Page 54 of Siren's Kiss & Feral Beasts
A growl rumbles through my chest. Brave bastard.
“What’s your name?”
“Maleth Sinclair.”
I study him, weighing the steel in his voice, the determination to find his mate, and how he carries the hollow ache of her absence.
“Betray me, Maleth, and I’ll feed your entrails to the predators below.”
A smile curves at his split lip. “Fair enough.”
“Good. Now go take care of your first job.” I point in the direction of the crying caretaker. “Make sure he doesn’t live much longer, then help set up the victims on the boat. They need to head east and stay east. The waters on this side of the world are about to get bloody.”
20
KAI
Four months.
The sea has turned colder, sharper, as though each wave is a reminder of how long I’ve hunted her shadow. Months of chasing the pull, an invisible tether that yanks at my chest, and it whispersnorth. Always fucking north.
My men sense it. The desperation is growing inside me.
With each passing day, I’m more irritable. My beast, their alpha, constantly growling inside my chest—a wolf’s cry for his mate. The lament of an unfinished bond.
Torren’s discipline keeps the crew on task, Otto’s learned to keep the wheel steady with unshakeable discipline, and Maleth—the silver-eyed, silent, and ruthless hybrid—watches the horizon as if he expects the vampire coven to rise from the sea itself.
Everyone is on edge. Something feels off.
My pack members do their jobs without question, always vigilant, knowing that when their alpha hunts, they do too. That a safe crew gets home to their families and mates, if they have one.
Many don’t. I prefer it that way.
Understand the damage it causes now more than ever.
Still, the emptiness gnaws at me. Between the western pack and the northern stronghold lies nothing but barren land, high peaks or flat jungles, while the winds coming off the frigid waters below bite like teeth. The western sea fades behind us as the northern waters claim their place.
Mar De Marea Plateadasis named correctly for that alone.
Cold. Desolate. And the further north you go, the air itself feels thinner and the daylight becomes weak.
Why would she come here?
The Liora Isle is just beyond the horizon, the last semi-warm settlement before the frigid cold truly hits. The island is mostly used by travelers and traders as a pitstop to shop or sell their items before heading back to warmer waters. Most of those who come here are from the west, work, or have permission from the vampires to settle here…except for my wolves.
They serve me, not the vampires, and it irks the pompous blood bags.
“We’re going to check out the packs while we’re here. I want a wellness check.” My voice carries across the ship, and I get a low, affirmative howl from everyone in response. No sooner do they respond than we pass the far edge of Liora, and my nostrils flare. The wind shifts, and my chest tightens, breath caught in my throat because beneath the salt and pine trees that grow here, I smell her.
Nerissa.
My grip tightens on the gunwale until the wood groans, a few fibers splintering as my heart beats inside my chest like a war drum. Every beat is for her. My wolf rumbles in my chest, and he pushes forward—almost forces a shift, and I fight back to keep him aboard.
He’s demanding I go find her. Now. She’s ours.
“Alpha?” Otto calls from the helm, catching the look on my face.
“Dock here.”
