Dark Harmony
Page 70
The room sucks in a collective breath at the slur.
I watch him, tapping a claw against my armrest.
Let’s taste his flesh as he begs for mercy, my siren whispers. Bring him closer.
“All my life, I’ve never truly understood my power,” I begin. “Why must the nature of sirens be to entice men?”
Galleghar’s brows furrow. Not the response he was expecting, and he has no idea where I’m going with this.
But I do.
“I don’t understand,” he says, forced to answer because of the glamour in my voice.
Whatever wards protected him from my magic back on Barbos, they’re gone now.
We have him in our clutches.
I study him. “You will.”
Why does my power draw others in?
I always wondered about that. About how much of my alluring nature was to blame for my stepfather’s sick assaults. Obviously, that’s incorrect thinking—my stepfather was to blame for his actions, not my power—but at the time I didn’t know it. And then an instructor at Peel Academy touched me inappropriately, and suddenly the abuse felt like a pattern, and I wondered all over again—why? Why did I have to be this way? If I blended in more, could I have escaped the abuse I endured?
No.
No, I could not have.
There will always be bad men, and they will take and take and take.
But so will I.
People like us are not victims. We’re someone’s nightmare.
I finally understand why my power draws others in.
“There are two kinds of predators,” I say softly. “One who chases after prey, and one who coaxes their prey to them.”
Galleghar hasn’t lost his smug expression.
He will in a moment.
“What do you see when you look at me?” I ask.
“My mortal enemy,” he says. “You must be destroyed.”
“What else?”
Again his brows draw together.
“A slave,” he says, compelled to answer by my magic.
“What else?”
He frowns, but his eyes drink me in, fascinated. “… An enchantress,” he finally says.
“A siren,” I correct him.
There are aspects of my magic that I’ve unconsciously dulled over the years. The ability to ensnare my victims with a look alone—that is one of them.
The same part of me that resented my nature also feared this part of me. The sinister, powerful, punishing part of me. I already disliked the attention I received. I didn’t want any more of it.
That’s why, even at Peel Academy, I was a loner. I willed myself to be overlooked. I didn’t realize then that’s what I was doing, but I did it nonetheless.
And I continued doing it.
Until now.
All at once I unleash the full force of my magic on the room. My skin brightens a touch, and my power fills the air.
Dozens of fairies stand, their eyes glazing over as they look at me. Many begin to clamber over chairs, trying to get closer to me. Even Temper cuts towards my throne.
“Everyone, stay where you are.” My audience stops where they stand, bound by my order.
I gaze down at the former Night King. Abruptly, I stand. Stair by stair, I descend the dais, until I’m only a couple yards from him.
“What do you see now?” I ask.
This is what it’s like for a siren to hunt.
He takes a step forward, his eyes bright, his gaze ensnared.
“There … aren’t words,” he breathes, his vendetta forgotten. He shakes his head wondrously. “In all my years I have never beheld one such as yourself.” He takes another step forward. “Why should my son receive such a prize from the gods, but not me?”
A moment ago I was a slave. Now I am a prize. Always an object to be possessed.
I close my eyes, even as the former Night King begins to murmur promises about the future. “When I am king again, you could still live here … The Thief is not to touch this kingdom … You could be one of my concubines … I would make you my favorite … You would have everything you ever wanted …”
The only thing I ever wanted is gone.
Teach me again how to be someone’s nightmare, I’d asked Des.
My power ripples over my skin.
With pleasure, mate.
I open my eyes.
“Kneel,” I command.
Galleghar doesn’t even have it in him to glare at me. I hold his very mind in the palm of my hand; what rules him now is desire.
I scowl at the former Night King. This is the seed of evil that started it all. Had it not been for Galleghar’s selfishness, the entire fabric of this world’s history would have been different. Des’s mother might still be alive, along with his half-siblings. Des might’ve been raised in a castle rather than a cave. He might have had a great life.
We might never have met, and he might never have died before his time.
The horrible thing about true love is that I would erase us if it meant keeping him alive.
Slowly, I diminish my glamour. I don’t want Galleghar to mindlessly enjoy what I’m doing to him, I want it to bother him very, very badly.
Within seconds, the former king’s expression goes from lustful to confused to furious.
“You bitch,” he snarls.
“Ah, ah,” I chastise him. “The next time you say or do anything unflattering about me—or anyone else for that matter—I will make you eat your tongue. Literally.”
I reach out to caress Galleghar’s cheek.
Ours to taste, ours to break.
He lifts his bound hands, presumably to push mine away.
“No.” I say. “You won’t fight me, you won’t flee. You will sit here, answer my questions, and let me touch you as I please.”
His hands drop, even as he curls his upper lip. Galleghar has so much power—I can sense it vibrating within him—and yet against me it’s utterly useless.
I stroke his cheekbone. “You’re very pretty,” I say, “in a cruel sort of way. Too bad the rest of you is useless.” I grab him by his lower jaw and tilt his head back and forth, assessing him from different angles. “Then again, perhaps I can find some use for you. Now that my mate’s gone, there’s nothing stopping me from starting my own harem.”
I lean closer. “You would be my concubine. I should warn you, if you were in my harem, there are many things I would ask of you that you may not be comfortable with. Sirens are known to enjoy both sex and blood. I do hope you’re not squeamish.”
I smile a little at the hate in his eyes. I doubt he’s ever had someone turn his own tricks back on him.
Releasing his jaw, I say, “Relax, asshole, I would never be intimate with you.”
Enough toying with him.
I straighten. “I want to pay the Thief of Souls a personal visit. How do I get to him?”
Galleghar laughs. “You’d have to die first.”
I wait for his laughter to trail off.
“Is that the only way?” I ask.
He hesitates.
“Is it?” I press.
The hateful look is back. I watch as he holds out against my glamour for one—two—three—four—five seconds.
“No,” he eventually grits out.
My pulse begins to race.
I was right. There is another way in.
“Tell me everything you know about this other entrance to the Land of Death and Deep Earth.”
Galleghar’s lips twitch as he fights my compulsion. For once, it isn’t satisfying to watch him resist. Every second he holds out answering feels like an eternity.
I watch him, tapping a claw against my armrest.
Let’s taste his flesh as he begs for mercy, my siren whispers. Bring him closer.
“All my life, I’ve never truly understood my power,” I begin. “Why must the nature of sirens be to entice men?”
Galleghar’s brows furrow. Not the response he was expecting, and he has no idea where I’m going with this.
But I do.
“I don’t understand,” he says, forced to answer because of the glamour in my voice.
Whatever wards protected him from my magic back on Barbos, they’re gone now.
We have him in our clutches.
I study him. “You will.”
Why does my power draw others in?
I always wondered about that. About how much of my alluring nature was to blame for my stepfather’s sick assaults. Obviously, that’s incorrect thinking—my stepfather was to blame for his actions, not my power—but at the time I didn’t know it. And then an instructor at Peel Academy touched me inappropriately, and suddenly the abuse felt like a pattern, and I wondered all over again—why? Why did I have to be this way? If I blended in more, could I have escaped the abuse I endured?
No.
No, I could not have.
There will always be bad men, and they will take and take and take.
But so will I.
People like us are not victims. We’re someone’s nightmare.
I finally understand why my power draws others in.
“There are two kinds of predators,” I say softly. “One who chases after prey, and one who coaxes their prey to them.”
Galleghar hasn’t lost his smug expression.
He will in a moment.
“What do you see when you look at me?” I ask.
“My mortal enemy,” he says. “You must be destroyed.”
“What else?”
Again his brows draw together.
“A slave,” he says, compelled to answer by my magic.
“What else?”
He frowns, but his eyes drink me in, fascinated. “… An enchantress,” he finally says.
“A siren,” I correct him.
There are aspects of my magic that I’ve unconsciously dulled over the years. The ability to ensnare my victims with a look alone—that is one of them.
The same part of me that resented my nature also feared this part of me. The sinister, powerful, punishing part of me. I already disliked the attention I received. I didn’t want any more of it.
That’s why, even at Peel Academy, I was a loner. I willed myself to be overlooked. I didn’t realize then that’s what I was doing, but I did it nonetheless.
And I continued doing it.
Until now.
All at once I unleash the full force of my magic on the room. My skin brightens a touch, and my power fills the air.
Dozens of fairies stand, their eyes glazing over as they look at me. Many begin to clamber over chairs, trying to get closer to me. Even Temper cuts towards my throne.
“Everyone, stay where you are.” My audience stops where they stand, bound by my order.
I gaze down at the former Night King. Abruptly, I stand. Stair by stair, I descend the dais, until I’m only a couple yards from him.
“What do you see now?” I ask.
This is what it’s like for a siren to hunt.
He takes a step forward, his eyes bright, his gaze ensnared.
“There … aren’t words,” he breathes, his vendetta forgotten. He shakes his head wondrously. “In all my years I have never beheld one such as yourself.” He takes another step forward. “Why should my son receive such a prize from the gods, but not me?”
A moment ago I was a slave. Now I am a prize. Always an object to be possessed.
I close my eyes, even as the former Night King begins to murmur promises about the future. “When I am king again, you could still live here … The Thief is not to touch this kingdom … You could be one of my concubines … I would make you my favorite … You would have everything you ever wanted …”
The only thing I ever wanted is gone.
Teach me again how to be someone’s nightmare, I’d asked Des.
My power ripples over my skin.
With pleasure, mate.
I open my eyes.
“Kneel,” I command.
Galleghar doesn’t even have it in him to glare at me. I hold his very mind in the palm of my hand; what rules him now is desire.
I scowl at the former Night King. This is the seed of evil that started it all. Had it not been for Galleghar’s selfishness, the entire fabric of this world’s history would have been different. Des’s mother might still be alive, along with his half-siblings. Des might’ve been raised in a castle rather than a cave. He might have had a great life.
We might never have met, and he might never have died before his time.
The horrible thing about true love is that I would erase us if it meant keeping him alive.
Slowly, I diminish my glamour. I don’t want Galleghar to mindlessly enjoy what I’m doing to him, I want it to bother him very, very badly.
Within seconds, the former king’s expression goes from lustful to confused to furious.
“You bitch,” he snarls.
“Ah, ah,” I chastise him. “The next time you say or do anything unflattering about me—or anyone else for that matter—I will make you eat your tongue. Literally.”
I reach out to caress Galleghar’s cheek.
Ours to taste, ours to break.
He lifts his bound hands, presumably to push mine away.
“No.” I say. “You won’t fight me, you won’t flee. You will sit here, answer my questions, and let me touch you as I please.”
His hands drop, even as he curls his upper lip. Galleghar has so much power—I can sense it vibrating within him—and yet against me it’s utterly useless.
I stroke his cheekbone. “You’re very pretty,” I say, “in a cruel sort of way. Too bad the rest of you is useless.” I grab him by his lower jaw and tilt his head back and forth, assessing him from different angles. “Then again, perhaps I can find some use for you. Now that my mate’s gone, there’s nothing stopping me from starting my own harem.”
I lean closer. “You would be my concubine. I should warn you, if you were in my harem, there are many things I would ask of you that you may not be comfortable with. Sirens are known to enjoy both sex and blood. I do hope you’re not squeamish.”
I smile a little at the hate in his eyes. I doubt he’s ever had someone turn his own tricks back on him.
Releasing his jaw, I say, “Relax, asshole, I would never be intimate with you.”
Enough toying with him.
I straighten. “I want to pay the Thief of Souls a personal visit. How do I get to him?”
Galleghar laughs. “You’d have to die first.”
I wait for his laughter to trail off.
“Is that the only way?” I ask.
He hesitates.
“Is it?” I press.
The hateful look is back. I watch as he holds out against my glamour for one—two—three—four—five seconds.
“No,” he eventually grits out.
My pulse begins to race.
I was right. There is another way in.
“Tell me everything you know about this other entrance to the Land of Death and Deep Earth.”
Galleghar’s lips twitch as he fights my compulsion. For once, it isn’t satisfying to watch him resist. Every second he holds out answering feels like an eternity.
