Page 59 of The Sea Witch's Son

An electric blue corvette pulls onto Freya’s driveway.

Christina Aguilera’sGenie in a Bottleblares out from powerful speakers, the tinted windows vibrating under the heavy bass of the song.

The brand-new sports car looks completely out of place in front of the modest bungalow. The custom rims and paint job scream a fortune much greater than the property it’s sitting on.

The sunlight catches the gemstones lining the dark crown of Tahira’s hair as she unfolds herself from the car. A belly button ring sparkles against the smooth surface of her stomach, the mauve colour of her top a perfect match for the accessory.

“Did you need a ride?” She glances down at the muddy state of my sneakers, “The trails are dreadful after a rainfall.”

“No. It’s only a ten-minute walkdown the road.”

She pulls a face, “The lawns are much nicer inside the gated community.”

“The grass looks pretty green from where I’m standing.”

Falling in step beside her, I only come up to her shoulder. What the heiress lacks in etiquette, she certainly makes up for in height.

“All about perspective, I suppose.” Tahira steps up to the door and bangs the brass knocker, “Did you have a good time with Marlin last night?”

My cheeks flush, “Excuse me?”

“I would be asking myself the same thing.” She smirks, pointing to the edge of my turtleneck, “Might want to reapply the concealer. People will start mistaking you for a blood source.”

Tugging up the neck of my sweater, I silently scold myself for the hundredth time.

This is why you don’t kiss the town psychopath. Forget the fact it was a great fucking kiss, the man is a walking red flag just waiting to burn you to the ground.

Marlin Seaborn is a danger zone and I need to stay as far away from him as possible.

It’s about time my libido got the memo.

“Does it snow here?” Clearing my throat, I point to the snowman smiling at us from the front porch.

“God no. Could you imagine?” Tahira shudders, “The house was a present from Freya’s godfather. The man lives in the northern hemisphere and foolishly thinks everyone should appreciate frigid weather.”

I glance at her, “Who is Freya’s godfather?”

“A prince of the Southern Isles, although the title is used loosely. The man is thirteenth in line to the throne, so he is desperate to make a strategic alliance through marriage.”

“I didn’t know they still do that.”

“Arranged marriage? Oh, it’s very popular among the wealthier members of society.” Another grimace, “Father has already made plans for my own match.”

The door swings open before I can inquire further. Frizzy hair and a deathly pale face greet us, Freya’s haggard complexion made worse by the thick bandage sticking out of the slit in her nightgown.

“You didn’t want to clean yourself up before answering the door?” Tahira tilts her head, taking in the bare state of Freya’s feet, “You look like shit.”

"It's always a pleasure to see you.” Rolling her eyes, Freya gives me a nod, “Glad you’re still alive, New Girl.”

“The feeling is mutual.” I bite my lip, watching the way she sways uneasily in the doorway, “Should you be walking around?”

“I’ve been cleared to start moving again. A few steps here and there to get the blood flowing properly.”

“It looks as though you’ve hit your limit for today.” Lifting a brow, Tahira nods towards the darkened interior, “Are you going to let us in?”

“Guess so.” Shuffling painfully to the side, Freya lets the door swing open.

I follow Tahira’s lead, stepping carefully over the mantel and following the heiress into a small living room.

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