3. Human Heart
Lyra blew a lock of auburn hair out of her face and stomped off onto the landing and into the street.
Seraphina walked steadily, bouncing on her toes. She didn’t appear to be impacted by the pins and needles that stabbed Lyra with each step she took. Even Seraphina’s hair had changed color. Gone were the silver strands, and in their place, a flaxen blonde.
Marina moved slowly, adjusting to the weight and pain, if the grimace on her face was any indication.
They tromped across the lane on their new legs. Their boots smacked against the stone. The feel of solid ground beneath her jarred with each step.
Crashing waves against the rocks nearby sang to Lyra’s blood. Yet, it did not sound like the call of home, but of a warning. She pushed away the fear it brought and focused on not collapsing under the weight of it all.
“How quickly until we get used to it?” Lyra hissed, feeling the rattle in her knees and the bark of protest in her joints.
Seraphina shrugged. “Your incessant whining is tiresome. Think of something else or stay silent.”
Lyra reached out to yank her by the hair, but a screech had them freezing. The sound was terrifying and unusual.
“What was that?” Seraphina asked as the whites of her eyes grew.
Lyra searched her memory through every book she had read about the land.
“It’s some kind of animal—a flying kind,” she muttered. “Look who’s being tiresome now.” She shot Seraphina a look. “Let’s just find a tavern or something.”
The buildings along the lane got closer together. Their wood and stone facades were plain compared to the spires and gold of Atlantis. And the smells—gods, the smells. Dirt, smoke, and something putrid like rotting meat.
Lyra clung to those things to keep her from admiring the rest of the surface world. The breeze brought in fresh scents, the bright moon, and the new and exciting animals.
“I hate it here,” she grumbled, trying her best to convince herself. “Let’s just pick our humans, eat their hearts, and get back.”
Seraphina giggled, twirling her green skirt in her hand as she walked. “I think it’s lovely. The air is pleasant.”
Marina and Lyra shared a look, their noses scrunching in disgust. Lyra huffed a sigh and tried to ignore the frustration that Seraphina’s excitement caused. She wished she could embrace this place, too. But that would make it back to Atlantis, and there would be hell to pay.
They should not like it here. It was unnatural to be out of the water. But as Lyra scanned their surroundings once more, she couldn’t help but notice the plants.
Yarrow, butterfly bush, white clover, and Scotch broom.
Tiny leaves and dainty petals. The drawings in her books did not do them justice. Excitement lit her eyes. She had obsessed over these things before that wretched maid had thrown them out.
She shoved the thought away again. They were not here to admire the land. They were here to collect their tithes and return to—where they belonged.
A wooden sign creaked in the wind. The chipped and faded paint was that of a mug of ale clinking another, and marked the building as a tavern.
They had reached the front door when it flew open and music spilled out onto the street before them. A wiry man with a wide-brimmed hat and knee-high breeches leaned over in front of them and emptied the contents of his stomach.
Lyra didn’t bat an eye as his vomit splashed up on the skirts of her dress. “Lovely.”
Seraphina burst into fits of giggles, the sound as lovely as bells chiming. Marina hushed her, and she covered her mouth with her hands.
Laughter and singing would be the quickest way for someone to realize they weren’t human. No amount of magic could hide the otherworldliness of those voices.
Many a mortal had been dragged to their deaths because of their sound, and it’s how they would lure them now—among other creative ways, if they chose.
Lyra strutted through the door with all the confidence she could muster, with vomit still staining the navy fabric. With her head held high, the femininity of her long neck was highlighted by her elegant updo.
Marina followed behind her, the violet gown iridescent in the candlelight. The color was lovely against her dark skin.
Seraphina was the last to enter. The emerald green gown was dangerously close to the color of her eyes. But the slight frown on her face was severe enough to make several lesser men avert their eyes.
Plucking at the pleats of her dress, Marina murmured, “I wonder who or what picks the dresses?”
Lyra sighed. “Why? Are you wanting something more alluring next time?”
Marina slapped her shoulder. “No, you witch. I’m just curious.”
Lyra stared at where Marina’s skin had struck hers. Feeling warm blood rushing to the surface was most unusual. “Let’s get some wine. And then get on with it.”
They made their way to the long wooden counter constructed as the bar. A stone fireplace made up the opposite wall, and Lyra couldn’t help but marvel at the flames writhing and twisting as they consumed the wood. It was like a dance.
An unusual feeling washed over Lyra’s skin. Almost like being watched. She scanned the room, searching for the culprit, but came up empty.
There were many tables around the wood-paneled room, all surrounded by humans of a variety of shapes and sizes. But most were standing. They had to weave through a throng of bodies. The mortals all seemed different, but similar in the way a species shares traits.
However, she was most disappointed by the lack of variety in their choices. Most of the people in this tavern were men—and ugly ones. Boiled skin, missing teeth, gnarled fingers—an abysmal selection.
“Um, excuse me, sir,” she purred at the colossal man standing behind the bar.
His face was ruddy in the firelight, a stained linen button-down shirt pushed up over disgustingly hairy arms. Beady eyes roved over her face before dropping to her breasts and those of the two women beside her.
This was not the human she would pick. His blood was probably as fatty as his diet. He spat on the floor, and spittle clung to the long black beard that reached his chest.
“Can I help you, sweetheart?”
Even his voice grated on her nerves. She had to school her features not to react to the sound.
“I would like a glass of red, please, and two more for my companions.” She gestured to Marina and Seraphina.
Their eyes darted around the room, and if she was not mistaken by the twisting of their fingers, they, too, were nervous.
The barman looked her up and down again, a slight sneer marring his already grotesque features.
“That’ll be three silvers, sweetheart.”
Again with the sweetheart. This man was lucky she didn’t rip his heart from his barrel chest.
But his words gave her pause, and she patted her hands on her empty skirts.
Of course, the magic didn’t leave them anything useful. Not a pouch of coins or even a weapon.
They hadn’t carried any coins or gold in Atlantis. Mermaids couldn’t hold it there, so it did make sense they wouldn’t have it here.
They were utterly powerless here, with no claws or teeth to protect themselves.
Ice slid through her veins—were they lambs to slaughter?
“I’ve got her,” a rich, masculine voice answered from behind her.
Lyra’s palms dampened with sweat, and she wiped the disgusting reaction on her gown before turning around to set eyes on her savior.
A quick sweep revealed polished black boots, charcoal breeches over muscular thighs, and an evergreen tunic hidden behind a black cape that still showcased a broad chest and shoulders. Lyra’s eyes kept rising, and she had to tip her head back to get a look at his face.
His eyes were the color of a clear blue sky. Or what she imagined it would look like.
She had dreamed that it was what unending freedom would look like. Coupled with a jaw that could cut stone, and short, messy, dark hair. Her heart fluttered against her ribs, and something warm pooled low in her belly.
He was beautiful, unnaturally so.
This was the human whose heart she would consume.
He stared back at her with an unperturbed expression. Not at all distracted by her beauty or that of Marina or Seraphina, as the other men had been.
A peculiar sort of stillness settled around him as if the very world paled in comparison.
Lyra batted her eyelashes at him and plastered on her most alluring smile.
“Why, thank you, kind sir. How shall I repay you?”
Even her voice was not her own, taking on the same hollow-like quality that the most vapid of mermaids in their court possessed.
The kind stranger dipped his chin before reaching into his pockets. A sword pommel strapped to his waist gleamed in the firelight before it was hidden again by the falling of his cloak. Perfect—a weapon she could use. Maybe they weren’t powerless here after all.
“No need. Consider it a welcoming present for newcomers.”
His words were kind, but there was an edge to his tone as he leaned past Lyra to place the silvers on the bar top. His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed, but then he stood tall, studying the women.
“That’s very kind of you …” Lyra trailed off, hinting at the desire of his name.
When he didn’t reply, she looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes, sucking her bottom lip behind her teeth. He was a giant of a man, really. Lyra barely reached the column of his neck. She felt small and helpless standing beside him.
And that feeling had her raising her chin. She would never feel helpless because of a mortal male.
“My name is Wilder.”
Something about his name or how he said it had Lyra’s lips tugging up into the most unusual smirk.
“Wilder,” she breathed, testing out the way his name felt in her mouth.
She found she liked it very much, which was most unpleasant since no one would be speaking it aloud after tonight.
But before she could give him hers, he slipped back into the crowd and away from her. Seraphina giggled and whispered in her ear.
“Oh, the things I would do to him before sacrificing his heart to Ennosidas.”
Before Lyra could stop herself, she snarled, “Mine.”