Page 58 of Siren's Kiss & Feral Beasts
“Correct.”
“You don’t sound impressed.” Not a question, and she shrugs. “Fine. Hit me with it.”
“That’s child’s play, and you know it. You’re not a witch, but your abilities and intuition are sharp; don’t deny it. Lean into it.”
“Are you going to wax a poetic soliloquy on traditional herbs and their underrated usage in modern magic?” That earned me a flick to the forehead, but she was laughing, so I call it a win. Then her amusement slips, and I know this face. Serious. Worried. “You have news from Morvane?”
She nods, eyes assessing me. “Claims are circulating that Lord Severus has been…impatientlately. Annoyed by a certain visitor requesting his help in finding a family member.”
“My grandfather?”
“Yes. He’s been making the rounds a lot more frequently than usual.” Elara hums, shaking her head. “Many in town are comparing him to a caged wolf, of all things. He’s also asking about you, showing pictures, but no one’s seen you with the cloak on. You’re invisible, and it’s creating problems that go beyond bringing a wayward granddaughter home.”
My stomach tightens. “He’s getting desperate, but why? What is he planning?”
“I’d know if you’d allow me to do a reading on you. Just a five-card spread would help here.” The deadpan look that follows makes me want to flickher.
“Maybe next week?”
“Are you asking or telling?”
“Not sure, but I’m not ready to know how this plays out.”
“It’d be a huge help, Neri.” Whenever she calls me that, I’m reminded of Naia. We grew up together, went to school together, and shared so many milestones. From gaining our sharp little fangs, to one day waking up with breasts and having to havethetalkwith my grandmother, Naia was a constant at the palace, always spending more time with us than her family, and eventually she just moved in.
I treated her like a sister. Love her like family.
Yet she betrayed me, but how deep does that betrayal run?
“…besides, according to people who work in the old manor, your grandmother isn’t doing well.” That snaps me back to the present, a lump forming in my throat, but I remain quiet. Let her talk. “There are whispers about the stone, the one the women in your family gift to their mates, and the lack of one around KingAtlas’s neck. Not on his son-in-law’s. Not on yours when you lived there.”
“Why do I feel like this is about to get worse?”
“Because it is.” Elara gives me an apologetic look, one laced with pity. “Nerissa, your grandfather is telling anyone who will listen that you stole it. That you hurt your grandmother out of hatred.”
For the rest of the day, those eight words repeat in my head like a never-ending mixtape.
That you hurt your grandmother out of hatred.
It follows me to the coffee shop, the apartment I’m sharing with Elara, and then on my walk later that night. The moon’s silver light casts long shadows along the wet sand while salt tangs the air. It’s soothing and familiar, like a warm blanket you enjoy on cold days, and I keep close to the shoreline so the water can lap on my bare feet.
I try to reconcile the man I knew with who he is showing himself to be.
I try to test my reach beyond this beach, to pick up any lingering messages carried back to me by someone I love. Tonight, there is nothing but silence, until…
A scream rends the air.
It tears through the quiet, and my pulse leaps a second before I take off running. Feet pounding, I sprint toward the sound, sand slipping beneath my steps and I almost fall. It takes a second I don’t have to lose to right myself, but I do, heart hammering against my ribs.
“Elara!” I yell out the closer to her shop I get, rounding the corner, and the world tilts into chaos. My friend, the woman who gave me refuge, is on her knees with a knife at her throat. Shadows move too fast for me to make sense of what I’m seeing—but I know.
Metallic. Old. Patchouli.
Vampires, elegant and cruel, terrorize villagers. They’re breaking windows, smashing doors, and yanking innocent witches into the town’s plaza. Some are pushed to their knees; others are herded to a cart, and I’m frozen in place until something strikes the back of my head.
Pain explodes and darkness claims me.
I don’t knowhow long I’ve been out, but I wake up in an opulent room so polished it hurts my eyes. Vintage florals, blood-red silks and velvet—gold picture frames and lighting fixtures with added gold filigree on everything. Multiples of them in every square inch of this space. Then there are the paintings: gardens, a wildflower field, and a countryside with more flowers. Lots of flowers.
