Page 65 of Wicked Tides
Still, her face betrayed nothing. Not whether or not she was angry over the fact. Afraid. Disgusted. Instead, she let out a long breath as if in silent surrender and her eyes dropped to the bottle in my hand. She reached out, taking it from me and bringing it up so it met her lips. I watched when her eyes snapped back up to mine and she slowly took a drink. Then another. And another. Her lips hugged the mouth of the bottle with delicate grace and when she lowered it, her tongue slid across the corner of her mouth to catch a single drop of the drink before it fell.
The bottle was nearly empty when she handed it back to me and I watched as her black eyes transformed into a rainstorm gray. Her pale, skin gradually took on color right before my eyes until she was a fair ivory with rosy lips and long lashes. She was still thin with slenderfeatures that maintained the dangerous aura she possessed, but in a way that was… human.
“So I don’t spook your crew,” she said.
The way she looked was too familiar and a disturbing thought came to mind. Untrained eyes would never be able to tell the difference. Hell, even my eyes could barely see what she was anymore. She and women like her could so easily walk our streets undetected if they ever chose to.
“Can your sister do that?” I asked, suspicious.
“No. We are different.”
“Like a damn octopus,” I hissed, walking back to my chair. “Changing like that.”
“I change to suit my environment. Among rocks, I can look like stone. Among wood, I can look like wood. Among men…” She paused and then shrugged lightly. “Well, among men, I can hide what displeases them.”
I sat down, propping one ankle across my knee as I looked over her. I had plenty of new information to put in my records.
“Do you like this form better? Does it please you?” she asked.
“Stop.”
Her lips stretched ever so slightly as if she wanted to smile, but it was not out of joy. It was out of sick amusement. She knew the appeal she had. She could have looked like a fair maiden from the beginning and she chose not to. She liked how uneasy her beauty was otherwise. How it made men shiver. But there was one thing she clearly could not hide and that was the scar across her cheek. It had been made with bronze and could not be disguised. It locked her inside a body that had been terribly wounded in many ways. I glimpsed the slashes on her chest, which had almost completely disappeared, but imagined all of the scars beneath her clothing were still there, whether faint or not.
Near the wall was a wooden chest that I’d pulled from our cargo when Dahlia and her friend first came to the ship. It had other garments in it, all of similar size. Regarding the blood stains and rips in her shift, I decided to give her something else to wear. She watchedme stand and open the chest. From it, I pulled a pair of drawstring pants, a belt, and a shirt sized for a large man. I handed the clothes to her without a word and she took them, clearly a little taken aback by the fact that I’d offered them at all. But if we were entering into some kind of truce, I would rather not have her walking in something blood-stained. It defeated the purpose of her putting on a new face.
Setting the clothes on the table, Dahlia dropped her coat from her shoulders. She had no qualms about her nudity. Not like the ladies of land. I stood there as she slid her ruined shift off her body and stepped out of the bloodied fabric. As I suspected, each and every scar was still visible on her skin. Slashes, punctures, and even a large, crescent tear across her ribs that matched the jaws of a shark. I’d never seen a siren’s body so heavily marked.
And yet she was still fucking stunning. A sense of shame whispered through my thoughts as I ogled her feminine form.
When she reached for the new clothing, the way she turned her body gave me a glimpse of her back. My eyes narrowed on layers of crisscrossed markings. They were something I recognized all too well.
As she pulled up the pants, she caught me staring and slowed her movements, realizing where my eyes had gone.
“Those are lashings,” I said.
“Yes. You humans are fond of them.”
She lifted the shirt over her head, covering her body. She was swimming in it but belted it at the waist, making it seem more like a tunic.
“You’ve been captured before?”
She let out a breathy laugh like the question was ridiculous. “Captured. Whipped. Chained. Raped. Mocked.”
“By who?”
She shrugged again in a manner too casual to suggest she even cared. “A Russian man and his crew four years after the island. I was with them for a week, but they were so fond of their drink. I took a man’s cock with my teeth when he foolishly put it in my mouth. From there, it was carnage.” Her lip curled and as she swept her hair overone shoulder and began braiding it, she stepped toward me. “But don’t worry. You’re still the only man I’ve ever enjoyed the taste of.”
“I am not the only man to have wronged you, but I seem to be the only man toward which you’ve directed your ire for all that’s been done.”
“You’re still alive, Vidar. And… you were thefirstman to wrong me. The space you occupy in my nightmares is vast.”
“Have I made a mistake, Dahlia?” I muttered. “Should you still be in chains, behind bars?”
Her face hardened as she finished her long braid. “I should be dead,”she whispered.
~ 25 ~
Dahlia
