In the Veins of the Drowning(10)

Agatha had kept me safe. I was not so alone with her as my confidant. And so, I’d shoved the ugly, rearing head that was my true self below the surface. And last night, blinded by my unabashed desire, I’d hauled her back up. I’d let her gulp the air.

“Imogen?” Agatha’s gaze darted over my disheveled body. My dark waves were knotted with hairpins, my chemise was wrinkled and hanging askew. A light smear of blood marred my hip. “Imogen.”

My throat clamped. I threw my arms around her neck, crushing the dress she held between us.

“Oh Gods,” Agatha wheezed. She returned my embrace, hands pressing over my spine—over the open wounds left from my wings. I gasped at the pain. When she pulled away, her hands were red with fresh blood. Sudden understanding widened her dark eyes. “How?” She spoke in a rush. “We have to leave right now. We need to get down the mountain—”

A languid knock sounded at my door. My head snapped toward the sound, hackles rising. “Imogen.” Evander’s taunting voice called through the wood.

Who is that? Agatha mouthed.

I gestured frantically for her to shut herself away.

“Open up, Imogen.” A loud thump. “Or I’ll open it myself.”

“Agatha,” I whispered, “go into my dressing room. Lock the door. Do not come out, no matter what you hear.”

She straightened her spine, defiant. “What—absolutely not!”

“Shhh. Do it. Please.” I hurried to the chair I’d spent the night in and retrieved my discarded dagger. “Now, Agatha. I could never forgive myself if you were hurt. Go. Do not come out.”

Finally, she rushed toward my dressing room.

Once the lock clicked, I raced to the chamber door. The bolt scraped. The hinges wailed as I opened it.

Evander stood, tall and imposing, wearing the black coat and trousers he was meant to have worn last night. His hand rested on the leather-wrapped hilt of the sword at his hip. Bright amber eyes slithered down my body. They creased with an unafraid smile when he saw my dagger. “You’re not ready yet.”

I took a step back, heart hammering. “What do you want?”

Evander pushed past me without answering, unbuckling his sword belt as he went. He laid it reverently upon the bed and perched himself at the foot. The man looked like a bad omen, all clad in black, stark against the light hues and harsh morning sun that filled my chamber.

“Close the door, Imogen.”

My breath caught at the soft, emotionless command. I threw the door shut, never taking my eyes from him.

“Lock it and come here.”

“I asked you what you wanted.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Imogen. Lock it. And come here.” He bent to retrieve the gown and fresh chemise that Agatha had dropped. “Let me help you.”

I was a mouse, and this was the cat’s gentle play before it sank its teeth in. “I can dress myself.”

The way he looked at me was so close to the way he had last night. His gaze was heated, but a shadow swam through it now. He’d seen the dark thing within me, and it had changed him. Changed us. “Come here.”

I took a cautious step forward. Then another. When I was near enough, he leaned forward and took my hand. Hard fingers kneaded my hips as he placed me between his open legs. I tensed as his arm slipped around me, holding me still and close. “I still want you.” He looked up into my eyes. “I’ll admit I’m… shocked.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “But… Nemea doesn’t need to know.”

I set my hands to his wide shoulders and pushed. “This is a trick.”

“No,” he said, his hold on me unrelenting. “No trick.” I tried to hide my wince as he set the gentlest kiss to the middle of my chest. “I came to apologize. For hurting you.” He pulled back and swiped at the angry red puncture marks I’d left on his own neck.

“I don’t understand.” My blood screamed in my ears. “You can’t possibly still want me.”

He gave me a solemn nod.

“You kill my kind. You are ordered to do so. Why would you want to marry me now that you know what I am?”

“Besides the fact that I’ve come to… love you—”

I flinched. Love was not something I’d ever hoped for. It was not something I’d ever felt. I’d read great love stories; I’d spoken to maids with blood in their cheeks and stars in their eyes over a quiet stable hand or handsome soldier. And always, love struck me as something soft and incessant. It seemed lavish, sometimes foolish, dangerous even, but it was never threaded with terror, like what I felt now. Like Evander had felt last night when I’d drawn his blood.

He drew his thumb across my lower lip, dragging my attention back to him. “You grew up away from your kind,” he said. “You’re nothing like the rest of them. You’re docile. And there are benefits for me. Do you know of the Siren’s blood bond?”

I knew enough. A Siren was tied to the sea and the air. Their power and instinct to drown was made stronger by their proximity to it. The blood bond dulled this instinct. It kept the person the Siren was bonded to safe from the lure of other Sirens. The bonded pair would be compelled to protect one another at all costs. But up in the mountains, I was simply a woman. My instincts and power were all but dead.