Page 51 of Siren's Treasure

“Raggon!” she called out a warning. But he didn’t move, his shoulders steeling against the coming impact of meeting up with his brother. The dragon’s shadow fell over him, blotting out the dappled sunlight as the creature slowed before him, like a dog rushing to the aid of its master.

A sound that could almost be called sympathetic trembled through the winding throat, before a massive head lowered until it was level with Raggon’s chest. Steam rose from nostrilsin gentle puffs that stirred Raggon’s sweat-dampened hair, the next instant, it sniffed curiously at his injured hand.

Seeming to steady himself, Raggon reached out tentatively, his bloodied hand trembling as he moved his palm toward the creature’s chest. His fingers touched the crimson scales of the underbelly, the contact sounding eerily like the thud of a drum.

The dragon remained perfectly still, almost docile, under his brother’s hand. Gold eyes flickered, the vertical slits widening and contracting until they widened into warm brown orbs—human eyes in a monster’s face.

Raggon’s hands traveled to the sea steel molded against the dragon’s neck like a barnacle to a ship’s hull. His fingers traced the unyielding material until it disappeared into Tobias’s scaled throat where flesh and metal met in an unholy union. The dark iron had to still be intact under the flesh, intertwined with the sea steel in a malevolent binding circle that kept the dragon from shifting. Perhaps when the dark iron fully dissolved, the silvery metal might finally fall away—but by then, the curse would be irreversible, his brother lost forever to this monstrous form.

“Thessa,” Raggon said quietly, his voice barely audible above the waterfall’s roar. “Bring the blade.”

She moved with deliberate care, trying to hurry without startling his brother away. Undine’s Blade felt heavy in her hand; its mermaid-blessed hilt pulsing with an inner light that matched the rhythm of her racing heart.

Raggon watched her with a desperate look that broke her heart. If she failed to free Tobias from this curse? Well, she couldn’t. She studied the Typhon’s Kiss, deciding that cutting through the still visible sea steel would cause the least amount of damage.

She told herself to concentrate, her hands to be precise. Steady. Steady! Lifting the blade with trembling fingers, she froze in place.

The power of the siren call reached her before the sound did, snapping her joints into the frame of a statue. Thessa recognized her own voice with shock, the lilting notes that once flowed through her own throat and knew what was happening when her muscles locked painfully. She could neither turn nor speak, trapped within her body like a prisoner.

Horror spread over Raggon’s face as the dragon’s eyes shifted back to its bestial gold, its animalistic gaze homing in on the figure slithering forward from the jungle’s edge.

Circe had come, terrifying in her beauty. Her black shadowsilk rustled like insect wings as she invaded the clearing. The low neckline revealing pale skin that glowed with an unholy light. Blood-red eyes gleamed from a face made more unsettling by crimson paint smeared around her eyes in a grotesque mask. Around her throat hung the shell necklace that once belonged to Thessa’s mother—a sacrilege that made bile rise in her daughter’s throat.

What was happening? Scylla had made a deal with Thessa not to use her voice until two days’ time. The appointed hour hadn’t been reached yet! Thessa couldn’t voice her objection, couldn’t move, trapped in the honeyed cage of her stolen voice. Thessa’s eyes burned with unshed tears. The ache of home sliced through her at every familiar, haunting note.

The Land Witch’s long black hair cascaded freely down her back, the glossy strands partially concealing the writhing mass of red and black tentacles that erupted from between her shoulder blades. Each appendage moved with independent purpose, their surfaces slick with slime that caught the golden light of the sinking sun.

One of those dreadful appendages seized on Raggon, coiling around his throat and chest with frightening speed. Thessa’s screams caught against her tongue, unable to find release.Would Circe strangle the man who’d come to mean everything to her?

Raggon was powerless against the melody of Thessa’s stolen voice. “Ah, my betrothed… how dare you run from me?” Circe purred out in her song. Her ruby lips curved into a smile that never reached her crimson eyes. The tentacles tightened, lifting him off his feet.

Veins stood out on his forehead as he fought for each breath, his eyes never leaving Thessa’s, even as Circe placed a chain over his neck. Thessa gasped when she saw it was made of the same sea steel that kept his brother from shifting! No, no! They’d come so far, only to be stopped with a trick!

“You won’t be so free now that I have your brother,” Circe sang out.

Another tentacle shot through the air to muzzle Tobias’s snout with a chain of bones. Additional tentacles wielding chains made of less gruesome material, pinned the dragon’s wings to its side with the iron’s sickening crunch. She’d effectively bound the powerful princes with every trap in her arsenal.

Sterling flew in frantic circles above them, joining the other birds in the clearing unaffected by her song. “Dead men sing no tales! Beware the witch of eight arms!” the parrot shrieked, diving recklessly close to Circe’s head before retreating to the safety of the canopy.

Yeah, got it, Sterling—she’s here. Thanks for the well-timed warning!

The instant the dragon was secured, the witch stopped the siren song abruptly… making Thessa want to weep, wishing it would bless her again with its notes, which was… incomprehensible!

Raggon dropped to the ground, gasping and coughing, his eyes raging with fire.

Thessa’s voice returned in a rush that nearly choked her. “How is it you have my powers?” she shouted, the present sound rushing over her tongue feeling crude and unnatural after she’d heard the real thing. “Scylla was not given permission to use it until two days had passed.”

The witch made a mocking pout with her blood-red lips. “Scylla, my dear, has no permission, but surely,Iam not bound by your promise, am I?”

So, this was how Circe would cheat through her bargain? Her father had warned her to beware of Scylla’s deceit!

Circe’s armies moved through the jungle behind her; their loud approach brought with them a wave of destruction. Their leader was a hulking brute with a matted black beard and rheumy eyes that gleamed with cruel intelligence. His elaborate captain’s coat hung open, revealing a chest covered in crude tattoos and scars.

He shoved a familiar figure ahead of him. “We have more of your friends with us,” he crooned. The elegantly dressed man before him looked worse for wear, a nasty bruise discoloring his aristocratic features, standing out starkly against skin lined with age, and still Thessa sagged with relief at seeing him.

“Morris,” Raggon called out in breathless anguish. “You’re alive!”

Determination burned in the older man’s eyes despite his disheveled appearance. His posture remained regal even with his hands bound before him. “Just so, Your Majesty,” he replied, his gaze was steady.

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