Page 39 of Siren's Treasure

Her lips parted in surprise, a small gasp escaping them, and still she refused to answer. As far as he was concerned, she already had driven a dagger through his heart.

And he was doing this all wrong! Scylla was right. Morris too. He had no idea how to woo a woman properly, but he could only do what came naturally. Raggon broke their contact first. His hand slid from Thessa’s to his boot where he wrenched out a wicked-looking blade, the metal gleaming with an otherworldly sheen under the dancing lights.

Lifting a shoulder at Thessa, he turned the hilt for her to take. “You know what’s even better than dancing? Fighting.” And who better to teach her than a dirty Sylphorian royal? “Shall we disagree the honest way?”

She watched him in shock, not taking him up on his ‘kind’ offer. The ship pitched beneath them, but neither lost their footing, both born to the rhythm of the sea.

“What are you waiting for?” he taunted. “Did you want to learn how to cut a man down or not?”

Eyes narrowing, she grasped the handle. “How hard can it be?” she muttered. The weight of the Sylphorian metal immediately pulled her wrist down, but she righted it with a stubborn tilt to her chin.

“First rule,” he said, circling her on the gently rolling deck, “keep your arm up, elbow tucked close. A dagger fights best when it has nowhere to go but forward.” He demonstrated the stance, his movements fluid despite the ship’s motion. “Now, try to block me—blade up, across your body.”

She mimicked his stance with surprising precision, but when he lunged with deliberate slowness, she overextended. He slipped past her guard and plucked the dagger from her grip in one smooth motion.

She looked adorably furious, her chest rising and falling with indignation.

“Keep your weapon close to you,” he said, making a show of returning her blade. “Just like you do your heart. You never know what will happen if you let someone in.”

Did that hit the mark? She glared and snatched the dagger back.Good.She snarled, growling like a lionfish defending its territory, and rushed at him. He hadn’t lied about her grace—she moved like nothing he’d ever seen on land, her turquoise dress swirling like seafoam around her knees, the vest pulling tight across her shoulders as she feinted left, then darted right.

He anticipated her movement—or thought he did—until she ducked under his arm. He was caught by the storm in her eyes, and stilled, forgetting to turn. It cost him. She snagged the leather cord around his neck with the tip of her blade and sliced the necklace clean off. His brow went up as she triumphantly tucked her ill-gotten gains into her belt.

Snarling, half laughing with surprised admiration, he followed with a lunge that drove her backward until her shoulder met the railing. The sudden contact knocked a breath from her lips that he felt against his own. His arms bracketed her, the dagger forgotten in his hand as the magical light cast them both in its ethereal glow.

“Just like dancing—I’m only looking for excuses to get close to you,” his voice dropped to a husky whisper that barely carried over the creaking of the ship and the distant music.

The fire of comprehension in her expression bore more intrigue than disgust, and energized with his success, he pulled back, capturing her wrist so that she came with him. Letting her go where they had plenty of room for this back and forth, they circled each other, the firework-like show from the Sea Blessing glimmering around them in a spray of stars and sparkles.

“Why’d you leave your people to put yourself in such danger?” he asked, watching her every move.

“Ah, here comes the banter,” she sassed back, her feet light on the deck despite being so new to them. “Do you always talk so much when you’re fighting?”

“Only when I have plans for my prey—I think I’ll play with you before I eat you whole, like a lovely little mouse.”

She stepped back, the borrowed vest rising and falling with each quickened breath. “What does that make you? A barracuda? All teeth and no subtlety?”

He studied her flushed face, the way the ambient light caught in her eyes, turning them to liquid midnight. “I know you made a deal with Scylla,” he said. “What was it?”

Again, she refused to answer, instead she rounded on him, sweeping her leg in an arc that nearly caught his ankles—she was using dance moves against him, adapted with instinct that spoke of her royal sea heritage.

He dodged, but barely. Thessa was a fast learner. “Scylla visited me today,” he said.

Thessa turned with a sharp gasp, her dagger lowering. “What did she say?”

“You first. Why did you trade your siren’s voice to get legs? I want every detail.”

Her chin lifted in response, and she lunged at him again. He sidestepped, but not before capturing a tendril of her coppery hair with the sharp end of his blade. Grasp, tug, slice, and it was all his. He twisted the silky-smooth strand around his finger, admiring the unusual color before tucking it into his belt like a sweet lover’s remembrance.

She gasped, clutching at the shortened section of her hair, a fire in her soul that made the phosphorescence pale in comparison.

He stopped to catch his breath, because he wanted the rest of her. “Let’s play a game,” he said. “If I win, you tell me…everything I want to know. And if you win… I prove I’m the kind of man you can trust.”

“I can’t win against you.” The wind caught her words, carrying them over the rhythmic splash of waves against the hull.

Not at daggers, no, but she could win when it came to his heart. He sighed, and took out his flintlock pistol from his belt, the burnished brass and polished walnut cold against his palm. “Take it.” He folded her fingers over the grip. “There—just aim and shoot. Make sure you go for the heart. Take me out of my misery—it aches after what you’ve done to it.”

He was declaring his love, and carelessly so. Her black-eyed gaze widened at him.

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