—something doesn’t feel right about her.

“We have somewhere to be,” another one of them speaks up, but the red Siren doesn’t move, still gawking at me.

“Davina,” adds another. I smirk, now knowing her name. Perhaps I can coax her to my side so she’ll set me free.

The tip of my blade suddenly appears, pressed into the side of my face, near my left eye.

Blood, that’s what I’ll call her.

After all, she wants mine, changed her mind that quickly from being the mute bystander to holding my own weapon against my skin.

Slowly, my blade creeps downward, creating a dull pain from the steel etching into my flesh.

“Don’t mess his face up too badly,” Nesrine muses, her voice already one I recognize from her big-ass mouth. “We don’t want his blood staining our floors.”

She doesn’t stop, transfixed on my face; looking for distress, to see how human I am. I ball my hands into fists to keep from headbutting her pretty little face. Any sign of violence on my end and it will quicken my death.

“Enjoying yourself?” I provoke, feeling my skin ripping open.

Nothing.

Not a flicker of amusement or even a slight smirk to announce her contentment. It’s only then that it slowly starts to sink in, this isn’t a normal capture.

I won’t be held a prisoner for information about who I am and what I can do for them.

I’m here to quench their thirst for humans.

“He has to die,” my eldest sister, Atarah, decides, pacing in front of the long table in our dining room. “He’s too much of a liability.”

Nesrine scoffs, flipping her raven hair over her shoulder. “Liability to whom?”

“To us,” Atarah snaps. “To her.” She points at me, almost convicting. Almost forgetting that I’m more powerful than her and all my sisters combined.

What doesn’t work in my favor is being the youngest of seven daughters, and being treated as such while I’m the