Josephine's voice kills any man who hears it-except for the assassin sent to capture her for the king that's been chasing her all her life...but what happens when he decides he doesn't want to hand her over and keep her for himself instead?
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"Your first mistake, Orenthal, was believing that you could escape us."
Warrick's words were hoarse to my ears as I clung to Inala with my every breath.
She was my lifeline, and I wasn't letting go until she did.
"I wasn't trying to."
The rest of the Sirens and soldiers in the boat seemed to stop breathing with Oren's words.
The crew of the ship had abandoned hope of saving it but apparently my rescuers had gotten to work putting out the fires my power had unleashed upon it.
The sky above, blue in intensity and brilliance, was suddenly blocked out by new planks having been thrown over top of the hole my fire had burned through and water splashed down from the gaps the fire had created.
Drip drip drip, just like the blood of Briggs' blood from his nose, mouth, and eyes.
Just like the gush of my own from the stab in my chest that had miraculously healed over.
Someone draped a silk robe over my naked body while I tried not to glance in the direction of the god, the god that was taking up so much space it was almost comical that he could fit down there, the god dressed in an a shadowy black tunic that gaped open wide at the chest exposing a pale expanse of unmarred skin and striking muscles, though where they'd found pants long enough for his lofty height to match the tunic I'd had no idea.
No, I did not want to look at him, even as his gaze burned hotter than the flames of my power that had destroyed most of the ship we were all currently taking up space in, even as his power and unearthly presence dared me to peek even more than I already had.
But I didn't want to look at the man that had betrayed me, either, so my options were limited.
I stared at Briggs, then, the man who'd whipped me until the well of tears inside of me had dried up and my body began to shake from the ceaseless pain in my chest where he'd chosen to mark me.
Marks that hadn't healed like the stab in my chest, like his whip had been imbued with magical properties to keep me from doing so, as if in order to wring out as much torture as possible.
Marks that had cut open not just the center of my chest, but my breasts as well, leaving whelps and slices along my most sensitive of places—places that stood for my femininity, now suddenly depraved and grotesque and not mine anymore at all.
I pulled the robe around my body tighter as Inala stood and placed a hand out to me as if to help me stand.
All eyes were on me.
Erinna was in the back corner, pretending to keep it together though I could tell she was struggling as she wrung her hands in anxiety watching her lover subdue Oren.
Warrick still had a knee to Oren's back even as the collar he'd used on me was placed around his neck, and the irony of it was almost so potent that I could feel myself choking on it.
