Page 8 of Siren’s Mark (The Siren’s Mark Duology #1)

AVA

I can’t believe I’m back in the doctor’s office again. I’ve already waited twenty minutes in the lobby, another ten for the doctor to arrive, and another ten after the doctor left to order another blood test.

You know what sucks? Blood tests.

But of course this doctor wants to do yet another one.

You know what it’s gonna test positive for? Blood.

I hear a tap at the door and a nurse wheels in a cart of blood testing supplies.

“Hi! Ava?” he says, reading from his clipboard. “I’m Trevor. I’m going to be taking some blood for your tests today.”

The nurse is clean-shaven with short, shaggy, golden-blond hair. He has chiseled features and a tall, fit frame under light grey scrubs. He seems absorbed in looking over my chart and grabbing vials.

“So we’re gonna take about three of these today,” he says as he holds up an empty vial about the length of my pinkie.

Oh, joy.

He catches my eyes for a moment and smiles.

“I like the purple,” he says, pointing at my hair.

“Oh, thanks,” I say.

As he draws my blood I find myself looking away, still not quite able to stomach the sight of the whole thing. He seems to sense my discomfort and tries to make conversation.

“So it seems like they’re testing for a lot of unpleasant things. You must be feeling pretty lousy,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say.

“That really sucks, I’m sorry. But you know, we see a lot of people in here and sometimes it takes a while to get answers, but there’s always an answer.”

I hope he’s right. Sometimes it feels like there’s no light at the end of this particular tunnel—just more blood tests.

“What do you do for a living?” he asks.

“I’m a web designer.”

“Do you like it?” he asks.

“I do, yeah. I enjoy it and I get to work from home and set my own hours, which is helpful with all this going on.”

“That’s awesome,” he says. “It’s so important to find something you love to do.”

“It’s killer on the joints, though,” I joke.

“You know, I help out with this occupational therapy program where they give you help setting up your work station and walk you through ways to help improve your posture and mobility for work. Would you like me to grab you some information on that?”

“That would be great, thank you!”

He pauses for a moment and applies a bandaid to my arm. He looks up at me with a smile as he adjusts his latex gloves.

“Have you heard of a band called Blue Panic?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I said. “They were one of my favorite bands when I was in high school.”

I can’t believe this random nurse knows such an obscure punk band.

“I saw them last year and the lead singer had the same color purple hair,” he says. “You totally remind me of her.”

I smile. The cute nurse thinks I look like a super hot rocker chick? Oh yeah, I’ll take that.

“Well, it was great meeting you Ava,” he says, wheeling the cart out of the room.

What the heck is up with this hospital and the cute guys, man? Who needs Tinder when you have a rare, undiagnosable health condition.

I step out of my car and take a moment to check my reflection in the car window.

I anxiously straighten and tug at my outfit a bit: black jeans, black ankle boots, a white fitted tee, and my favorite burgundy leather jacket.

I’m aiming for casual, cool-girl-who’s-totally-not-freaking-out-or-overthinking-this vibes.

It’s been a while since I’ve been on a first date—if this even counts as a first date.

Is it really a first date if you’ve already had an aggressive make-out session with the person?

Twice?

I check the time on my phone—12:23 pm.

Okay, he said he’d be here at 12:30, so if he’s anything like Mike he’ll be at least five minutes late, which…

I freeze when I see Zane just outside the café entrance. He’s casually leaning against the wall in a nice black jacket and dark- wash jeans. He looks up and when his eyes meet mine, he straightens and seems to tuck something behind his back.

“Hey,” I say as I walk up. “That wasn’t suspicious at all.”

He combs a hand back through his hair and lets out a breathy laugh.

“You caught me,” he says, pulling out the arm he had tucked behind his back. He’s holding a single rose. “I was second-guessing this particular gesture. It’s a bit cliché, right?”

He looks almost nervous, which catches me by surprise. This man does not strike me as the type to doubt himself, yet here he is tentatively holding a rose out for me.

“It’s very sweet,” I say, reaching out to take it from his hand. “Thank you.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and smiles.

“I wasn’t sure if that was something people still do… flowers and all that.” He pushes the door open, gesturing for me to enter first. I walk in and he follows behind me. “It’s been a few decades since my last proper date.”

“A few decades?” I laugh. “I know what you mean. It feels like that for me too.”

“Right.” He gives me a tight smile and sweeps a lock of hair behind his ear.

We’re shown to our table and Zane pulls out my chair for me. We spend a moment chatting over the menu and the waiter is back soon to take our orders. I’m doing my best to act cool when all I can really think about is how unreasonably pretty this man is.

As the waiter walks away, Zane slips off his coat, revealing a red plaid button up layered over a black tee that fits tight over his sculpted chest.

Okay, this man is too beautiful to be out on a date with me. Am I being pranked?

“So your friend Jen is pretty intense,” he says.

“Intense?” I laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

“In a good way. She speaks her mind. I like that. And she’s clearly very protective of you. It’s good to have friends like that.”

“Seems like you and Kieran are close.”

“Yeah, he can be the same way. Though Jen seems a bit more ready to throw hands—which, if you know Kieran, is really saying something.”

“So true,” I say with a laugh. “How long have you and Kieran been friends?”

“Oh we’ve been friends for… very… long.”

I can’t help but chuckle a little at the weird way he says it.

“Is that your way of saying you two used to date?” I ask.

He cringes and scrubs a hand over his stubbled chin.

“No. Hell no.” He shakes his head and sighs. “I swear I’m not usually this bloody awkward. Just a touch rusty. I’m not used to people asking questions of me and… answering them.”

“And you’re still trying to claim you’re not in the mob?”

“You clearly enjoy giving me hell, don’t you love?” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest with a playful half smile. “I see why you and Jen get along.”

“That was definitely not an answer,” I say. “I can’t tell if you’re question-dodging because you’re really hiding some deep dark secret or if you’re just trying for the brooding and mysterious vibes.”

His brows jump and he tilts his head.

“Alright then, no more dodging. Ask me anything.”

“Okay, ummm… what’s the last crazy thing you did?”

“You mean, besides snogging a woman I had just met and then disappearing?”

I can’t help but laugh at that, even though a blush is creeping up my neck.

“That’s not something you usually do?”

“Never.” He lets out a sound somewhere between a huff and a laugh.

“The ‘ snogging ’ or the running away?”

“Both. I’m usually very… in control of my emotions. My mates love taking the piss about it.”

“How so?”

“They make fun of me for being reserved.”

“Isn’t that normal for British people?” I ask. “Or is that just a stereotype?”

“For Brits, yes. For me and the groups I used to hang out with, it was quite uncommon. Our culture was very… passionate, fiercely protective, quick-tempered. It’s said that we burn hotter than most.”

“That doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.”

“It’s complicated. It’s something that I’ve tried very hard for a long time not to be.”

“Maybe it’s worth embracing,” I say. “You said it yourself, being ‘intense’ can be a good thing.”

He hesitates, his gaze distant.

“I suppose it’s just fear. When you burn that hot, you can burn people without meaning to.”

“You’re doing a terrible job of convincing me you’re not in the mob.”

“I must be rustier than I thought,” he says with a soft laugh. “I’ve never had to work so hard to convince a date I’m neither in the mafia nor homosexual.”

“Then you should probably stop saying things that gay mob bosses would say.”

“Boss, eh? I guess I’ve moved up in the organization.”

“I’m assuming the ranking is done based on who is the most broody.”

“I knew it would be of use some day.” His eyes crease at the edges as he smiles and takes a sip of his drink.

“Well, for the record…” I say. “At the risk of overstretching your metaphor, maybe fire is another one of those things that is both beautiful and dangerous. And you can either fear the danger or appreciate the beauty in it.”

He sets his drink down, his eyes fixed on mine.

“You might be right.”