9. Enna
Chapter nine
Enna
I never knew sand could be this hot. The white grains— not black! —spread out in every direction on this damned beach, forming fluffy little piles from hell, and I swear my feet are about to combust into flames. The only way I can relieve the pain is by hopping from one foot to the other in an awkward dance, one so embarrassing to watch that Odissa ordered the Coral escort to carry her to the keep’s gate, leaving me behind to flounder on my land legs. That bitch.
I’ve managed the two-legged transformation many times before. The pain of my bones cracking and rearranging within seconds, while once incredibly sharp, had become a reluctant routine in my frequent missions to the siren courts in Dredgemaw.
I know how to use my own damn pair of legs. The issue isn’t me. It’s this thin air, the trudging sand—all making it impossible to breathe, to balance, to exist without an immense amount of effort. If it weren’t for that fucking blood oath, I would have turned around after my first step into this blasted kingdom.
The sun isn’t anything like I expected. Its harsh light blinds me, reflecting off every surface in sight—the expanse of turquoise water that whispers behind me, the glitter that somehow is the sand, the white marble palace sitting proudly on the other side of this beach, and, fuck, the whiteness of my own skin. I can’t even look at the back of my hands without squinting, eyes brimming with tears. And the heat . My skin feels like it’s bubbling, boiling me from the outside in.
I hunch my shoulders and keep my face down, blinking rapidly and willing my eyes to focus and adapt. I drag in a shaking breath to steady my beating heart, pushing panic deep into my stomach. But the air is choking, full of heat and dust, nothing like the clean, cool, and sterile air in the siren sector back home. I cough, taking back everything I ever said about wanting to live in the tropics. This place isn’t paradise. It’s my personal living hell.
I scan the blurry horizon for the escort. They walked straight ahead, I think. Or was it to my right? The white world blurs around me. I grit my teeth, placing one stinging foot in front of the other, and march through the burning sand.
Damn this fucking court. Damn this climate. Damn this sand.
Run , I order, with a mental push on my legs. They, surprisingly, move with more speed than before, and I’m lumbering over the dunes.
Next thing I know, I smack into a rock. Pain explodes through my nose. Stars twinkle across my vision. I blink, forcing my eyes to focus on the rock. Or the chest, I realize, as I take in an impressive display of muscle that is undoubtedly male. Sweat beads on his rich brown skin, and his breath comes out in huffs. Dark emerald scales kiss the valley between his pectorals and gather around his belly button, trailing down, down, in a glittering path into—
“Seen enough, princess?” a deep voice purrs.
—into a pair of linen shorts, which cling to sculpted thighs.
“Princess,” I repeat, its meaning suddenly lost to me.
I remember then that this rock of a body belongs to somebody, and I put up my hand, shoving hard on his chest to move him—or me—away as quickly as possible. He, as the rock, does not budge, and my shove only sends me plopping onto my ass. My bare, covered by only my loincloth, ass. I leap onto my feet with a yelp, crouching low. In the Drink, I kept this cloth folded in a pouch on my belt, large enough to protect the softer parts between my legs, yet small enough to pack away easily when I transitioned back into my tail. For the first time in my life, I see the downside of wearing as little clothing as possible. Here, it might just be the only barrier between this scalding sand and losing my sanity.
My feet burn beneath me, but I ignore them. Something tells me my skip-hop routine isn’t local behavior. The male doesn’t seem to mind the heat. I glare up at him, shielding my eyes against the sun with my arm.
His face is shadowed, backlit by the sun. But I can make out the hard lines of his jaw, the curtain of long black hair framing his face, the rounded edge of his siren ears, and the perfect slant of his nose. Above his nose, I find a pair of shimmering green eyes, which focus on me, deep and chaotic yet soft and kind, the eyes of a male who’s never had to kill. They sparkle with mischief, roaming over my form as I squat in the sand and gape at him.
“Seen enough, my lord?” I say, smiling at my own wit.
His lips twitch at the corners. “Hard to tell,” he says. “You blend in perfectly. I can hardly see you down there.”
I don’t like this tone of voice—teasing, playful, cocky. My eyes dart to his shorts again. The fabric is pleasantly tight, and I decide cocky is the right word for this male. And that smile? I know an entitled high-born when I see one; they look the same in every court.
He extends a hand to me. “Let’s get you inside.”
I stare at it, noting the smooth roundness of his fingernails, the rich, pretty color of his brown skin, and then I bare my fangs, waiting for the trick. There’s always a trick with sirens. No magic-wielder has ever willingly helped me from the goodness of their heart.
“Feisty,” he says, smiling wider. “Did our escort leave you to wander, or did you eat the captain in transit?”
I stand up, avoiding his outstretched hand. “Your captain is delicious, but unfortunately, she’s not my type.”
“And what is your type?”
I allow myself a moment of luxury, taking in the impressive male before me once again. He’s prettier than any male I’ve seen in the Drink, even prettier than a few of the nobles I’ve killed. Maybe it’s because he’s a living, breathing male, or because he isn’t actively trying to murder me before I can murder him, but I cannot seem to take my eyes off him. This Coral siren exceeds anything I envisioned from the merchants’ stories back home. He’s smarter, taller, broader—a sarcastic tower of muscle I desperately want to climb.
“Short,” I say with a straight face, eyeing the plane of his abdomen. “And preferably with a little more meat on his bones.”
He runs his hand through his dark hair, flipping the long strands behind his shoulders. It’s hard to miss the flex of his muscles, the way his veins rise from his biceps from the heat. “You must be sorry to have stumbled upon the likes of me, then,” he says.
“You’re not much to snack on.” My burning feet cannot bear the stillness much longer. Brushing the sand from my skin and shifting my feet to ease the pain, I peer around him to scan for the escort. I don’t have time for games. I’m here for a job. The quicker I find the prince and marry him off to Odissa, the sooner I can check it off my list, earn my freedom, and get out of this hell.
“And you’re nothing like what I expected.” He’s grinning at me, those green eyes dancing with a triumphant flame.
Grunting, I spin on my heels, heading off in the direction of the keep. The male follows me, and for a few heartbeats, I pretend not to notice. But then he starts kicking up sand as he walks, the hot grains spraying against the backs of my legs.
“Look, pretty lord, I’m in the middle of something,” I snap, turning to face him again.
He raises his hands, flashing me with a brilliant white smile. My heart squeezes in my chest, and I rub at the spot, trying to push the knotted feeling away.
“I’m headed this way,” he says, gesturing to the palace ahead of us. “I kind of live here.”
“Oh,” I say. Another high-born jackass stating the obvious. “Congratulations.”
His laughter is thick and bubbling. Steady, deep. Interesting. Warm. Dammit.
I pick up the pace of my skip-hop routine, focusing on getting away from this male as efficiently as possible. But his long legs propel him much faster than mine do, and my land legs are more out of shape than I expected. I couldn’t outrun him if I wanted to.
I wave my hand in a general left direction. “Walk over there, please.”
He chuckles, sticking close. “Is that what you’re doing? Walking?”
I ignore him, just as he ignores my request. I get the impression we are playing a game, and somehow, he’s winning.
He takes my silence as encouragement to keep talking. “But that would leave you alone, my lady. Unprotected. Who knows what dangers lurk on this beach.”
The beach is wide and blank, void of all life but me and this annoyingly attractive male. I size him up. He’s muscular, but he’s cocky and likely overconfident in a fight. I bet on a good day I could take him.
But this is not a good day, so I keep walking. We’ve nearly reached the walled city’s shadow. My burning skin cries out for relief.
“Would you like me to carry you? It seems your feet are bothering you.”
I stumble over the suggestion, missing a step. I careen forward, the hot sand rising to meet me. Fuck. Limbs flailing, I screech, all my nerves screaming in anticipation of my entire body touching that burning sand.
Suddenly, his hand snakes around my waist, lifting me out of free-fall as if I’m a wimpy rope. I’m tucked against his solid abdomen, legs hook over his forearm, and my bare ass greets the breeze.
And maybe it’s the heat. The embarrassment. Exhaustion. Or maybe it’s the annoyingly persistent nature of this noble male and his inability to leave me alone. But at his touch, I lose my last ounce of control. My spines, sharp and thin, tear through his flesh.