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

  “Got any more wine?”

  Slate chuckled and stood.

  “Well, fuck me,” I whispered as his body was revealed. And no; that wasn't a Freudian slip. I was just surprised, and I was slipping further into my champion—Cerberus inspired—potty mouth.

  Slate scowled at me. “What?”

  “I just...” I waved at the sculpted perfection of his body; the muscles that came on full display beneath his tight, black shirt and jeans.

  Slate was taller than Jago and formed in a sleeker way. Not too big, not too lean; just fucking perfect. Like a predator cat. His shoulders, the expanse of his chest, his biceps, even his damn thighs; everything looked built to chase prey and kill it efficiently. I was used to an in-your-face type of masculinity, but Slate was something more subtle; more pervasive and insidious. He was a spark to the senses followed by a slow burn that rose higher until it became an inferno.

  I'd been too focused on fury before, and he'd been half covered by furniture and a tailored suit; looking all harmless, all businessman and zone lord. Now, he was in bad boy attire with his bad self on display. Sly move. I wondered if he'd done it on purpose. If he knew the effect he had. Had he heard my comment about his metrosexual look and decided to change into this... GQ biker ensemble? I analyzed his confused expression and wasn't sure. So, I decided to tell him the truth and see what he did with it. Maybe it would unsettle him enough to relax his guard around me; figuratively and literally. In fact, I might even lay it on thick just for fun.

  “I wasn't expecting all of that. You need to prepare a girl before you put that in her face.” I waved a hand in floppy circles at his chest. “I'm sitting right here; like a foot away from you. It's a lot to get slammed with. What are you, like, built out of marble? Did your mama carve you outta stone? Are you literally a chip off the old block?”

  Slate stared at me in shock for three seconds before another surprised bark of laughter shot out of him. I giggled a little too; I might have taken it a bit far. Rolling with the moment.

  “I think that's the most adorable compliment—or string of compliments—I've ever received,” Slate murmured as his eyes heated.

  “Whoa now, buddy.” I held up my fork between us as my smile faded. “I didn't mean anything by that. Just an observation. Five men, remember?”

  His smile lost a sliver of its radiance, but Slate wasn't the sort of man to be dissuaded by competition. In fact, it looked as if he was the type who was intrigued by it. As his eyes wandered over me, I realized that my little bit of fun may have just been a red flag waved in front of a gargantuan bull. Gargoyle-gantuan.

  “Hey! Knock off the lust look.” I swung my fork back and forth in front of Slate's face. “You don't even like me. I'm a murderous bitch.”

  Slate's grin disappeared entirely, and he turned crisply on his heels. I thought I heard him mutter something like, “So, everyone keeps telling me,” as he strode through a door behind his chair. I frowned after him, and then quickly slipped my knife under my shirt. I wished I was still wearing my sweater; it would have hidden the knife better. But Jago had brought me a few sets of prison clothes—black cotton tunics and pants—and taken my sweater and jeans. At least the top was loose. If I sucked in my stomach, the knife handle shouldn't show.

  Slate came back a few minutes later with a fresh bottle of wine—already opened—and his usual, arrogant expression firmly in place.

  He poured me another glass and then resumed his seat. “You were going to tell me how you managed to convince five men to share you.”

  “How I managed.” I chuckled. “You've got a knack for being a dick, don't you?”

  “It's a gift and a curse.” He held out his hands in a what-can-you-do gesture.

  That earned him a giggle.

  “I collected them one at a time.” I shrugged. “Torin was first, and then I met Declan. I thought Torin had cheated on me so I left him. Declan tracked me down, I nearly got together with him, but Torin interrupted us. Cleared up a few things; found out he hadn't cheated. Got back with Torin. Meanwhile, Banning kept telling me that we were meant to be together because we'd been in love in a past life.”

  “A past life?” Slate asked in derision.

  “Yeah, I know.” I smirked. “I was convinced he was pulling a Dracula on me, but it happened to be true. I know it for a fact; got the memories to prove it.”

  “What? Reincarnation?” He scoffed.

  “Hard to believe, don't I know it,” I said. “But, it's true, and what Banning told me was true as well. I loved him; still do. So, there I was; in love with two men and falling for a third when my parents and several of my aunts got kidnapped by one of my father's best friends.”

  Slate lifted his brows.

  “Oh, your little spy network didn't tell you about the sirens being stolen by a witch?” I asked gleefully. I was getting into this. Talking about it all felt cathartic. “The man's name was Thomas Frost, and he created a spell called the Rooster. It gave him power over the sirens; sexual power. He kidnapped them and put them under his thrall. Used them. Made them his little hen harem.” I stopped to grind my teeth together; remembering what he'd done to my family. “A group of us went after Frost, and I killed him. As he died, he cast the Rooster on me.”

  “He cast a spell on you that he'd already cast on himself?” Slate asked; obviously intrigued, despite himself.

  “Yep.” I nodded. “Magic wants to live. It left him eagerly, clung to me, and did exactly what he knew it would do; fucked with my life. Even after death, that man continued to torment me.”

  Slate frowned and then his eyes widened. “It made you want more than one lover.”

  “It made me need more than one. Several, in fact,” I said. “I won't go into the torrid details, but it took awhile for Torin to come around. For awhile there, it was only Declan and Banning, but they weren't enough to satisfy the spell. It needed energy, and it started consuming me from within; literally burning me out. I had to find another man and fast.”

  “The griffin.”

  “The griffin,” I confirmed. “Gage. A witch cast a spell for me; to draw to me the man I was meant to be with. It brought me Gage. He's the first griffin to take a non-griffin mate.”

  “The other griffins, his family, they're okay with your... relationship?” Slate asked.

  “They are,” I said with a little of my own surprise. “Griffins value strength and a spellsinger is even better than a griffin in their opinion. Worth the sacrifice. I'm a rare bird.”

  “So you are,” he murmured. “That's four. What about the fifth?”

  I looked Slate over; considering whether I wanted to go into the whole goddess thing. I didn't. That would lead to other questions that I didn't want to answer.

  “Darcraxis,” I said. “Darc came along last... and first.” I made a huffing sound of amusement. My life was so strange.

  Slate cocked his head.

  “But that's a story I'm not willing to share.” I went back to eating.

  “Fair enough,” he said softly. “So, how are you liking the fights I've chosen for you?”

  I gave him a fuck-you look.

  Slate chortled. “Excellent. That was just the reaction that I was hoping for.”

  “I'll bet it was,” I said and then frowned. “Is it because of those rumors you've heard? Is that why you're giving me hell?”

  Slate shrugged. “Would that bother you?”

  “No; it would make sense to me. But you don't seem like the type to torture a stranger based on rumor.” I narrowed my eyes at him thoughtfully.

  “You confirmed the rumors,” he reminded me.

  “Just now.”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps I was bored.”

  “So, you said to yourself, 'Hey, Slate, let's go fuck with that bitch over there. We heard some nasty stuff about her; that's enough justification to torture someone, right?'”

  Slate chuckled. “Something like that.”

  I started eating again. When ha
d this become about me? I was supposed to be getting him to talk, not the other way around. It pissed me off.

  “You're not going to try to change my mind about you?” He asked.

  “I told you; I don't care what you think.”

  “Even if it affects your well-being?” Slate's voice lowered to a dangerous tone.

  I sighed deeply and set down my fork before I met his stare. Something was squeezing tight inside me. Guilt; it could crush you if you let it. I decided to face it instead. Know thyself. It was good advice. I knew that ignoring my guilt wouldn't just poison me, it would give Slate power over me. He said that he worked with thieves and murderers; surely he recognized the same qualities in me. Better to just acknowledge it all and keep it real... on both sides.

  “I deserve everything you dish out, Devon. But does that make it right for you to cook it up?” I lifted a brow and stared steadily at him. I may be a murderer, but so are you, buddy. “Or does that make you a monster too?”

  Slate scowled and sat back in his seat. He stared at me in silence while I finished my meal, and then he walked me back to my cell in silence. As soon as I was inside, he threw me against the wall; quick as a snake. I gasped as Slate pressed his body against mine; showing me exactly how hard those muscles were. My heart was pounding in my throat. His stare wavered; dropped to my lips. I could barely breathe; he was pressed so tightly against me. He eased back enough to slide a hand beneath my shirt. I shivered; a jolt of shocked fear. Was he seriously going to rape me after all that?

  Slate's fingertips trailed over the bare skin of my belly. Oh, sweet stones, was it even going to be rape? Come on, Elaria; fight him! I was about to thrash against his grip when his fingers closed around the handle of the knife I'd stuck into my pants. My face flushed as he pulled it slowly out; sliding it up my side, over the outer curve of my breast, and then he set it against my throat.

  Slate's face was pressed against my cheek. He whispered in my ear, “I see everything.”

  Then his heat and hardness were gone. I stumbled. Shivered. After the steel door shut, Slate stared at me through the barred window; his eyes glinting like the blade he'd taken from me.

  “The worst is yet to come.”

  Chapter Ten

  I sat on my poor excuse for a bed and stared at the steel door before me for a long time. At the bars. The lock. The handle. Even the rivets. They all blurred together as the memories overtook me.

  Gage lying dead before me. The awful churning in my stomach that ultimately freed me. Then the horrifying realization of what I'd done. Not just to him but to all of those innocent people. Shining Ones. Immortals who weren't immortal anymore. I heard the screams again. Smelled the smoke of their burning flesh. And I felt the power surging through me.

  I ran for the toilet and vomited violently. When I'd wasted all my dinner, I stumbled to my feet and rinsed out my mouth at the tiny sink. Head hanging, I rolled my gaze up to my reflection; part of me dreading what I'd see. Has the monstrosity twisted my face? Has it made its way to the surface? But it was only me staring back. My chin trailing water. My eyes haunted. I stared at the rounded collar circling my throat like a noose waiting to hang me. Or a snake about to strike.

  I wiped off my mouth and went back to bed. I stripped down to my underwear and slipped beneath the blanket, but I didn't lie down. I pressed my back against the wall and tried to hold back the memories with the motion. I'd been doing so well ignoring the pain; focusing on my lovers and planning our weddings. Focusing on my people and protecting Kyanite. On anything but remembering.

  Here, it seemed as if that was all I did.

  Hadn't I thought about this? That maybe I was the one who should be hunted. It seemed as if the Universe was having a big laugh at my expense. Or perhaps it was giving me what I needed; a karmic slap and a purgative. My mind needed to vomit as my body had. Deep down, I knew I wasn't entirely to blame for what had happened. But my problem wasn't with my subconscious; it was right there, raging on the surface of my conscious mind. In my face, showing me the stains Faenestra had left on my soul. On our soul.

  The problem was, even if I accepted that Faenestra was the villain of my tale, I couldn't blame her for every foul deed. She hadn't been around when I'd slaughtered the Sapphire Kingdom, or when I burned a bunch of blooder mercenaries, or nearly destroyed an entire planet of Jotun. She'd been trapped in a black orb when I'd turned lovers against each other and made one kill the other. I hadn't even known about Faenestra when I made a blooder woman bleed just because she'd hit on Banning. Faenestra had been ten times as bad as I had been, but I didn't think for one second that her being gone had made me good.

  No; I had been heading towards her long before she was freed. Every new power, every ounce of fresh strength, had made me a little more like her. Being in that arena—forced to kill every day—was reconnecting me with that ruthless side of myself that I'd thought I'd cut away. There, in that cell, pressed against a cold stone wall, I was hit with a harsh realization. An epiphany of sorts. It wasn't the lack of Faenestra that had turned me back into Elaria; it was the lack of her power. And if I kept walking this road—the same one I'd been on before I'd released her—I'd become her again. Except for this time, there would be no saving me with a soul-severing dagger.

  A purgative was exactly what I needed. A purge of my soul. I couldn't let myself become that person again. And that meant that I couldn't ignore the pain and guilt I felt for my actions. They were my saviors; they'd keep me from becoming a monster. I had to force myself to feel the horror of what I'd done. Because if I didn't, I'd become numb to it. So, to save myself and those I loved, I tore down the walls in my mind, and let it all wash over me.

  With a sob, I covered my face with my hands and wept.

  Chapter Eleven

  I felt stronger in the morning. The purging had helped, and I awoke with a seed of hope in my heart that I could hold onto compassion and mercy. Onto my humanity. It was going to be a rough ride—especially with me fighting in that bloody arena—but if I waited for a good time to face my fears, I never would. If I cried like a baby every night, so what? It's not like anyone could see me. In fact, this was the best place to cry out the pain; bleed out the infection. There were no consorts knocking on the bathroom door asking if I was all right. I could puke and cry in peace.

  Despite Slate's ominous prediction, my situation improved. An hour after I woke, Jago moved me into a champion cell; across from Cerberus and next door to the little Sasq'et girl. Tessa. She stared at me solemnly through the barred window in her door as I passed; giving me the tiniest smile as she waved.

  “Don't worry, Tessa, I'm going to make sure you get home,” I vowed.

  “Okay,” her voice had been as tiny as her smile.

  Inside my new digs, there was a real bed, a separate little bathroom, and a trunk full of sturdy clothes. It looked as if the champions got to dress up. There were leather pants and tops, jeans, T-shirts, and heavy boots for fighting in as well as soft cotton tunics, pants, and sandals to relax in. All in my size. The fucker really did see everything.

  But then came the battles.

  I had a feeling that Slate was deliberately seeking out the fiercest opponents for me to fight. I thought that damn gorgon was difficult, but every match after her seemed harder and harder until I began to wonder if I was going to make it out of the zone alive. I didn't move around the arena to draw it out anymore; I ran for my life.

  “Training?” Jago asked from the barred window.

  He asked that question every day. The imprisoned champions got to exercise for two hours in the training yard daily; hours when the gargoyle guards weren't using the space. I always said no. My power wasn't in my physical strength, it was in my magic, and I was beyond the age for training that. I suppose I could have run laps, but I was getting enough running in the arena. I just wanted to relax and save my strength.

  “You don't have to lift weights or anything,” Jago said. “You could just sit on a be
nch and get some fresh air. Wouldn't that be nice? Better than being cooped up in here.”

  That would be nice. I stood up. It would also give me a chance to scope out the area without Jago pushing me along into Gargoyle Headquarters.

  “Yeah; all right.”

  Jago grinned and opened the door. “You need to stay within the yard; if you even look as if you're making a break for it, one of the guards will take you down. And they're not all as nice as me.”

  “I know the drill, Jago.” I pushed past his thick body and into the hall. “We going or what?”

  “Yes!” Cerberus declared from his cell. “You're coming out today?”

  “Just to get some fresh air,” I said.

  Of course, Cerberus had been making use of the exercise time; he loved to work out. I didn't understand that. I loved to sit on my ass and watch my men work out, but as far as expending energy that I didn't need to? No. I'd rather use it to make a cocktail. Or make love to the men I'd just watched work out. Mmm... sweaty Gage. Yeah; I could get behind that. And in front of it and to... damn it! I missed my guys!