have noticed her.
She slunk down from the stage, the spotlight turning her luxurious red mane of hair into something
fluid and shimmery as she walked. The crowd parted as she passed and she did it with the air of a
goddess—as though she ful y expected people to part for her.
Of course, maybe she was royalty and I just didn’t know it. The king and his retinue had returned
home to Rusland to get ready for Prince Rezza’s wedding. I’d been told to expect an invitation, but the
court refused to let me out of the country. I have it on good authority that the king has been putting
discreet pressure on our government to make sure I don’t wind up jailed or permanently
institutionalized. I appreciate that even more than the sizable deposit that was wired into my bank
account. Rezza’s been rethinking his al egiance to a group who’d hire a demon and kidnap his brother,
which is probably for the best. He might not be as big on the American ideal as his father, but at least
Rezza won’t be a sworn enemy if he winds up on the throne.
This woman had that same air—more like Rezza than his father. Rezza’s father felt more like a
commoner than a king, but Rezza had that otherness that made you want to bow or grovel.
“You must be the abomination.” The woman held out her hand when she reached me.
I didn’t take the offered limp fingers. “And you must be rude.” She reared back in surprise, like I’d
intended. “I’m sorry,” I said with narrowed eyes and just a hint of fang showing (I’m learning how to do
that better), “but didn’t you hear that people were trying to talk over here—trying to honor the people
we came here to celebrate? Just who do you think you are?”
Now the eyes grew stormy. They looked a little like mine, gray with swirls of blue and green. I felt
pressure against my head, as if someone were squeezing it with both hands. She glared harder and
the pressure grew. Bruno realized what was happening but wasn’t sure what to do about it. It didn’t
seem to be any sort of spel , although she did have that evil witch look about her. Sort of Jessica
Rabbit meets Snow White’s stepmother.
“ I think I am Princess Adriana Kalino, heir apparent of the Pacific sirens. And I think you have just
insulted me, abomination. What body part do you wish to lose to make reparations?”
Oh, fuck a duck. This was not how I imagined I was going to meet Granddad’s side of the family.
Most of the crowd started to move backward to get out of fal out range. Bruno stepped forward, being
the nice guy he is, but I reached an arm back to stop him. Interestingly, John Creede also stepped
forward, as did Emma and Alex. But I shook my head.
Two could play this game. “No … I didn’t insult you. You stormed into a solemn occasion and decided
to show off your body and voice for no good reason. I think that’s rude in pretty much any culture. How
do you plan to make reparations to me?”
She seemed taken aback at that, as though nobody had ever real y stood up to her before. I was
wil ing to be the first. “We have an impasse. Very wel . Then we agree to battle to satisfy our
grievances. At the stroke of ten, after you have appeared at your hearing before the Pacific lords on
the Isle of Serenity to defend your right to exist, and if you survive, then we wil fight to settle this.”
and who are the ‘Pacific lords’? And where is the Isle of Serenity?”
She smiled, and while it was beautiful, it was also mocking. “Had you greeted me as a siren princess
is entitled, I would feel inclined to answer your questions. As it is—” She shrugged. “I can be every bit
as stubborn as you appear to be. When you complete your court-ordered stay in the treatment facility,
you wil be collected to appear for the hearing.”
She turned on her heel and started to walk back through the crowd, slinking and twitching those
perfectly formed hips. As hard as I tried to fol ow so I could kick that perfect ass into next Tuesday, I
couldn’t. My feet flat wouldn’t move. Bruno either couldn’t move, either, or chose not to, since he was
squeezing my arm in a signal not to fol ow her. Maybe he was stopping me.
Or maybe she was.
Not good.
Just before she walked out the double doors, which two officers in tan were holding for her with the
rapt expression of starving puppies, she turned and raised one brow. “If I were you, I’d use my time in
the treatment facility to study siren culture and heritage. Perhaps once you understand why you have
to die, you’l do the honorable thing and commit suicide. Otherwise, we’l simply kil you.” She smiled
pleasantly to the rest of the crowd—most of whom smiled back. “Please, the rest of you enjoy the
remainder of the party. You might include the hostess in your remembrances. This may be the last time
you’l see her alive.”
Another smile that was a chil y baring of teeth was directed to me. “The next time we meet, dear
cousin, wil be the last.”
Dear cousin?
Well … shit. Didn’t my life just suck moss-covered swamp rocks?
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