Page 25 of Siren's Treasure

Who was she fooling? She was already living her worst nightmares! That man thought she’d fetch Undine’s Blade for him? Not a chance. Her father needed it. Raggon’s body might not be warped like his soul, but without a doubt he was part of Circe’s bestial army.

Her wrists and hands hurt from trying to free herself—her new legs hurt. Everything hurt! Thessa shifted, hearing the bell ringwith her movement. Raggon’s jacket made her feel like his arms were still around her. The musk of sandalwood and—lemon, was it? His scent overwhelmed her until she could think of nothing, but the man who’d left her here.

At least she was warm! The gentleness of his fingers still put an unwanted blush on her cheeks. She couldn’t reconcile the man who’d tenderly tucked the blankets around her shoulders with the one who’d trussed her up like yesterday’s catch ready for market. What sort of brute needed this much gold, this much crimson, this much… everything?

The drapery and rugs were wine-dark like old blood, and even the ceiling beams were wrapped in gold rope that caught the light like scales reminding her of home. She quickly suppressed a pang of homesickness, trying not to think of where she presently waited for Raggon’s return. An ornate bed with its drapes and grotesque gargoyles?

What kind of man thought this was a perfect place to drop his tired body for the night? One who was perfectly fine with teasing her when she couldn’t get the gag off her mouth! He’d named her Clam! Clam! The name of her pet sea turtle at home!

Okay… she might have a whisper of an idea of who she’d like to take down with Undine’s Blade.

The eels carved into the thick bed posts caught her with their ruby eyes. She glared back, refusing to be intimidated. Everything screamed of a man obsessed with power, wealth and—and such utter tackiness, from the flamboyant threading that traced sinuous patterns through the coverlets to the beaded cushions that sparkled like dragon’s treasure.

Get me out of here now!

Rocking to the side, she landed face first into a soft pillow. The bell rang out in response.

Immediately the bird changed his tune. “Polly wants a cracker! Polly wants a cracker!”

She cringed, expecting Raggon to barge through the door with a shout.

After a few minutes of horrible waiting, her eyes fluttered open as she stared through her shadowy tasteless cage. Not a peep came from outside.

Had that dirty pirate been lying about keeping an eye on her? Or did he simply forget about her? He’d left her for long enough—with no thought of feeding her. He must think mermaids lived on air. And still, none of that mattered if it meant she could make as much noise as possible to get out of here.

The shine of unused nautical instruments and gilt-framed maps suggested a captain who cared more for the appearance of seafaring knowledge than its substance. But she couldn’t afford to hope that Raggon was merely a fool playing at power. Not when she was his captive.

She began working her wrists from their binding, each movement making the bell cry out its betrayal.

“Polly wants a cracker! Polly wants a cracker!”

The noise wasn’t bringing anyone. Raggon was deaf as an oyster. Her breathing turned ragged against the dirty rag holding back her grunts as she twisted and squirmed. These new lungs were getting more than their share of exercise! And then one last tug—her wrist slipped free.

Losing no time, she ripped off the gag and let out a cry of relief, though it immediately turned to pain as she rubbed at the raw skin of her wrist.

“Polly wants a cracker!” The bird’s incessant squawking over her escape grew louder.

“Shh!”Sterling, was it?“Sterling, clam it!” The creature hopped about in agitation. What Thessa would do for her siren voice about now. She’d get that bird beak pinched shut in an instant.

“Beware! Beware! Polly wants a cracker!”

Thessa propelled herself off the bed to silence him the hard way—well, attempted it anyway. The instant her foot hit the ground, her ankle bent awkwardly beneath her, and she fell, landing against the thick crimson rug. Her chin caught the edge of the mahogany desk, sending empty glass bottles and an oil cloth package flying with a crash.

She muffled her yelp.

The door flew open. No, no, she needed more time! Raggon’s large frame filled the doorway, and for an instant she wondered if he even saw her as he stumbled into the room, the bottle in his hand sloshing amber liquid. His heavy brows drew together as his unfocused gaze swept from the empty bed to the shadows until finally landing on her near the mess at the desk.

A slow, dangerous grin spread across his face. “Hey, Clam.”

He was acting strange—much like the sailors she’d spied tripping over their feet and shouting into the wind. The bottle in his hand was the source of it. These spirits made humans act strangely. Before she could think how to use that to her advantage, his eyes sharpened on her mouth—her ungagged mouth.

The change was instant. Despite his unsteady feet, he disappeared in a blink. The next moment, he materialized from a spray of salty mist, his warm hand clamping over her mouth. The sudden proximity sent her heart racing.

She twisted away with a scream. “Don’t touch me!”

Yelling, he clawed at his ears while she paddled away from him, unable to get on her feet, unable to escape! And he was laboring under the same difficulty, only she realized he was protecting his ears from her.

She pressed her advantage. “I have power in my voice!” she cried out in warning.

---