Chapter 28 #3
But scattered among them were four individuals who stood out dramatically, as if they’d been plucked straight from the streets of an ephemeral world.
They drew the eye without effort, their beauty whimsical and deliberate.
Their wide-eyed allure was paired with magnetic smiles.
The man at the front of the quad was the first to draw my attention.
Thick locs with midnight tips were stacked at the crown of his head, giving full view of his hypnotically beautiful features: umber skin smooth and luminous, large dark-brown eyes that seemed to soften when they met mine, and a dimpled smile that warmed his entire presence.
He wore layered fabrics in shades of deep teal and charcoal, tailored but fluid, the cut emphasizing movement rather than his tall, lean physique.
Beside him stood a woman with a fawn-colored complexion; her mahogany hair was cut into soft layers that framed her round face.
Her gaze was faintly sharp despite the gentle curve of her mouth.
Her assessing eyes sharpened with interest. She stood just over five feet tall and was wrapped in a dress that crossed her body in overlapping folds of pale sand and bronze, the fabric skimming her curves.
The man to her right was close to six feet, just a few inches shorter than the other man.
His build was compact and muscular, strength held close rather than displayed.
Sandy brown hair was cropped low, clean and severe, drawing attention to light-violet eyes that held a quiet, unsettling intensity.
They lingered too long, making it difficult to look away.
His clothing was simple: dark trousers and a fitted tunic in muted sea green, but they sat on him with deliberate precision.
The fourth, heart-shaped face had similarly shaped lips and a warm, dewy olive complexion.
Her simple blue shift dress looked luxurious on her, the fabric catching and releasing light like water over stone.
Their smiles were open, amiable, and unlike the brittle politeness I’d come to associate with Nahela.
These held no obvious deceit. No sharp edges.
The woman in the blue shift reached for me, her hand slipping easily into mine, while the men shifted closer, subtly circling me as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
The other woman’s welcoming smile mirrored her companion’s lips parting as though she was about to speak.
She never got the chance.
Sayier moved, stepping in fast and placing herself squarely between me and the group. One arm swept back, placing an uncompromising berth between us.
“Siren,” she said flatly, the word sharp as a blade. Her gaze flicked over them, cold and unapologetic. “And their companions are tritons.” She ushered me forward. “If you’re invited to the Thalassyn, I advise you to decline—until you’re better at recognizing them and ignoring their lure.”
I glanced over my shoulder despite myself.
They were still watching me. Still smiling.
The pull to follow, chat with them, step back into that circle and let their winsome energy encircle me lingered, growing heavier and more insistent with every moment.
“We don’t have them,” I said, unable to tear my eyes away from them.
Sayier nudged me forward. Harder than necessary. I stumbled, lurching ahead, and she had to grab me to keep me from hitting the ground. Her fingers locked around my arm with bruising intent, forceful enough to snap my attention away from them.
“I believe that is a good thing,” she said tightly. “Or perhaps if you did, you would have built up a tolerance. The more you interact with them, the less impact their initial lure has on you.”
That was similar to encounters with vampires. I’d never found vampires nearly as captivating as most humans did during their first encounter. That peculiar, awestruck haze others described had always escaped me.
Sayier stayed close after that, her stride matched to mine, her attention never leaving me as if she fully expected me to break free and run straight back to them.
At the entrance of the brick building, she paused before entering, her gaze flicking to a man passing dressed in a deep purple outfit, similar to hers and with an accompanying vest. Whereas hers was clearly official, his seemed like a more stylish mulberry rendition. Sayier’s nostrils flared.
“Is he a different type of shadow god?” I asked when the tension lingered.
“No, he’s fae. From the Elarith.” She seemed to perceive fae wearing outfits inspired by her uniform as cosplaying shadow gods. “I haven’t determined if it’s mockery or admiration.”
“Imitation is the greatest form of flattery.”
She stopped to look at me, a spark in her eyes as if she hadn’t heard the saying before.
“That’s an interesting sentiment.”
Cirrian effortlessly slipped into the modern world, seemingly familiar with our ways, colloquialisms, lexicon, and behavior.
He saw us as an extension of himself—a somewhat inferior extension of himself.
In contrast, Sayier gave me the impression that she usually viewed ephemerals as peculiar specimens to be observed with the bewilderment of seeing a different species, but I was proving to be more.
“Sayier.” Her whispered name seemed to float over the air like a musical note.
She stiffened at the man addressing her. I didn’t catch the name she murmured. She simply tossed a look in his direction but didn’t give him the courtesy of holding eye contact, instead letting her gaze drift to the arched windows of the building we were outside.
“Fae,” she sighed before I could ask, jerking her chin toward the entrance. When I looked back at him, I found that his eyes had drifted to me where it stayed for a long time with a narrowed eyed interest. Not interest…maybe familiarity? Canting his head, his eyes bore into me.
Tearing my attention from him, I followed Sayier into the building where we were greeted by gentle heat from a fireplace dominating one side of the room.
Its flames were crackling, filling the room with a slow wave of heat and a woodsy smell that blended with the scents of cinnamon, chocolate, vanilla, and an assortment of spices, making my stomach growl.
Trying not to be distracted by the food, I said, “We don’t have fae, either.”
“You wouldn’t. They stay in their realm usually, visiting us as a reminder that in the event we fail to protect the collected magic, they believe they would be the best successors. No matter how many times we explain that it doesn’t work that way.”
I didn’t remember seeing magic from sirens, tritons, or fae in the Laytherium. Since there wasn’t a reason for it, Cirrian probably omitted them.
“Would they be the best option if something happened?” I asked.
“They believe so. But many things would need to occur for that to even be an option. I don’t think they fully grasp the destruction of the world we know and the catastrophe that must occur that would call for such a thing.
I don’t believe they’d survive it if we didn’t.
” Her tone placed a definitive end to the subject, but I wasn’t ready to let it go.
“Do they have the same restrictions as you all?” I was referring to the limitation of killing. It felt distasteful to discuss murder so casually.
“That is one of the reasons they believe we are their equal. Where we excel in our power and magic compared to theirs, they believe their ruthlessness exceeds ours, making them better protectors of the Laytherium.”
As if I wore the rebuttal on my face, a sly smile coasted over her face.
“Restrictions from killing doesn’t leave us weak, it makes us creative,” she provided, a cold look overtaking her features.
I was very sure they were quite creative in their violence and retaliation.
“The draveths became a problem. They required more cruelty than creativity. I was confident we would have prevailed without Goddess Annessa’s help.
It would have been a long battle that the Bavelon didn’t believe was in our best interest.”
Neither did Cirrian, which is why he requested help from the lycans and now felt indebted to them.
We slipped into an uncomfortable silence, my stomach rumbling as I waited for someone to take our order.
Occasionally glancing around, I couldn’t tell what the place wanted to be—and that felt intentional.
The comfy, inviting atmosphere had wrapped around me the moment I crossed the threshold.
Warm stone and dark wood enhanced the homey décor.
Burnished thick beams crisscrossed overhead, aged and bowed with time.
Lanterns hung low along the walls, casting honeyed light that softened every edge of the space and the cluster of chairs and tables that didn’t provide the level of comfort of the room.
The ivy climbing over the walls felt out of place yet fitting.
To my left stretched a bar, long, solid, and well used, scarred by use rather than neglect. Shelves climbed the wall behind it, crowded with bottles of every shape and shade, some sealed with wax, others etched with symbols I didn’t recognize.
Was this place a pub that served food, or a restaurant with an impressive bar?
Before I could comment, a woman carrying a tray sauntered to our table, dropping off creamy soup, a fruit-filled pastry, and a small tray of cheeses, fruit, and a fragrant cup of dark roast. She rushed away and returned with food for Sayier.
A similar meal except she was given tomato soup, and her pastry appeared to be a chocolate scone.
“You don’t get many options here. We can trade between each other but that is the extent of the options you get until dinner.
Then you’re given a choice of three meals.
” From the fragrant aroma of the food, these people seemed to be good at their limited menu.
Sayier slid her soup in my direction along with the rest, keeping just the coffee and her pastry.