Page 21 of Of Rime and Ruin
The water stills, framing an image in the icy haze. There she is. A female with a golden tail, curly hair, and warm brown skin, tucked into a ball in my dungeon. I’ve seen those scales before. Right here in my sight-pool.
I clutch my pec, brushing a thumb over my sore nipple, and my rage flares.
Intruder. Spy.
She penetrated my domain. I remember what drove me to transform. Why I hunted her. She’s dangerous. Unwelcome.
And very much alive.
“Bring her to me,” I growl.
***
Igripthearmsof my polished darkwood throne. The room has none of the glacial grandeur of my ancestral hall beneath the waves, but it’s impressive in other ways. Imported darkwood beams hold the ceiling high, creating an echo chamber. Thick fur hangs from the walls to keep the cold at bay. I’ve added my touch—a crystal chandelier suspends from the ceiling, each delicate piece formed with magic.
My guards stand at the door, tridents held at the ready. Torches are posted on either side of me, providing the only light in the room.
Before me kneels the siren, bound in ice. I’ve trapped her ankles, cuffed her hands. The frost isn’t cold enough to harm her skin, just to hold her until I get the information I need. She wears a servant’s cloak, her full breasts pressing against the constraints of the rough fabric. Are thosestarfishunderneath?
The female, on her knees, bends her neck to glare at me.
Bold.
I study her face. Features full, smoothed by magic—round ears and soft jaw. A constellation of golden freckles decorates her cheeks, the same color as her tail. Long, thick eyelashes. Her gaze hardens under my scrutiny.
She’s beautiful. But it’s not enough to soften my resolve. If she wanted a warmer welcome, she shouldn’t have come here. I don’t play games, and I don’t take kindly to visitors.
Visitors are a liability.
“I’m not known for my compassion, siren spy. Don’t expect to be here much longer.” My voice rumbles through the room. Her eyes widen at the sound.
“I’m not a spy, I’m a—”
“Death-dealer then? You’re doing a shit job of it. Go on.” I lean forward, tilting my head to the side to expose my neck. With a low, rumbling hum of magic, I melt the ice from her hands to give her an opening. “Here’s your shot.”
The guards shift, angling their tridents.
She appraises my neck. Her gaze traces the angle, the slope of my muscles, and her jaw flexes. Is she plotting her aim? I lean closer, stretching. If she’s here to kill me, she might as well get it over with.
“Well?”
Her lip quivers, but she says nothing. Pathetic.
How much encouragement does she need? I stand from my seat and stalk forward. My furs drag along the wooden floor. She’s small. Looming over her, I easily double her height. Did she honestly think she could best me? How cute.
She recoils, a gasp escaping her.
I squat before her and angle my neck once more. When she makes no move, I seize her wrist and place her hand on my neck. Her fingers are cold. Smooth. Her breath spills over me, sweet as vanilla. Up close, her brown eyes are speckled with green.
But she does not kill me. Doesn’t even try.
Pity, that.
I release her hand, and it drops to her lap with a dull sound of surrender. My Voice rumbles, and ice reforms around her wrist, binding her once more. I straighten, standing before her as she stares at my feet.
“Thought not. Tell me, siren, who sent you?”
“I sent myself.”
