Page 14

Chapter 14

AIRLIE

T he second my feet are out of the water, I run as fast as I can toward his cave. Sand and rocks flick up behind me, slapping the back of my thighs with each desperate step. The roughness of the ground barely registers, drowned out by the pounding of my heartbeat, loud and frantic in my ears. As I near the entrance, I begin to slow as fear and dread pull tight at my chest. The only light guiding me is the glow of the full moon as I tip-toe inside.

I hold my breath, straining to listen for signs of other voices over the waves crashing against the stones. The cave walls are shrouded by the night, as my eyes scan the hollow for my stranger.

“ Please ,” his cries are softer now, yet the desperation still coats his sorrow-filled voice. I stop dead in my tracks, ignoring my instincts to run to him and search the shadows for signs that we aren’t alone instead.

This might still be some sort of trap, and knowing the malice that lurks within Father’s lifeless eyes, I would not be surprised if he was hiding in the shadows, waiting for me. Knowing it’d be more fun if I were forced to watch whatever sick games he had planned.

The moon’s blue rays spill through the cave, casting beams over my stranger’s restless, sleeping body as he tosses and turns on the rough ground.

Once I’m satisfied that we’re alone, I rush to his side, my heart racing with worry, not at all convinced that he isn’t already hurt. My hands frantically feel his face, and then the rest of his hard body, desperately searching for any signs of injuries.

When suddenly, a strong hand wraps around my wrist. A sharp breath escapes my lips in surprise.

“Siren?” he whispers, his voice a combination of exhaustion and relief. I can’t see his face, but I’ve studied him closely while he’s slept, enough to imagine that he’s confused and that there is a crease forming on his forehead.

When I say nothing, he removes his hand, the chains clinking and dragging along the ground as he starts to sit up.

There are no words to describe the relief I feel that I was wrong.

He’s okay.

He was only dreaming.

He’s safe.

I reach out and touch his face, his stubble now longer, scratching against my skin.

He pauses.

“Did they hurt you? Did they come back?” His voice hardens with anger, replacing any traces of sleep. Shame pricks at my neck, then my face, and I avert my gaze.

I had been so sure something was wrong.

So sure Father was hurting him.

He places his left hand gently over mine, still resting against his cheek, before using his other hand to tilt my chin, urging me to look at him. All I can see is the sharp contour of his square jaw and a shadowed version of his piercing blue eyes, as he stares down at me in the dim moonlight.

I breathe him in.

Savoring his natural scent.

He smells like midnight, like the earth and rain as it falls from the sky.

It’s intoxicating.

I want to answer him. I want to tell him that I am okay and that he doesn’t have to worry about me. That Father doesn’t bother me anymore. The words stay trapped in my throat, so I shake my head in answer.

I don’t want to move, fearing that if I break free of his touch, the sense of safety, like an invisible shield wrapped around us, will fall away, too.

“The things I'd do to hear you speak to me, just once… are far from normal, Little Siren,” he says. His voice is dark and dangerous. Ominous even, yet I am not afraid.

He moves his hand away from my chin and brushes his fingertips, a featherlight touch, across my cheek, sticky from my swim.

My hand is still beneath his other one, pressed against his face, and I look away. Stirring beneath his touch until he releases his hold on me. I straighten beside him slightly, water from my short, cotton dress that I forgot to remove before swimming, pooling around me.

I want to stay like this, in this cave… with him .

I make a mental note to dry my dress when I get back.

Father can't ever smell my stranger on it.

A long moment passes, and the moon grows brighter as it shifts higher in the sky, allowing me to see my stranger's features more clearly. His dark, prominent eyebrows are furrowed, his usual deep crease marking his forehead. I hold back a smirk at how predictable he is becoming.

His black, unruly hair, a little longer now, is thick with sweat from a restless sleep, sticking to the sides of his neck in damp strands. He stares down at me, his eyes heavy with sleep, framed by dark, long lashes that only make him look even more dangerous.

There’s something wild about him. And it calls to a part of me that only surfaces when I’m around him. An unfamiliar urge to hug and comfort him in this moment surges deep in my belly, but I force myself to hold back, not wanting to make a complete fool of myself.

His soul is tortured.

I can see it when he stares at me this way.

He looks like he’s felt the pain of a thousand bloody, and brutal beatings, and survival itself is his punishment. It’s this vulnerability that urges me to take a leap of faith and place my trust in him.

I haven’t been fair to him recently. I’ve not given him any opportunity to talk to me, leaving him alone, when he only wants to be freed. I understand that better than anyone, yet I can’t bring myself to do it. Not with knowing the risks.

I will be alone again.

And even if he doesn’t leave me, Father will take him from me anyway.

I search my thoughts for something I can do or give him, to show him that I’m sorry, but there’s nothing.

I have nothing to give.

Nothing but myself.

“ Airlie . My mother used to call me Airlie.”