Macabre Melody: Reverse Harem Siren Romance (Spellsinger Book 7) Read online

  Just sing, Elaria; I will watch her for you.

  “You can do that?”

  I am here with you, my love. We will fight this battle together. Trust me.

  “I trust you, Ky. What are we singing?”

  I could feel his pride. Kyanite loved it when I said we and on top of that, I was trusting him as I would no other.

  “Gods of War” by Celeste Buckingham. I assume you are familiar?

  “You know I know it. Just start the intro already.”

  I couldn't attack before the announcers gave the word, but Jago told me I could start my songs; it was the same as stretching my muscles and warming up.

  The music was dramatic; a deep, pounding grind. Kyanite drew out the intro until the announcers shouted for us to fight. Then I closed my eyes and began to sing.

  The crowd gasped. The magic rose inside me. The pound of gorgon feet was a gentle vibration through the sand; I may not have felt it if the audience hadn't been so still. I pushed even that little sensation of the gorgon away; trusting in Kyanite as I concentrated on my magic. The song was a soft drawl, winding itself around and around with words that belied its tone. The magic lashed out, and I felt it connect. The Gorgon gasped; the sound closer than I expected.

  Dodge left!

  I jerked to the left and felt a movement of air beside me. I wondered if she'd make another lunge but she didn't. It was too late for her; my magic had her. She'd had one chance to startle me into opening my eyes and had failed. My spell seeped into her skin with my bold declaration; I was a goddess and even without the power I'd once possessed, I would rule. Blood. Fire. Death. These were my friends, my brothers in arms, and I knew them well. Kneel, bitch.

  My song went on long after the gorgon stopped screaming. I wanted to be certain that she was dead before I risked a look. When I opened my eyes, I saw her burning corpse laying beside me. Her snakes were blackened cords around her face and neck. The scent of roasting meat filled my nose, but I kept singing. I promised Slate I'd make every match entertaining after all. So, I sang as her corpse cracked open and the ashes started to blow away. I had to be sure that this gorgon hadn't died for nothing. She died for a little Sasq'et girl with flowers in her fur. Fair trade in my opinion.

  I turned in a circle—my arms out wide—and sang to the crowd. Every eye was on me, every face filled with wonder. The lyrics proclaimed my victory and dominance despite the collar I wore. I let the power of that fill me even though it couldn't seep past the ward to impress them. I didn't need to spellsing to amaze these beneathers. They all listened to my song raptly, and when I finished, they applauded like humans at a concert.

  Shit, maybe I was Russel Crowe. Nah; I was far more than a gladiator.

  I took a bow and then saluted Slate; a real salute this time. I, who have just killed for your entertainment, salute you. He bowed to me mockingly.

  Chapter Nine

  “Take it to the—”

  “The girl,” Jago finished for me. “I know, I know. She already has your damn dinner.”

  I lifted my brow at that.

  “I don't get you,” he grumbled. “You're a fucking bloodthirsty bitch in the arena and then you come back here and give your dinner to a kid.”

  “I'm a bloodthirsty bitch to save that kid,” I snapped. “Haven't you ever fought for someone other than yourself?”

  He scowled at me. “The boss wants to see you.”

  “I haven't showered.” I smirked. “I don't want to offend his delicate sensibilities. He looks a little metrosexual.” I flopped my hand loosely. “You know what I mean?”

  Jago burst out laughing and looked over his shoulder. “Oh, I hope you heard all that, Boss.”

  I followed his gaze, but I couldn't see the camera he was obviously talking to. Great; not only were there cameras I could see, but there were also some that I couldn't.

  “Is he seriously up there listening to every conversation we have?” I gave Jago a disgusted look.

  “Fuck if I know.” Jago shrugged. “He can't be watching everyone all the time—he's not that good—but he always seems to know the shit he needs to know. You know?”

  I blinked at him and said dryly, “That's a lot of knowing going on.”

  “Yeah; it's like playing Russian Roulette with cameras,” he went on. “Best to just keep yourself in line and outta firing range, you catch?”

  “Whatever.” I sighed.

  “Come on.” Jago started walking away but stopped when he realized I wasn't following. “What the hell?”

  “I don't feel like it.”

  “Don't make me get out my bug zapper,” he growled. “Get the fuck over here.”

  I sighed deeply and started following Jago. At least he didn't grab my arm anymore. He escorted me out of the cells and straight to Slate's office, but he didn't stop there. Jago opened the door on the left and went down a hallway to the second door on the left. The right side was all windows; a continuation of the ones in the office.

  I followed Jago into an opulent dining room. My dirty boots crushed sand into the crimson wool rug as we walked to the end of a mahogany dining set that could seat twenty. A priceless vase sat in the center of the table; no flowers in it, it was decoration enough. I noted its reflection in the polished wood and followed its hazy length to the watery image of the man seated at the head of the table. Slate Devon.

  I wanted to punch his smug face.

  Except it wasn't looking so smug tonight. Slate's reflection had been warped; making him appear cold and jaded. When I looked up at the man himself, he was more pensive than pompous. There were lines of strain around his eyes and his lips kept pressing together as if he didn't trust himself to speak. The silver in his gaze caught the gleam of the Art Deco wall sconces and in the warm light, they softened to honey. Slate smoothed a hand through his thick hair, and I realized that its color matched the table; a rich, auburn-brown.

  “Sit down, Elaria.” Slate waved a hand at the seat on his left. “You can go, Jago. I'll take her back myself.”

  Jago gave me a warning look as he shoved me into the seat and then booked it out of there. I scowled from his departing back to Slate's face. He wasn't looking at me; too busy passing me a plate of food. I glanced down as it was set before me; lamb smothered in demi-glace, mashed potatoes and butter, and sauteed vegetables cut into fancy shapes. What the hell?

  “Eat,” he said crisply.

  “You don't have to tell me twice.” I set to work on the food. Days of only bread and water had taken their toll. “Hold on.” My fork hovered above the fancy china. “This doesn't mean that the girl isn't eating, does it?”

  “Cease this ridiculous fiction!” Slate snapped; his eyes narrowing on me.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You can't possibly give a fuck about that girl,” he snarled.

  “Is she eating or not?”

  “She's had her champion's meal an hour ago,” Slate growled. “Eat the fucking food.”

  I scooped a spoonful of potatoes in my mouth and watched him as I ate it. What the hell was his problem?

  “Are you going to tell me why you're pretending to care about a sasquatch?” He snapped. “What's your angle?”

  “They prefer 'sasq'et,'” my voice was even and low; the angrier he got, the calmer I'd become. “And why exactly would I pretend?”

  “That's my question.” Slate leaned forward and stared hard at me.

  “What do you care?” I cocked my head at him. “We made a bargain, and I'm keeping my end of it; I'm filling your damn seats. What does it matter to you how I feel about the girl?”

  “Do you even know her name?” Slate asked.

  “No; I never had time to ask.” I chewed my lamb. “I was too busy trying to save her from the dickhead who grabbed us.”

  “That would be one of my men,” Slate murmured as he watched me. “A hunter.”

  “Hunter,” I scoffed. “He's a fucking coward who had better pray that I never find out his name.”
/>   “He was acting on my orders; so you have your name. But you're a little tied up at the moment to cross it off your killing list.” Slate leaned back in his chair and waved at my collar. “Can't do much of anything to anyone.”

  So, Slate Devon sent his gargoyle goons to catch us. Which meant that he likely sent them to catch the Sasq'ets too. I had been right; they'd died in the arena. But why put the bodies back? I frowned at him; I needed to feel this out a little more. Pick away at him until he bled the truth.

  “I did plenty to that gorgon today,” I said grimly. “I'll get out of here, and then I'm coming for you.” You fucking sadistic bastard. Did you watch them get skinned? Or did you turn away while your champion took his prizes?

  “A threat?” His eyes gleamed. “Not the best tactic in your position.”

  “You're right. I shouldn't have warned you.” Tell me more; go on and brag. “Forget I mentioned it.”

  Slate backtracked to the girl instead. “You don't even know her name but you care if she eats?”

  “My friend Cerberus asked me to help her people.” I waved at a bottle of wine between us. “You mind?”

  Slate's lips twitched into a quick smile. “Help yourself.”

  I poured myself a glass and took a sip. “Not bad.”

  “It should be better than not bad,” he said. “It's two-thousand dollars a bottle.”

  I widened my eyes at that. I've never understood spending that kind of money on wine, and I have lots of money to blow. Oh, I'm willing to dish out some dough for a better tasting beverage, but nothing tastes good enough to warrant two grand. That sip had proven it to me. In my opinion, it was a waste of money. You were literally pissing it away.

  “Anyway,” I went on, “they're Cer's friends, and Cerberus is my best friend. His people are my people. Her name doesn't matter; I swore I'd protect them. I'm not in a position to protect the others at the moment, but I will damn well do all I can to protect her.” I stared at him; waiting for him to say something about the Sasq'ets who died in his arena; to taunt me with the ones I couldn't save. But he didn't so I went on. “Regardless of all that; she's a child. People are supposed to protect children. It's an unspoken rule called morality.”

  “You don't have to put on this act with me,” he said in exasperation. “I work with thieves, murderers, and mercenaries. I'm impressed more by your prowess in the arena than by your sympathies for this girl.”

  “I don't give a gargoyle's fuck what impresses you, Devon,” I snapped. “You think that I planned this speech to make you like me? That's bullshit and you know it. I just fucking vowed to kill you. Why would I try to win you over after that?”

  “Are you always this crass?” He asked as if he were truly interested.

  “I adjust my speech to suit the situation,” I said in my queen tone. “As a champion,” I said the word snidely, “in a fighting arena, I think crass fits the bill. Lots of F-words and maybe even a few Cs and Ds. This pretty room doesn't change the fact that I'm still a prisoner.”

  He smirked. “Fair enough.” Then he frowned. “Are you talking about the C word that I think you're talking about?”

  “Cocksucker?” I asked sweetly.

  Slate burst out laughing; a guffaw of sound that just sort of popped out of him. He shook his head as if he couldn't believe I'd made him laugh and then sipped at his wine. His eyes were still full of that laughter when he lifted them to me. It made him attractive in a whole new way. A way that made my mouth dry. I looked determinedly down at my food.

  “Why do you find it so difficult to believe that I could care about a little girl?” I asked as I sliced into the lamb. “Jago said something about it too. Is it the same reason he's baffled; because I'm vicious in the arena?”

  Slate stared at me a few minutes—the amusement fading from his gaze—and then took a deep breath as he considered me further.

  I went back to eating. I wasn't going to keep asking the same question; he'd heard me just fine. Besides, the lamb was good; better than the wine. I still drank my whole glass and then poured another; if for no other reason than to waste his money. But even that didn't break Slate's stony stare. Stony. I almost giggled at that.

  “I've heard things about you,” he finally said. “They haven't been the most... flattering.”

  I stopped eating. Put my fork down. Took a sip of wine. Not too much; it might sour in my stomach with the shit he was bringing up.

  “Are you going to respond to that?” Slate didn't have my patience.

  “What did you hear?” I asked in a conversational tone. “That I'm a killer? That I'm heartless. That I nearly destroyed an entire race? An entire planet? That I brutalized my own people? My own parents?”

  His eyes widened at the last bit.

  “It's all true,” I said grimly. “Except for the heartless part. It turns out that even killers can love. Who would have thought?”

  “That's it?” Slate asked furiously. “It's all true?”

  “I'm not going to sit here and explain my actions to you. Frankly, what I did is none of your fucking business. It had nothing to do with you or your people. What I felt back then is none of your business, and what I feel now, about the girl, is none of your business. The only thing you have a right to be concerned about is the bargain we made; that's it.”

  “You asked why I was shocked,” he pointed out. “You made it my business. I don't give a fuck about your feelings, Elaria. Everyone has issues; keep yours to yourself. I'm just telling you why I don't believe you.”

  “Fine.” I went back to eating. “We've established that you think I'm a murderous bitch incapable of caring for a child. Glad we got that out of the way.” And right back atcha, asshole.

  “You will accept the meals you've won from here forward,” Slate said imperiously. “I can't have my prize-champion falling over from malnutrition.”

  “We had a deal,” I growled around my mouthful of veggies.

  “I'll feed the girl too,” he snapped. “Her name is Tessa, by the way.”

  “How the hell did you find out her name?” I grumbled.

  “I told you, Elaria; I hear everything.” He leaned back in his seat and stared at me smugly.

  “I thought you saw everything?”

  “That too.”

  “How did you become a zone lord?” I asked him suddenly. Let's shake things up a bit.

  “We're making dinner conversation now?” He asked in surprise.

  “I only have Jago to talk to,” I muttered. “They moved Cerberus.”

  Slate chuckled. “Every gargoyle covets this position. It's power and prestige; not just among the Gargoyles but among all Beneathers. This is my world; subject to my whims.”

  “You make this place yourself?” That's right; sink back into a casual conversation; get him talking. Sure, I could come out and ask him about the Sasq'ets, but I wouldn't trust what he said. It needed to be a slip of the tongue.

  “My brothers and I made this zone.” His face softened. “They don't have the head for business that I do.”

  “So, you got to be the leader?”

  “That's right.” Slate considered me. “Since we're talking like civilized people; I've heard that you have five lovers. How did that happen?”

  I nearly spewed expensive wine all over the table. “You do hear a lot, don't you?”

  He smiled and looked me over. “You're beautiful, but not the sort of beauty I'd imagine could sway five men into sharing one woman.”

  “Yeah; I know.” I smiled at him instead of being insulted. Truth was truth; no sense getting upset over it. “I guess I'm just lucky.”

  Something in my face must have betrayed me because Slate's smirk disappeared and he leaned forward to stare harder.

  “How did it happen?” He asked again.

  “How did I get five lovers?” I asked just to mess with him and draw it out.

  He nodded; unruffled.

  “They're not just my lovers, by the way.” I sipped my wine and
stared back. Maybe if I gave him a little, he'd loosen up and do the same. “Four are of them are my fiances, and the last is my mate. He didn't want a ceremony; said it was unnecessary. We're already bound tighter than any words could bind us.”

  “The griffin,” Slate said.

  “Sounds as if you don't need me to tell you my stories.” I went back to eating. “You got me all figured out,” my tone implied that he never would.

  “You're the one who wanted conversation,” he pointed out.

  I looked up as I chewed. He lifted a dark brow at me in challenge.