The Sea Siren

Chapter Five

Vivian

He's handsome.

And not in the roguish, unkept sort-of-way. You won't find many men with jet black hair, broad shoulders and perfectly straight teeth in these parts. I can always spot an outsider a mile away.

"You had done your damage, woman," the man snaps, shooting daggers in my direction, his hand firmly around my wrist. "You didn't need to kill her."

I grin, tugging my arm out of his grasp. "They started it."

"And that means you must finish it?"

The tavern owner has shifted from hysterics to rage, the pale color of his face now a heated pink. I show my hands, as if that'll stop him from calling the constable, throwing coins onto the counter to clear the cost of the damage. The fire in the hearth is shrinking. The tables and chairs, all cracked and broken, litter the floor by our feet. Rounding the wrecked stool, I step over the flat-faced corpse on the ground, clutching my abdomen.

"I always finish my fights."

"Spoken like a true criminal," he scoffs hatefully, following closely behind.

The primeval hallway is dark, and stepping out under the stars into what's becoming morning, it's even darker. I'm more than aware of my lack of weapons at the moment. Especially with this giant seething behind me.

While this man was spending time in a pub, he isn't tipping over like most others when they leave this place. "Or someone whose grown up on the streets."

"That's no excuse to kill."

"And you're so high and mighty? What does a silver-spooned ass—" He begins to laugh, in no way amused. Making a show of it, I grab the velvet of his cloak, proving my point. "You laugh but I'm right."

He reclaims the expensive frock, stepping closer. Too close. "A decent person wouldn't laugh over the dead, Siren."

Ah, so he does know who I am.

Surprising then that he's still here, trying to pick a fight. Hearing a team of boots far off in the distance, I spin, heading for darker corners. I'll have to find another way out of this goddamn city now. The fighting has sobered me up a bit, but not enough. Not enough to fight off this person.

"Does my reputation precede me?" I mutter distractedly, slipping through shadowy underpasses.

"You seem pretty proud of it."

"People made up their minds about me a long time ago." He slows when I whirl on him, eying him suspiciously. A face that handsome and that clean undoubtedly is a beast pretending, pretending to be prey. "You know my name, but you haven't given me yours."

"I haven't offered it," he says bluntly.

"No, you're just stalking me through the streets," I gasp. "Let me tell you, handsome, you're in the wrong city for nobleness. Go to the Vale. Those snake royals will probably take you in a heartbeat."

My hand is wet, blood seeping into the corset. A flash of panic rattles through me as I see white, going blind momentarily, grabbing onto the brick building for support. I hadn't realized how much blood I'd been losing stumbling in the dark.

When he grabs my arm, as if to capture me, I twist with a growl, reaching into the holster by his hip. I extract a hand blade, slicing across his knuckles in warning. "Touch me again and you're dead."

Hair waving in front of his eyes, he observes the thin gash I've left him with, mouth taut before he fixes his gaze on me—now exceedingly pissed. "Believe it or not, but I'm trying to help you. God knows why."