Page 58 of The Sea of Zemira (The Zemiran Chronicles 1)

“What the hell was that?” she whispered to herself, waiting to see if any of her mates woke from the sound.

* * *

Morning came quickly as if Nola had simply blinked.

She looked over at Lincoln, who was still sound asleep—her body molding comfortably into his arms. She pressed her nose against his shirt, inhaling his scent, and felt him shift, moaning into her hair, but his eyes remained closed. The feeling of belonging consumed her. His touch, smell—everything.

She wondered if he felt the same way. It was too soon, but she could not shake that kiss the night before from her mind.

Nola looked up through the canvas screen lining the tent’s ceiling, with her arm still wrapped over Lincoln’s chest. The sun had barely risen—the moon no longer above them.

A low crumble gurgled from her stomach—she needed to eat.

She scurried out of bed, pulling a dress over her head, and exited the tent. A few of the town folk were already bustling about and opening their shops. Others seemed to be decorating the stage and setting the tables. Everything looked oddly similar to the night before.

Hmm, they cleaned up last night’s mess quite quickly,she thought.

Nola took that as an opportunity to explore the small town before the crew awoke.

As she stepped onto the grass, her ears opened to loud screams echoing in the distance. She panted, feeling anxiety slap at her chest.

The siren tried looking past the eerie haze creeping through the trees, but it was nearly impossible to peer through the main road.

The lush green meadow tickled between her toes, but when she looked down, the grass shriveled into decay—the dry twigs slicing into her skin. Nola stepped back, aghast. Her brows pulled together. She ran her hand through her hair nervously and looked up as she heard a rustling noise coming from behind a tree in the distance.

“Hello,” Nola heard from behind her, drawing her attention away from the haunting surroundings.

She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling her nerves jump from the sound of her voice.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” a small woman said. “We’ve not met before. I’m Sugar.” She held out her hand. “I hear you are part of the pirate’s crew. I’ve never met a real pirate before.”

“Oh, no,” Nola corrected, “I’m not a pirate. I’m just traveling with them.”

The woman looked to be the height of a small child, but she was very much a woman. Her breasts were large, her hips wide, her hair a peachy hue, like a brightly lit sunset. Her skin was pale, with black freckles below her eyes, and right above her top lip was the faint scruff of a mustache.

“I’ve heard my people talking about you,” she said, holding out her hand for Nola to take.

Can this get any creepier? Nola thought.

“Oh?” she said in reply but felt reluctant to give her the greeting the woman wanted. Instead, Nola stepped back.

The small lady gave Nola an unusual expression but seemed to brush it off as she perked up. “Yes, we are all so delighted to have you here with us.” She tilted her head. “It’s been nearly a decade since we’ve had visitors who stayed more than an afternoon.”

“That’s quite a long time,” Nola responded flatly.

“Too long, really. I do remember the boats that pulled up to the shore...” her voice trailed off. “Are you staying for the festival tonight?”

Nola blinked as a strange chill washed over her, but then her body went taut with raw fear as a loud explosion rang in her ears, causing her to jerk back. The siren stumbled over her feet. Her bare heels hit the stone-covered road, feeling the rocks pierce her skin. When she looked over her shoulder, the woman took off sprinting, disappearing into the fog creeping over the street like a flowing, translucent river.

The festival? Again?Nola thought, a little disoriented.

The wind blew a chilly breeze against her cheeks. The moisture from the fog rolling over her skin felt slimy. She tried, unsuccessfully, to wipe it away with her sleeve.

“Right,” Nola said aloud, “because that was not weird.”

As the fog cleared out, she began to see more tents with a few signs connected to them. She had reached the part of town where all the vendors had their small businesses. One of the tents, a red one with colorful rags and beaded strands hanging from the top, caught her eye. The sign was freshly painted, so she assumed someone was inside.

“Hello?” she called as she walked through the beaded curtain door.

---