Actually, all of theirs do.
Striding through the room now are two more women, one an exotic shade of orange and the other purple. But it’s not until a third walks in that demands all of my attention.
In fact, she sucks it from me.
Long hair, the color of blood, cascades past her slim shoulders, reminding me of the bright shade of a flesh wound. It’s a hue I wear frequently in battle that coats my face and clothing as I slice and thrust my sword into my enemies.
Her brilliant green eyes slam right into my chest before they roam up and lock onto my blues. A gold bustier covers her breasts with a string of pearls that dips down to her torso. A teal, see-through skirt shows off the curve of her hips, down her thighs to the floor. Each footprint exposes a piece of her legs as she comes to stand in front of me with the others.
“Glad you could join us,” Nesrine muses, still next to me. “You almost missed all the fun.” Red doesn’t speak, just stops next to Atarah and moves her attention to the woman still in front of me.
Nesrine scoffs loudly. “Why?”
I look around the room for a statement I must have missed because silence still permeates through the space. Except for the humming my body is experiencing in response to the latest newcomer in the room.
I clench my teeth, aggravated all to hell, reminding myself that I have control over my being all the time. Careful not to lose my temper too much, not to make rash decisions, but it seeped from my bones the moment she walked into the room.
And I’m torn between wrapping my hands around her throat or ripping the rest of her skirt off her hips.
It’s the Siren devilry. Nothing more or less.
I may have never met a Siren before, seen one in real life, but it does nothing to my rationality of being a warrior except keeping placid, on guard, and ready to fight.
“Just do what she says,” Atarah conveys, rubbing one of her temples.
To my surprise, Nesrine moves and steps in line with the redhead who just entered the room.
Seven—fucking hell.
The seven points of the sea.
The seven temptresses of Lacuna standing in front of me as a united presence, and the undercurrent of the room just changed the moment the new one walked in.
The seven daughters of King Triton.
My mind fuddles around as my eyes ping pong off each of them.
All different.
All dangerous.
All going to make my life a living purgatory.
I’m at a disadvantage because my people don’t know much about these creatures, just folklore that has been passed down through the centuries. I’ve heard how they use their voices to sing men to their deaths. How pirates purposely ward off these waters. My clansmen don’t listen to legends and myths from raiders who are already dishonest in the first place, with their manipulative nature. However, walking onto this island, I only expected to face some trouble.
Not seven women who obviously possess powers that I’ve never experienced and no known defense to protect myself from.
Storm blue hair flips over Brylee’s shoulders as she says defiantly, “We’re not going to leave you alone.”
“We’re in this together,” adds the creature with golden burnt eyes that are currently burrowing into me.
My own zero in on the new visitor.
It’s then that I realize she’s the leader. The moment they all stood alongside her, showed their loyalty and support, I knew she’d be the one I’d speak to about where we go from here.
“Who are you?” I ask her, clenching my hands that are tied behind me into fists.
Silence—from all of them.
It leaves an eerie and unsteady prickle wisping up my spine. The unknown, that’s what I’ve just walked into. I’ve always been familiar with my enemies, learned their weaknesses and strengths to protect my men in the throngs of battle.
But they are beings I know nothing about bringing to their knees so I can escape from here.
I never thought I’d die in stillness. Always thought it’d be in the ruptures of combat with men screaming and howling on a grassy valley surrounded by mountains.
Not in a place that looks like paradise with women who aren’t really the definition of what I’m used to.
“Now that she walked into the room you all don’t know how to speak?” I challenge, looking down the line of them.
“Keep your mouth shut,” Brylee snaps.
“We’ll decide later what to do with you,” Atarah announces. “But first, we have 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.