Page 2 of Siren in the Rain

Out on stage, I can hear my equally vile stepsister, the top-of-the-charts pop princess Bella Divine, doing her usual show-closing spiel with the audience.

Taking credit for my hard work, as always, and acting the part of America’s sweetheart with the golden voice.

What a crock of shit.

Margaret smiles down at me in a way that portends pain. I knew my little act of rebellion wouldn’t go unpunished, but I won’t grovel for her.

She pulls out the dreaded fob connected to the enchanted iron collar around my neck and presses one of the buttons.

A sharp inhale of breath is the only sound I make as my body seizes from the magical current coursing through me, the iron of the collar acting as a conductor that makes everything even more painful. The agonizing sensation is akin to being electrocuted from the inside out, but I’m used to it. Margaret watches me with a gleam of sadistic glee in her cold, dead eyes. However, I no longer give her the satisfaction of my screams and tears as I did when this torture started.

I’m no longer a helpless child.

Once she stops pressing the fob, the worst of the pain recedes and my body stops seizing, only giving the occasional involuntarily twitch, and I glare at Margaret in defiance.

“F-fuck you,” I manage to croak.

Haku, nestled protectively in my hair, hisses at her in solidarity, releasing angry puffs of smoke from his nostrils.

My stepmonster smirks and snaps her perfectly manicured fingers.

Two of my latest guards—big, beefy men who could pummel me into next week with the greatest of ease—appear behind her, silent and stoic figures who hoist me to my feet.

They hold me with about as much care as they probably would a sack of potatoes. So I make them work for their pay and don’t bother to help at all.

Although I’m not sure I could even if I wanted to.

Slumped between them, I manage to lift my head when Bitchface Bella skips backstage, all smiles. “Did you hear them, Mummy? They love me!”

With big green eyes like her mother’s and her long blonde hair done up in pigtails, Bella has cultivated her pop-princess persona around an illusion of eroticized angelic innocence. Tonight her outfit is a short, form-fitting dress that reveals long legs clad in lacy thigh-high stockings, all of it in white. The look is finished with a pair of glittering white organza angel wings attached to her shoulders.

Margaret beams back. “Of course they do, darling. You’re my beautiful, brilliant daughter and the biggest rising star in the music industry. I’m already in talks to line up a world tour when your next album comes out.”

Keep dreaming, gruesome twosome. I’ll be long gone by then. You won’t be getting another album out of me, no matter what.

My breathing finally returns to normal and my body stops twitching, but I can’t move it much just yet. Still, I’ve got to take my wins where I can get them.

Bella glances in my direction, her face twisting with disgust. “What is he still doing here?”

“What? No thanks for my hard work tonight, sister dear?” I grit out between clenched teeth, my body aching and sore now that the worst of the pain has passed. “I doubt your fans would still love you if they knew that you’re a big, fat fake, a conniving little liar who lip-syncs to my voice and claims all the credit.” I may not have power over most of my body still, but as usual, my sarcastic mouth works just fine. Generally, it’s the only weapon I have to fight back with.

The murderous glare she directs at me is far from the innocent image she projects on stage.

Bella steps in front of me and backhands me across the face with enough force that I see stars.

The familiar sensation of my bottom lip splitting barely registers until a warm gush of blood drips into my mouth and down my chin, its coppery flavor sharp on my tongue. The guards holding me don’t budge an inch, nor do they show any sign of being disturbed about my treatment.

Heartless bastards.

Bella grabs a handful of my long hair and yanks my head back with a hiss. “No one’s ever going to know the truth, brother dear.” She taps the cursed collar around my neck, a small action that sends a jolt of white-hot pain radiating through me.

Iron is deadly to a full fae and agonizing to half-fae beings like me. The collar hurts all the time—a never-ending torment that’s been my constant companion since Margaret put the device around my neck seven years ago, right before I came into my full powers.

I shudder and my mind shies away from that traumatic memory.

“We own you, forever and always, you pathetic fool,” Bella snarls. “You’ll do what we want, whenever we want, until you die.” She taps the collar again for good measure.

That isn’t as bad as the fob, but it’s like poking at a raw open wound. Not pleasant, at all. I focus on regulating my breathing as I wait for the worst of it to pass.

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