Page 31 of Wicked Tides #1

Dahlia

Blind are we to the evils of our kin.

~Alister Smith

I didn’t recognize her, but she knew me.

I could see it in her eyes when she tried to kill me.

She went for my heart, but she missed it.

She spoke something in the old tongue, but her words were slurred.

Tired. She had called me “unchosen.” It was an insult among the most religious of my people.

One I’d heard more than once. When Vidar intervened and she backed into the water again, I knew we were not safe.

That island had been claimed for nefarious things.

Worse things, I feared, than what Vidar and I had witnessed all those years ago.

On the boat, I watched the water intently, waiting for an attack.

Whoever the woman was, she was not alone.

I pressed my palm to my bleeding chest, waiting for the assault I knew was coming.

She bumped us again and again, trying to capsize the boat from below.

When she grew frustrated with her failure, she emerged from the water, leaping toward us.

I had no choice. It felt wrong before I even did it, but she was beyond reason. She’d seen me with humans and word would spread .

I lunged forward, reaching for the bronze blade off the belt of the man rowing in front of me.

As the woman soared over the boat, she reached out to take someone with her.

I pulled the cutlass free and swung it across her exposed abdomen.

She screeched as innards spilled into the boat and her body flipped into the water on the other side.

Her long, eel-like lower half flopped against the rowing men and then slid in a twitching mass over the edge of the boat.

Alarmed that I had a blade, the man I’d taken it from spun to face me, pulling a dagger from his boot to point at my head.

Just when he pulled back to swing, another scream rang through the air.

A second figure bolted from the water, winding like a sea snake around the man.

He slashed his dagger into the air wildly as he was drawn overboard and into the water.

A third dove forth, going for Vidar. I watched as he spun to grab her, flipping her beneath him.

Her tail flailed, nearly knocking another man off the boat, but Vidar had cut her throat so deep that he nearly severed her head.

He kicked the twitching body off the boat and took the place of the man who’d been dragged under, grabbing the oar. There was no hope for him. I knew it and Vidar knew it. He was in pieces already somewhere below and plumes of blood had bubbled up under the boat because of it.

When we came to the ship, Vidar was shouting orders to his men above.

The sails were dropped. The anchor was raised.

Men were at the railings on each side of the ship, armed and ready.

The bells were humming as the sirens spoke and whispered and screamed at the men in a desperate attempt to overwhelm the crew.

Vidar forced me up the ladder first, stealing the cutlass from my grip. Perhaps he thought I’d attempt to escape, but these women weren’t my friends. I was as much the enemy as Vidar and his crew were and they made certain I knew it.

I climbed quickly, my fingers slippery with blood, and stood on deck, watching the men organize themselves into their positions.

I’d never seen hunters work. I’d never seen how they communicated in the midst of an attack.

Not from the inside, at least. I absorbed it.

Learned it. I watched them each do their part until Vidar appeared by my side, seizing my arm.

Before I knew it, there were irons locked around my wrists.

I growled and pulled away from him only to be dragged to the captain’s quarters, tossed inside, and then locked behind heavy wooden doors.

I slammed myself against them once. Twice.

The wood splintered but did not break. And then I stepped back, listening to every detail of what was going on outside.

There was still a mighty ruckus as the ship lurched forward. My sisters’ screams filled the air, hungry and incensed.

It wasn’t long before the ship was moving with more speed.

The sounds of guns firing and sirens leaping and crashing against the side of the ship filled the foggy passage until finally, hours later, everything went quiet.

I’d given up trying to get out of that room.

It would not matter if I had anyway. I did not care about the crew’s safety and I certainly did not want to fight alongside them, even if I had for a brief second.

Escaping only to battle what seemed to be a whole skryll of sirens alone while Meridan was still captured below did not seem wise either, so I stayed put.

Necessity made people do questionable things. I convinced myself I did not cut down that woman to save anyone, but only to save myself. She’d have killed me otherwise.

The silence was thick. I could see out a small window and noticed the fog had cleared.

We were leaving the most violent of channels in the island cluster.

I could also tell that it was late and the sun was low.

Seeing any light at all was a relief, though, no matter the time of day.

It meant that damned island was behind us.

I was standing against the side of Vidar’s table, looking over his maps, but whatever words he’d scribbled on them meant little to me.

Hunters’ maps were not the same as merchants.

Merchants marked safe routes. Hunters and pirates marked the most dangerous ones.

The ones more likely to be populated by sirens.

Next to the maps, however, was a leather folder.

A corner of charcoal-stained paper stuck out enough to pique my interest and I reached for it, flipping it open in search of things I could learn about the captain.

Stacks of drawings spilled out before me.

The first to catch my eye was that of a woman.

No, a siren. She was beautiful and drawn with expert skill, but she was bound in chains, a fierce look upon her face.

Next to the drawing was written a description to compensate for the lack of color.

Bluish skin. Small frame. Golden eyes and red hair. Strong voice.

A Gorgos. I knew of them, but I’d never met one. They were just as formidable as the Kroan, but they lived far to the east. Realizing Vidar had seen one, and in chains, confused me.

I flipped to another page and found more drawings and more descriptions.

I even found a rough sketch of a xhoth with sloppy, urgent writing filling the rest of the paper.

I saw weapon sketches and designs with detailed instructions on how to create them.

Instructions on how to fold hemsbane into a bronze blade.

There were sketches of skulls with fangs.

Lists of weaknesses he could use against my people.

Then, near the bottom of the stack, one drawing stood out among the rest. It was old.

The paper was delicate and worn with creases as if it had been folded a thousand times over.

It was a sketch of a girl. A girl with big eyes, long, dark hair, and a bleeding laceration across her cheek.

And on that picture was written, The Daughter .

Finally, I heard the lock on the door turn and looked up to see Vidar stepping into the cabin.

He had an edge to his expression like anything might set him off.

I slapped the leather folder closed and clenched my fists, preparing for whatever he might inflict on me to make himself feel better for all that had transpired.

I was a siren, after all. I was the perfect doll to meet every blow he wanted to deliver on the sisters he could not reach.

If he were like any other cowardly man, he would do just that.

But then his eyes focused on the deep gashes across my chest. They had stopped bleeding, but the wound still throbbed. Blood stained the front of my shift a dark red and the fabric had torn, leaving a significant portion of my breast exposed.

Taking a deep breath, Vidar circled around me to the side of his bed. There were bottles arranged in a small crate near the foot of it and I watched him pull out a clear one full of transparent liquid. From the same crate, he pulled out a roll of white cotton.

“Your men said it wasn’t a good idea to go to that island,” I said, seeking to measure his level of tolerance. “You did. Now one of them is dead. You lead your men into the mouth of death with no remorse. You are your father’s son.”

His nostrils flared and I knew I’d struck a nerve.

“Tor was dead long before he became a member of my crew.” He lifted his sharp eyes to meet mine. “Losing two sons to bitches like you took his soul years ago. Without a soul, men do not care what happens to them. It made him a good hunter.”

He slammed the bottle down on the table and unraveled the cloth as if he were about to mend my wound. I backed up a step.

“I will heal.”

“Why’d she try to kill you?”

“You know why.”

“Do I?”

“I am the girl who got her mother and her clan murdered by a human boy. And then she saw me with you, no chains and no binds. What would you think?”

“She thought you were working with us.”

“Aren’t I?” I raised my cuffed wrists up in front of me. “Or is it back in the cell with me?”

He eyed the irons. Then me. Then my chest as if he could not decide whether to kill me, mend me, or fuck me.

Yes… deep in those brown pools, I could see it. He had a flicker of that desire, no matter how much his hatred outshined his lust. He probably despised himself for it if he was not in complete denial.

Then, without a word, he uncorked the bottle and splashed whatever was inside across the open wounds of my chest. It burned like fire.

I snarled and pressed my hands to the stinging incisions, but too quickly, Vidar stepped forward and grabbed my wrists.

I heard a dagger unsheathe and in a blink, he’d slid the fine point of a concealed blade through a rung in my chain.

He pushed me back onto the table, slamming the dagger into the wood above my head so my wrists were pinned.

The sting of the alcohol on my fresh abrasions made me feral as Vidar’s hand collared my throat.

I looked up at him, my fangs piercing my gums and protruding, sharp and aching for violence.

“I am not fond of games, Dahlia,” he hissed, squeezing my throat. “I have many questions. Questions you need to answer.”

“I owe you nothing,” I said, his scent flooding my lungs. His delicious, tantalizing scent. I wanted to taste his blood on my tongue again and feel my teeth pierce his flesh. “You are but a boy dancing on waves where monsters play.”

“What did the Frenchman say to you?”

I laughed at his questions and he squeezed my throat harder until I was silenced.

Shivers shot through me. My blood pumped furiously through my veins and my head swam as all of my senses clashed together in an instant of breathless bliss.

Blackness swallowed my vision. Silence overwhelmed my ears.

Pain racked my bones and excited my nerves and for a brief moment, I was being teased with wonderful death.

I came back to myself with a deep breath that sent my blood shooting south. My back arched off the table, one knee rubbing up the side of Vidar’s leg.

My eyes focused on Vidar. He was bent over me, hand still on my throat, but no longer so tight I could not breathe. He was looking at me like I had just slapped him in the face.

What cruel god was toying with me at that moment?

Vidar nearly choked the life out of me and when I came back, my body craved…

something. Touch. Pleasure. Release. A cleansing, perhaps, of the life I was living.

My nipples pebbled under my bloody shift, the threat of dying at the hands of Vidar Bone Heart sending me into a daze.

I should have hated the thought, but my body betrayed me.

“Do it,” I challenged with a raspy whisper.

“I am your greatest enemy. I am the ghost that haunts you in the night. I know I am.” My knee rubbed against his hip, my heel pressing against the back of his thigh to draw him closer.

“Do it. Finally, watch the life bleed from my eyes as you steal my last breath. Save your crew. Save your sanity. We both know I deserve worse and you want nothing more.”

He stared into my eyes, listening to my every word. I lifted my chin, tempting him. It would be easy. I had a slender neck and he had a grip that could break it.

But he didn’t.

The moment I felt the slightest hint of hardness brush up between my legs, Vidar stood up straight, that edge returning to his eyes.

I could see every muscle in his jaw pulse as he walked around the table and yanked the knife from my chain.

I slowly sat up, watching him circle back around with the knife in his hand like he was thinking of just cutting my throat and being done with it.

That would suffice, I supposed, though it was terribly unexciting.

“I am not on your side,” I continued, realizing the moment was over.

“Then you are on theirs.”

“Did it look like I was?”

“Then whose side are you on, Dahlia?”

I could not answer that. I did not truly know myself. I blinked, unable to form an answer. When Vidar knew he would get nothing out of me, he gestured toward my new wound with the tip of his knife, keeping his distance.

“More scars to add to your canvas,” he said.

I remained silent, my thoughts a mess of broken puzzle pieces.

Finally, Vidar sheathed his blade and stepped forward, grasping my arm.

He led me out of his cabin, across the deck, and down into the hold where Meridan was standing alert at the bars of the cell, waiting.

When she saw me, she let out a relieved sigh.

Gus was there, pistol drawn as Vidar unlocked the gate and pushed me inside.

When he locked the gate again, I turned to look at him, irritated he hadn’t uncuffed me.

“I need sleep. Perhaps you’ll be more talkative in the morning.”

And with that, he and Gus left the hold, surrendering Meridan and me to the darkness of our prison. We hugged only when we knew we were alone and I could feel her trembling. She had heard the battle and the cries of our sisters as well as I had.

What mess had we gotten ourselves into? We had no place among our own kind and we had no place among men. We were trapped in limbo, fighting for something we could not even understand anymore.