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“Royal guard, searching?—”

He half turned around, scowling over his shoulder. “Get out. Now.”

“Oh! Yes. Right you are, sir,” said one of them. “Apologies.”

“Carry on,” said another.

The footsteps quickly receded and the door closed.

Riella was glad for the interruption, because now she could break whatever spell she’d unwittingly allowed to be cast between them. What would Mareen and Galeil say if they knew she’d been consorting with a male human? Touching him, lying with him, desiring him?

“Alright, they’re gone,” she said in the most no-nonsense voice she could muster. “Get off me.”

She shoved him away and stood. What was the matter with her? Being struck by the compulsion to lick a man’s lips was not right, let alone giving in to it. Sirens were legendarily reckless, but not about that. Their brazenness was intended to defend innocents and the ocean and themselves.

But what she hated most of all, was that she hadn’t hated it . . .

Jarin was slower to stand. He moved to the end of the bed and sat for a while, taking deep, slow breaths. Facing away from her, the tattoo on his back was now visible. The image was the Dark Tide Clan emblem—a giant pair of crossed cutlasses.

Jarin had rightly predicted that the guards would make a fast exit once they knew who he was. The tattoo would’ve been the first thing they saw when they opened the door. Nobody except sirens were dauntless enough to purposely invoke the wrath of a member of the infamous pirate clan.

On this occasion, it seemed she’d been right to trust him.

Riella pressed her ear to the door, trying to pinpoint the guards’ location. The commotion could work in her favor, if Madame Quaan and Gerret were distracted for long enough. She hoped none of her friends were hurt in the chaos.

Meanwhile, Jarin pulled his shirt on. When he finally stood, he had to adjust his bulge rather extensively to buckle up his pants. Riella determinedly looked anywhere except at him.

“What now?” he asked.

“I need to get to the study at the end of the hallway. Break into the stronghold and steal the gold.”

A gleeful smile lit Jarin’s face. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

CHAPTER 11

Riella cracked the door and peeked into the hallway.

Guards pushed and shoved their way through the mayhem of outraged men and women in varying states of undress. Most were expelled from their rooms during the search. Madame Quaan and Gerret were nowhere to be seen, nor was the Count.

Yvette leaned against the wall nearby, her dark curls loose, smoking a cigar with a bored expression.

Riella waved to get her attention. “Where are Madame Quaan and Gerret?”

She crossed the hallway, dodging a gray-haired man frantically trying to button his shirt. “In the Count’s room. Trying to keep the guards out long enough to untie him.” Yvette snickered and angled her head to blow a trio of smoke rings. “Quaan’s out for your blood. She told them you’re violent and wanted for robbery.”

“We need to get into her study, and best we do it now, while she’s waylaid with the Count.”

Yvette’s eyes widened in delight. “Do you really mean to rob her?” she whispered. “How can I help?”

Riella frowned, thinking. “Do you know anything about the magic guarding her riches?”

The siren could handle steel and padlocks, but magic was a different and potentially far trickier challenge.

“Only that no one can open it except for her,” replied Yvette. “When we first moved to this house, she had a mage enchant the stronghold for her. I couldn’t get close enough to find out any particulars, though.”

“Alright, that’s still helpful. You’ve been here a long time, then?”

Yvette’s face shuttered. She glanced over her shoulder, feigning distraction. With a stab of shame, Riella realized she’d asked a rude question. The complexities of the human world seemed never-ending.