Summer, the Ionian Sea
The twenty-third cycle of the current Pythia
Just an inch more. Essa gritted her teeth and fought the burning pain radiating up her arm as she extended her fingers. One, two, three. She flicked her wrist, fingers grasping, but the chain slipped, knocked loose from the loop of mesh. With a resounding thud, the amulet landed on the deck below. Out of her reach. Blast it.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, she concentrated on her dire situation. She was trapped. In a fisherman’s net. With hundreds of other fish. Others like her, well, partly like her at least. She was one of the Water Borne, a mermayde, her blood as ancient as the oceans themselves.
The waves had carried a frightened sea turtle’s hissing to her ears and she’d been compelled to aid the creature ensnared in a gillnet set by the Earth Borne creatures. Humans. Unfortunately, she’d dropped the shell fragment she’d used to free the turtle. Argh. If she’d been paying attention, rather than lost in her musings, she would’ve listened to that tingle of foreboding, would have sensed the hundreds of gleaming fish closing in around her. Pyrates were more common than fishing boats in this area, so she hadn’t been watching for nets.
Slowly, painfully so, they’d been hauled upward. The thrashing of the fish escalated as the surface—and death—neared.
Blush-scaled red mullets enclosed her on all sides, floundering while the net swayed from side to side, suspended over the edge of a large vessel. Pressed against the mesh rope of the net as she was, the threads sliced into the delicate flesh of her tail, making her wince. On instinct, her hand clasped her throat for her mother’s amulet, and she cursed as it taunted her from the ship’s deck.
Closing her eyes, she envisioned the intricate chain enclosed in her fingers, her thumb rubbing across the lustrous white pearl floating in the center of a teardrop silver frame. Over the etchings of runes in an ancient language she’d never seen anywhere else. I have to get it back. Essa sighed and steeled her resolve. I will. The amulet was all she possessed of the mother she’d never met. With it gone, emptiness enveloped her.
Clearing her mind, she focused once more on her current dilemma. She was on the far side, facing out toward the ocean. The net and fish shielded her from the humans on board. For now. She couldn’t see them, but she smelled them. Ugh. Wrinkling her nose, she attempted to block out the foul scents of their grime and sweat. She had more urgent concerns at the moment than the humans’ aversion to bathing. From the safety of the ocean, she’d observed the human fishermen for years. The catch would be examined and the undesirables thrown into the sea. Essa shuddered at what the men would do with her—once they recovered from the shock of catching a mermayde.
She stretched her neck toward the sun glinting through the top of the net. Would Apollo, the sun god, aid her? Surely, he wouldn’t allow his next Pythia—head Oracle—to perish thusly?
How could she free herself? Think. Think. Logic proved impossible. Around her, the fish gulped for the water, and therefore oxygen, they wouldn’t receive. She pitied them, but she could do nothing for them.
Think. Think. Her heart pulsed faster and faster. The sun beat down on her. Perspiration beaded on her skin. Air, must have air. Essa gulped with the others.
The fish and their promise of death invaded her mind. She trembled as panic overwhelmed her senses. Her composure fragmented while instinct assumed control.
Breathe, just breathe. Blackness threatened to overtake her vision.
A flash of silver glinted against the sun, blinding her. The sawing of rope vibrated in her ears and the weight of the fish behind her propelled her body downward. A solid hook snared her waist, tightened, and wrenched her from the net. Instead of crashing into the sea, she was hurtling through the air, her breath sucked from her lungs. A new terror rippled through her body.
Breathe, a rumbling masculine voice commanded inside her head. Unable to resist, she gasped and choked. Tears stinging her eyes, she managed a small mouthful of air. She exhaled, then inhaled again and again. Her stomach heaved against the combination of the tight hold around her waist and the rapid movements.
Remain conscious. Concentrate. In and out. There, it’s getting better. Now, open your eyes.
Were those her thoughts, or someone else’s inside her head? She slammed another bolt through the mental locks in the depths of her mind, as her aunt had spent countless hours instructing her to do.
Still, the advice was sound, so she obeyed the instructions. Shimmering hues of green, grey, and blue whirled a hundred feet beneath her. She squeezed her eyes shut as bile rose once more in her throat.
Fish do not fly! A hysterical laugh bubbled on the edge of her lips. This must be a dream. It had to be. She scoffed at her absurd imagination, swallowed her trepidation, and once more opened her eyes.
An ominous shadow fell across the ocean below.
Her heart dropped into her stomach and shot up again, strangling her. She twisted to the right and to the left. Wings loomed on either side of her. They were massive, spanning at least ten, mayhap twelve feet.
Except, the creature carrying her wasn’t a giant bird. It was a man.
Not a dream, then. A nightmare.
Terror froze the blood in her veins. The thundering of her pulse in her ears drowned out the thrashing of waves colliding against the rocky cliffs. This male carrying her was a Wind Borne. Her people’s timeless enemy.
Born of a race as ancient as hers, the winged ones were the offspring of the Anemoi, gods of the four winds. Like the Water Borne, the Wind Borne was also a descendant species, the millennia-old product of gods interbreeding with humans.
Whereas the Water Borne were half fish, and able to manipulate the powers of the ocean, the winged ones were in tune with their animal halves, the raptors—birds of prey.
They were a bedtime story told to disobedient children, to frighten them into staying away from the surface of the sea. Given Essa’s penchant for exploration, her aunt made tales of the Wind Borne a nightly recitation.
What had her aunt instructed? If she spotted one, swim. If she had to fight, she must kill it, or it would surely kill her.
Every few months, some crazed myrman or mermayde would race through the corals, shrieking in terror and ranting about glimpsing the shadow of a giant pair of wings. Some claimed they were monstrously ugly, with razor-sharp talons and a ravenous appetite for fresh fish. Being half fish, the Water Borne and their children were fair prey.
What was worse than being trapped in a fisherman’s net, unable to move or formulate an escape? She refused to believe the answer, to accept who had snatched her.
Where is he taking me? What will he do with me? Calm. I must remain calm.
She would not become his meal.
The oceans swirled below her and the wind caught in her face. She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes—her arms were unbound. Perhaps she might squirm and wiggle free? Would she survive the fall?
As she contemplated this, the topography shifted. They approached a land mass. Essa and her captor veered left, then a hard right, and straight up into the air. They burst through a cloud. Suddenly, her tail struck the ground and her hands shot out along smooth rock.
What’s this? A nest? Pushing onto her elbows, she observed her surroundings. They were on a cliff, no more than eight feet across. Behind her, sheer walls chipped away into sharp boulders that blended into the ocean. She wouldn’t survive the dive. Too many rocks. The water level was too low.
She was trapped yet again.
She much preferred the net.
The whisper of a wing folding and a footstep drew her attention. “I’m afraid I won’t make much of a meal. If you release me, I can find you something better.” Essa lifted her face as she shuffled into a seated position. “There are many delicacies on the bottom of the—” Her breath caught in her throat.
Shining at her was not the monster of her nightmares.
In truth, she’d never seen anything so beautiful.
He was tall, this winged creature, and large, almost twice her size. The morning sun gleamed behind him, radiating through his dark chestnut hair, highlighting the strands of gold and red. Long enough to hang past his shoulders, it was tied at the nape of his neck. A few stray pieces fell across his eyes.
His eyes… A brown so dark they were nearly black. Copper flecks gave them surprising warmth. Dense lashes made them sultry.
His gaze ensnared her.
Intense. Predatory.
Hungry.
She gulped down her fear. You’ve survived worse.
“I don’t wish to eat you, Sirena.” His voice, rich and deep, captured her in his spell, his lilting accent exotic. She’d never heard anyone articulate the way he did, though he spoke in Olympian—the lingua franca, or common language, used by the gods of Olympus and their descendants.
“You don’t?”
“No.” His robust chuckle rippled below the surface of her skin. “I’m afraid I already ate two of your kind yesterday. Young and tender they were.”
Relief rose in her at his jest. Whatever the rumors were, at least that one wasn’t true.
She straightened her spine, her tail flicking in the breeze as she examined her enemy. His bronzed skin was flawless, marred not by a single wrinkle, but such wasn’t unusual for a descendant species. He could be anywhere from thirty to three thousand. His piercing eyes and the fine aquiline point of his nose revealed a hint of his ancestry. A strong jawline framed his angular face and his sensuous lips were tightly drawn while he studied her in turn.
What must I look like to him? She grimaced and combed her fingers through her windblown hair. Stumbling across a tangle, she clawed at it in vain, continuing her perusal from beneath her lashes.
Two snow-white wings tucked in close on either side of his body, the feathers like shimmery down. His chest bare, he wore a pair of pale leather breeches and sandals on his feet. The long sword at his side indicated he might be a warrior. No razor sharp talons, though. Nor would anyone deem him monstrously ugly. Fanciful gossip.
He was powerfully built, his arms at least thrice the thickness of hers. His shoulders were broad and his muscles chiseled, coaxing out unbidden yearnings within her. She wrung her fingers at such irrational musings. Enemy. He’ll strangle you with those enormous hands and never think twice. That was what her aunt would say.
Her scrutiny drifted to his face, where a hint of amusement danced in his eyes. Her lips quirked, but then his sword glinted. Right. Enemy. “Why have you trapped me here?”
He frowned and crossed his arms. “You might begin by showing your appreciation, Sirena, considering I saved you from—”
Essa scowled at his arrogance. “I had no need of rescuing, or,” she swept her arm across her surroundings, “abduction.”