Siren's Call (Dark Seas) Page 9

  At the door, he placed a quick kiss on her mouth.

  “Soon,” he whispered, his tone as hot and dusty as the bayou breeze.

  Oh, I hope so.

  He stepped into the night, olive skin and black hair blending to near invisibility. Lily hugged her arms and shivered, bereft with loneliness. The empty house mocked with a sullen silence. She craved the sea and its teeming life, from the smallest plankton to the great white whale; it afforded a measure of companionship. As a remedy for the loneliness and thwarted physical release, Lily had an even better coping strategy than a cold shower.

  Time for a swim.

  Chapter 7

  Water swaddled Lily’s body like liquid silk, a lush weight of peaceful suspension to douse the fevered need of desire Nash left behind. More than physical, the aching need inside sought communion with him on every plane, a complete opening, an illuminating light on all her secrets. A plunge together through a dark labyrinth where she hid unvoiced wishes and insecurities in secret passageways.

  The idea of such intimacy both terrified and excited.

  Lily navigated through an undersea field of sea-grass roots whose long tendrils swirled like locks of curly hair in the wind. The roots stroked her body in a passing caress, unbidden but welcome. She swam deeper, eyes accommodating to the velvet darkness. Nictating membranes, that useless pink clump in the corner of human eyes, spread over Lily’s delicate exposed eye tissue. What was merely an unused, evolutionary holdover in humans served as protection against salt and debris while undersea.

  She flipped and rolled in the water—mermaid dancing—a spontaneous celebration after shape-shifting from land to sea. Hope kicked in, an unexpected guest in Lily’s heart. She could fall in love with Nash. Really, really give herself over to another person. If Shelly and Jet could do it, why not her?

  Love happened. Even for mermaids.

  She hadn’t known how lonely she was. Solitary swims, days and nights at a time with nothing but canvas and acrylics for company.

  She hadn’t known her childhood friend would return in a grown-man version that would quicken her heart with hope.

  She hadn’t known what it felt like to have no control of her emotions with a man. She’d always been the one that set the parameters in every affair.

  Until Nash.

  Bubbling joy could no longer be contained and her lungs opened. Lily sang. Glorious, magical notes that carried for miles in the currents. The reverberating vibrations of harmony attracted swarms of silver fish that encircled her body like a living metal gyroscope. Lily reveled in the kinship. She’d devoted so much time lately to painting that undersea time had suffered. So she danced, tail fin glittering like emeralds and diamonds and sapphires afire. And she kept singing—deeply, freely, uninhibited.

  Tired at length, Lily relaxed and let the undertow pull her where it willed. Half-awake, half-asleep, she drifted like flotsam atop a wave. Healing salt water swished an eternal echo in her ears like a lullaby.

  A disturbance in vibrational pattern put Lily on alert and she cupped a hand to an ear. Something large would be in range momentarily. A curious dolphin, or hungry shark? Friend or foe?

  Faint humming notes wavered through sea static. Was it— Could it be? Yes, she recognized the sound pattern. Lily began singing an old haunting melody that was one of her mother’s favorites.

  Adriana Bosarge cut in at once. “Lily! Over here,” she called.

  Lily homed in on the location and swam toward her mother, tail fin swishing eagerly. Mom was a pain at times, but she still loved her. Thanks to Jet’s heads-up on the impending visit, she’d mentally prepared herself as much as possible. Through a series of hums and whistles mixed with her bio-sonar ability, Lily altered her course in a mermaid version of Marco Polo.

  At last she caught site of her swimming alongside a school of speckled trout. Mom’s multicolored hair streamed behind her like a paler version of her sparkling tail fin. Lily had inherited similar coloring, but Adriana was bolder, more striking. Where Lily was ethereal and angelic with delicate facial features, Adriana’s cheekbones were prominent, displaying a larger nose and a more squared jawline that hinted at her formidable personality. A kind of beauty most often described as “handsome” or “arresting.”

  Lily mentally catalogued the image of her mom for a future painting. Of course, that particular piece would forever remain in her own private collection. But art wasn’t always about public selling or trading; it was about private satisfaction and creative expression.

  Adriana swam closer and rubbed her tail fin against Lily’s in an affectionate mer-greeting. “You look bewitching as usual,” she stated in a prideful tone, as if taking credit for the fact. “And that bewitching siren voice is absolutely wasted out here in the bayou.”

  A new record. Less than thirty seconds, and Mom had delivered the first jab in her ongoing campaign for Lily’s return to sea.

  “Not wasted. I’ve snagged my fair share of men.”

  Adriana snorted, sending a bubbling stream upward. “Human men. You need to mate with your own kind. Do your duty.”

  Annoyance, along with a smidgeon of guilt, rippled through Lily. Their race was dwindling, in no small part because of past inbreeding with humans. Increasingly, the merfolk frowned on mating with humans, and those who did were partially ostracized for not procreating the mer population. Shelly and Jet had both experienced that alienation.

  “Mom, please. Can you give it a rest? At least for one day?”

  “Humph.” Adriana swept past her, chin lifted.

  Lily sighed and darted ahead. “C’mon, Mom. I’m not ready to have children and stay at sea forever.”

  “You’re almost thirty.”

  “Give me some more time.”

  “You say that every visit.”

  “It’s different now.” Lily laid a hand on her arm. “I’ve met someone special.”

  “Heard that before, too.”

  Lily winced. “I mean it this time. It’s Nashoba Bowman. You remember him, don’t you?”

  Adriana tapped her lips. “Ah, yes, the little Indian boy.”

  “Native American.” Lily barely refrained an eye roll. At her mom’s questioning look, she added, “We don’t say Indian these days. And Nash is no longer a little boy.” She couldn’t hide a smile, recalling the taste of his kiss and the heat of his body pressed against hers.

  Adriana resumed swimming, and Lily fell in beside her. Why couldn’t her mother understand her longing for true love? True, her boyfriend track record was lousy, but she wasn’t ready to give up on human males and settle for the male mermen with their wanderlust and a limited interest in monogamy.

  They passed a rock outcropping, a familiar landmark signaling they were close to home. She glanced at her mom’s face but couldn’t judge her mood. “You always liked Nash when we were children,” Lily ventured. She’d rather hash this out now, and talking undersea was easier—freer somehow.

  “That doesn’t mean he’s suitable for pair-bonding. You’ll tire of him like you have all the other human males.”

  “Not this time. He doesn’t care for my singing and he hasn’t stumbled all over his land-legger feet to date me. I’ve been the one chasing him.”

  Adriana stopped swimming and her long locks of silver-blond hair floated around her torso like a cluster of glowing stars. “Impossible.”

  “It’s true. I can’t figure it out. Do you have any ideas?”

  “The degree of a human male’s response to your voice varies depending on how much merblood runs through his veins. The more distant, the greater the attraction.”

  “His grandfather claims they’re related to the undersea pale people. Have you ever met Sam Bowman?”

  “I don’t think so.” She tilted her head to the side. “I was aware the Choctaws had
a legend about our kind. Although that’s hardly surprising. Most countries and cultures do.”

  “But how much merblood could be in Nash? If his parents or grandparents were mer, we’d have surely seen or heard them undersea.”

  Adriana tapped a forefinger on her chin, musing. “There’s only one explanation for a human male not being entranced by your singing. I’ve only heard tell of this happening once before to a siren.” She looked into the distance, silent and absorbed.

  “Come on, tell me,” Lily urged.

  “Nash doesn’t just have merblood. He’s a descendent of a male siren. As such, he’s immune to the siren’s lure himself.”

  Lily’s nictating membrane blinked for several heartbeats. She recalled all the women vying for his attention wherever they went, Opal’s hints that Nash had tossed aside many lovers, the deep timbre of his voice. Of course. “And he doesn’t even know what he is,” she murmured.

  “No reason he should ever suspect,” Adriana said. She eyed Lily sharply. “Forget him. Mate with a pure merman and spawn me grandchildren.” She resumed swimming, signaling she was done with the subject.

  Grandchildren. Is that what this was really about? Lily swam alongside her. “Jet’s about to have a baby. Shelly plans on having children, too, eventually. You’ll have plenty of grandchildren.”

  “And not a pure-blooded one will be among them.”

  Lily’s tail twitched. “Kinda harsh, Mom.”

  “I don’t mean to be. You know I love Jet and Shelly. But you’re my only biological daughter, and the pure merblood numbers drop every year.”

  “You’re becoming a zealot in your old age.” Lily said it with a smile that contrasted with her stiff spine and fisted hands. No sense bumping tail fins tonight. Maybe when her mother met Nash again she’d mellow on the issue and yield to allow her daughter happiness.

  Adriana fiddled with her pearl bracelets, which Lily recognized as a sure sign of her annoyance. “You’ve spent so much time in Bayou La Siryna you forget how rigid mer society has become on interspecies mating.”

  Ugh, interspecies mating. Her Mom made it sound vulgar and clinical at the same time. Lily’s smile strained at the edges. “How long are you planning on staying?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps until Jet’s baby arrives.”

  Holy Neptune, this was going to be a long visit.

  * * *

  Nash’s senses opened in a way they never had before. He felt summer down deep in his bones. So deep, the marrow tingled and pulsated with heat and light, a contrast from the winter’s dead darkness. It had never been this intense before. Each day in the bayou he drew closer to the land and wildlife.

  Today was well-earned time off from work at the island and he’d invited Lily to his grandfather’s cabin for a hike. The three days he hadn’t seen Lily seemed like forever.

  Nash held back a low branch for Lily. Desire as rabid as a stag in heat fevered his skin where she brushed against his forearm. They had hiked this trail hundreds of times as kids, but this heightened awareness between them was an entirely different sensation.

  Each time he saw Lily, she appeared more beautiful, more irresistible. He feared she would end up hurt when this assignment was over and he left, but being apart was unbearable. The island lodge was lonely and too quiet, especially now that Opal had left for another assignment.

  Lily caught his gaze, eyes widening at the desire that must be written all over his face. They leaned in for the day’s first kiss.

  Caw, caw, kow-caw. The sudden shrill bark of a crow, accompanied by the flapping of feathers, swooped overhead.

  Lily laughed. “It’s as if he disapproves. I feel chided, like I was caught pulling down my pants in town square.”

  The image of her naked had Nash pulling her roughly against his body. He planted a hard, quick kiss against Lily’s lips, a promise of more to come. They continued onward until they came to a clearing. In the center was “their” place from old times—the base of a felled oak whose surface provided enough space for them to both sit on it cross-legged.

  He used to bring Lily here and retell his grandfather’s wilder stories—tales of the tiny forest dwellers and the dark spirit of Nalusa Falaya, which crept into a person’s soul, causing misery or even death. Lily had been a good audience, wide-eyed and just younger enough that she regarded him in higher esteem than warranted. She rarely had stories of her own. Instead, she would sing silly songs and old-fashioned ballads that he’d found dull. Twelve-year-old boys cared little for nonsense love songs.

  Nash sat first and offered a hand, a gallantry that had never occurred to him as a boy. Lily placed her hand in his and he drew her to him as easily as pulling a minnow out of water.

  Caw-caw. A sweep of metallic violet swooshed within a few feet of their bodies. The crow perched on a nearby oak branch and cocked his head to the side, studying them. It raised its bill and cried again, louder.

  Caw, caw, caw. You again. You’re back.

  The crow’s words sprouted in the pith of Nash’s core; he could feel the language resonate in his solar plexus like the echo of a pealing bell. Or as if a long-dormant seed sprouted in a burst of DNA fusion, a blade of green energy emerging beneath the soil.

  Nash stared into the dark brown eyes of the old crow. “Yes, I’m back.”

  “Um, yes. I’m glad you’re back.” Lily cocked her head in much the same manner of a bird, studying him with a quizzical gleam in her eyes.

  A rush of flapping erupted from across the field and a murder of crows flew in, landing on the branches beside the lone crow.

  Caw caw. Long and short chirrups erupted in a cacophony. Nash picked up on the gist of their conversation—he’s back, the girl with him.

  This was new territory. He’d always sensed things, guessed at what creatures thought, but this was downright eerie.

  Stay in the bayou. Bayou stay, they each shrilled in a thunder of sound.

  Could they understand his speech as well? “I’m only here for a visit,” he said aloud.

  Lily sighed. “I know, I know. You’ve made that clear. As soon as your latest project is finished, you’ll be jet-setting to some other corner of the world.” She settled gracefully on the oak stump, tucking her long, pale legs beneath her. “How are the bird photos going?”

  Nash eyed the crows warily. “Fine. I’m homing in on their secret mating and nesting sites. Those clappers are surprisingly cagey.”

  “Can’t blame them for seeking privacy. If I were them—” She raised a hand over her forehead, squinting. “What are those crows squawking about?”

  “How should I know?” Nash snapped. “Sorry,” he said at the startled hurt in her eyes.

  Lily’s hair billowed in the breeze and he brushed back a stray lock from her face. The midday sun emphasized subtle highlights of pink and lavender blended among the blond waves. Nash caressed a handful, admiring the softness against his calloused palms. “It’s like cotton candy.”

  She laughed. “Are you saying it’s dried out?”

  “No. I’m talking about the colors.”

  “Oh, that’s the miracle of hair dye.”

  The crows kicked up again. Caw—ca-caw. She’s not of us. Not of us.

  Nash looked up at the tree. “What do you mean?”

  Lily tugged his shirt. “What’s wrong with you today? You’re acting strange.”

  “Just distracted.” If she only knew. He could hardly believe it himself. What would happen if he stayed in the bayou more than a couple of months? How much more attuned to nature could he become? Nash forced himself to ignore the crows’ clatter.

  “A man’s attention has never been a problem for me before.” The petulant words were delivered with a grin and held no rancor. She laid a warm hand on his bare knee and beads from her bracelet rubbed h
is skin.

  The bracelet jolted a memory. “I can’t believe you wear that old thing.” He ran a finger along the beads that had faded over the years. A few of them were missing. The frayed fringe ties were knotted at her slender wrist. It was out of place next to her jeweled, expensive rings and thin gold bangles.

  A rose glow lit her face. “It’s special, a memory of our last summer.”

  “I remember.” They’d been here, at this very spot. Grandfather had helped him string the beads, although the workmanship on his part was still clumsy.

  “You said we’d be friends forever,” Lily whispered. She touched the beads. “Sad to say, you’re the only true friend I’ve ever had. Outside of family.”

  “Oh, come on. That can’t be true.” Their fingers entwined above the bracelet.

  “It is true. You’ve seen the way women act around me. And the men...” Her voice trailed off in an unhappy sigh.

  “Jealous bitches, every last one,” he said quickly. “As far as the men, well, understandable that you make them a little crazy.” He shifted uncomfortably, guilt arrowing him in the gut. He was as bad as the rest of them. Over the years, he’d been careless and selfish in his affections. Until the deaths of Rebecca and Connie had filled him with shame and regret.

  Nash looked up at the crows that stared back with dark, otherworldly eyes. Silent at last, he imagined they judged him for past sins.

  “I don’t mean to make the men crazy,” Lily said. “It...just happens.”

  One crow flew closer and perched on a nearby limb. Its eyes were blue, indicating youth. Caw-caw-caw-caw. She is not like us. She is of two spirits.

  Nash leapt to his feet and waved his arms. “Get out of here!”

  The crow flapped its wings. Caw. Ask her.

  “I said get out. Now.”

  The crow dipped its head, revealing faint blue speckles on its crown. Suddenly, it took flight, the rest of the murder following in its lead.

  Two spirits. Not of us, they cawed.

  “Weird,” Lily said. “It was as if that crow was trying to tell you something.”