Page 31 of Siren's Treasure

Her chin shot up, no longer able to pretend she wasn’t being stalked by a barracuda. She glared up at August. His lips curled into something that might have been a smile on a less vicious face. He was directly disobeying orders by talking to her. Would Raggon really permit such insubordination?

She kept her retort back, though if her father were here…? She’d enjoy witnessing August doing belly flops against the waves.

“What good are you to these boys, anyway?” August asked her. “Only a real man knows how to tame a Sea Witch.”

Tobias scrambled to his feet to stand between them. Thessa yelped out in fear. The younger boy was no match for the bulky giant’s muscle, and she could see the effort cost him dearly. Sweat beaded on Tobias’s forehead. “You remember what happened to Grell and Markus?” His voice was steady despite his labored breath. “My brother doesn’t take kindly to those who touch what’s his.”

I’m not his…!But she wasn’t about to correct Tobias in the face of August’s vicious gaze. The man was a shark… no worse—and he hadn’t even touched her yet, but his eyes promised cruelty.

August scoffed, spitting on the deck. “Your brother’s soft, playing nursemaid to a fish and a dying boy.” After a moment of matching Tobias’s steady glares, his gaze dropped and, with a growl, he blessedly moved away, muttering to a group of men. She couldn’t hear what they said, but it couldn’t be anything nice.

Glancing over at Tobias, she saw he’d grown paler. Her hands flew over his. His skin burned at the touch, and it had nothing to do with the overbearing sun. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, collapsing back onto the overturned longboat, his gaze meeting the warped planks of the deck. She noticed the whiteness of his knuckles as he let her go to clutch to the crossbeam. No, he wasnotokay!

Sterling’s wings beat frantically as he danced next to his master. “Dead men tell no tales! Beware the witch! Beware!”

Unable to keep back from him, Thessa reached for Tobias’s collar to inspect it closer as she would any ailing creature in her care—scales had begun to form where the strange heavy iron sank into the flesh, turning his neck black and gleaming like wet obsidian. On the other side of this strange imprisonment, shimmering steel—silvery as moonlight—clung to his neck like a partial choker, stubbornly clinging to the iron disappearing into his neck. The scales felt unnaturally smooth and cold against the rest of his feverish skin.

More than anything, she wished for her siren voice of healing. That was what she missed most—well, and she wouldn’t mind thrashing August within an inch of his life with the strength of her whipping tail.

Tobias winced under her touch. She’d been far too absorbed with her revenge fantasies, and she drew back with a muttered apology. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Tell me… how did this happen?”

“Circe put it on me—it’s the Typhon’s Kiss—said she’d control my brother through me.”

Thessa stiffened, remembering how Raggon had mentioned a betrothal. The alternate way to escape this curse was unthinkable—marry the Land Witch and watch what was left of his kingdom fade away.A chill ran down her spine despite the sweltering tropical heat. She had to get that blade and cut both brothers loose.

Sterling bobbed nervously, eyes fixed on Tobias. “The clouds speak! The clouds speak! Death from above!”

Tobias swallowed. “Something’s… urging me… pulling me away from my body. I can’t explain it.” His voice was hollow; for the first time, he allowed her to see his fear.

A crack of a whip exploded between them, its edge burning into her wrist like the sting of a jellyfish. She cried out, the pain sharp and immediate, spreading up her arm in fiery waves, even as Tobias rushed forward to block her from that monster’s whip.

“Oh, what will you do, lad? Scream for big brother?” August sneered; his voice laced with contempt.

She noticed that he’d gathered a crowd to back him up this time. The men’s weathered faces reeked of mutiny, years of superstition and hatred of her kind etched into every line and scar.

“No one threatens me, especially not a twig like you!” August coiled the braided leather of the whip through his fingers, the sinister whisper of its length cutting through the air. His empty gaze rested on Thessa, cold and possessive. “I found you first, siren. Before the captain. Before anyone. And what I find, I keep.”

The men around him shifted closer, a wall of flesh and fury. Low growls of agreement rumbled through them. Even more chillingly, she noticed the knives appear in more than one meaty hand. They formed a half-circle around August, transforming him from merely dangerous to unstoppable, each face promising violence if Tobias dared defy their new leader.

And still the boy didn’t move. His hands tightened to fists, the collar visibly tightening. “Thessa, go—”

August roared out his laughter. “What? Nopoofthrough the air? I thought Sylphorian princes were famous for running away… or is Circe’s magic to blame?”

“Keep away from her!”

The whip cracked with a sound like lightning splitting wood. Tobias cried out as the leather bit into his leg, tearing throughfabric and skin in one vicious strike. Blood welled instantly, dripping down his bare calf. He staggered but remained standing, his body a human shield for Thessa.

She couldn’t let him sacrifice himself for her. “No!” Balancing on her shaky new feet, she tried to stand, the pain pulsating through her wrist as panic writhed through her insides, and still Tobias wouldn’t be budged.

August’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he slowly recoiled the whip, the leather now stained with their blood. He glared at Raggon’s younger brother. “You’ll be squealing like a stuck pig by the time I’m through with you.” August’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, “We tire of the Tide of Shadows playing at captain.” The whip slithered between them like a tide crawler, its bloodied tip flicking across the deck boards. “He doesn’t get the girl. Not anymore.”

Sterling shrieked from above, “Blood in the water! Blood in the water!”

August lunged for Tobias. A sickening sound erupted from his attacker—wet and final. The point of a sword emerged from August’s chest, gleaming red in the sunlight. Behind him, Raggon’s hand materialized behind the hilt, followed by the rest of him, his face a mask of cold fury. With a single fluid movement, he wrenched the dying man upward by his collar. August’s boots dangled uselessly above the deck.

“No one,” Raggon growled, his voice barely human, “touches what’s mine.”

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