A Song in the Night (TEMPTED KINGDOM: The Series Book 1)

by Jessa Lucas

  I placed each of the other planets as I knew them. Apparently just the seed of a thought was enough, because the whole solar system soon hung before us, a growing fire manifesting between mine and Jabari’s hands: the sun.

  “It is truly spectacular, this universe of yours,” he said. “I’m humbled to see it, though but a small bright light it is to me now.”

  “It didn’t seem quite so magnificent when I was down there, but it’s nice from here,” I mused. I wondered if the way I imagined Earth was something the Grimms had dreamt up, or if it had once been real as Aiayla had suggested. I wondered if Jabari’s constellations had been among the stars I’d looked up at on those lonely, terrifying nights.

  Chatter and the chinking of glass—

  Would you like anything, miss?—

  No—

  I tore my hand from Jabari’s and my planets withered back into the black while his galaxy remained. It finally faded (far more gracefully than mine, I might add), and soon it was just the two of us back in my lowly lit bedroom in Abduult.

  I took a deep breath, a new resolve coming to me. “I didn’t know I could do any of this. I want to know more.” Just like espresso, I was addicted. “Will you teach me, Jabari?”

  “Certainly. My first lesson, Saylora: ündane célé-van ashriv-ar, ni nominmar elemtani.”

  “You want me to say that?”

  “Yes.”

  I frowned. “Are you going to tell me what it does?”

  “When it works, you will know. It is a different sort of magic than what we have just done.”

  “Intriguing. Vague.”

  Jabari smiled. “Say it for me.”

  I repeated his spell, my conviction halfhearted at best.

  “Try again, slower,” he encouraged. “Mean each word.”

  “I can’t even hear the distinction between these words, so how can I possibly mean them?” I provided Jabari with an incredulous side-eye.

  “Try. Deep breath. Calm and controlled.”

  “Ündane célé-van ashriv-ar, ni nominmar elemtani. Ündane célé-van ashriv-ar, ni nominmar elemtani—”

  As I repeated, it hit me suddenly that I’d said these words before— many times, judging by the way my mouth was familiar with their formation. It moved almost autonomously towards their pronunciation. I cut myself off, frowning at Jabari. “I’ve said this before.”

  He nodded and my eyes narrowed. “I thought you didn’t know anything about my history with magic.”

  “As I said, Saylora, this is a different sort of magic.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to give me?”

  I glared at Jabari as he let the mystery endure with his silence, then closed my eyes to repeat the nonsense which had once been familiar to me. I tried to find the peace of mind Jabari seemed to be asking of me, the peace of mind that’d made that magical room appear before he shown up. After a few repetitions of intense concentration, the words became a sort of monotone incantation in me that could’ve easily spiraled into eternity. I took a quick breath, drawing myself out of the chant, and opened my eyes.

  To absolutely nothing… except Jabari, who was grinning.

  “See, you’re looking at me like that, Jabari, but nothing happened.”

  He patted my knee and moved elegantly off of the bed. “Continue practicing, Saylora.”

  I may or may not have let an expletive slip as he winked at me on his way out.

  “Your core strength is abominable.”

  “Yeah, well, I think that happens when you don’t move for fifty years.”

  “Stand up straighter.” The scowl on Gilles’ face said enough for a million snarky retorts as he pressed his hands around my lower stomach and back, trying fuse his strength into my abs, I guess. All he was accomplishing was touching me in a very desirable spot.

  Calm down, horndog siren.

  “You’re lucky I can stand at all,” I grumbled, stretching my arms high and squinting at the target. I’d tried, in vain, all day to ignore him when he did this.

  Training hadn’t gone so well, mostly because I’d stayed up all night practicing Jabari’s spell from the ball. I’d gone back again and again to that same round room surrounded by the sea, reveling in it and wondering from where in the depths of my memories the image had been sourced. The only new thing I’d been able to glean was that there was a dog; he’d bounded in with what I realized only in hindsight had been unadulterated glee, but the sudden movement had startled me and instantly shattered the spell. After that, it was pretty clear I might not be prepared for whatever other things hidden in my subconscious might come running at me.

  The arrow whistled through the air and clanked against the stone floor just short of the target.

  “Great. You would have barely grazed the enemy’s ankle with a flesh wound,” Gilles huffed.

  “Great,” I repeated sarcastically. He seemed to be forgetting that I was brand new to a world where archery was even a viable form of combat. “Why are you frustrated?” I asked. “I mean, more than usual.”

  “You were doing far better this time yesterday.”

  “I’ll remind you, Gilles, that I’m a beginner at learning how to sling pointy sticks across a room.”

  “Learn faster.” I scoffed as he marched off to pick up the arrows that’d accumulated in failure at the foot of the target, stalked back to me, and thrust them in my face. “Go again.”

  “What’s your problem today? God,” I nocked the arrow and hefted the bow up, trying to hold my core tight so he wouldn’t have to touch me again. “Like, you always have a problem Gilles, but you’re unusually on edge even for your level of assholery.” I bit my lip, focused in on the target and released. It struck even farther out than last time.

  Dammit.

  My body sagged in defeat, all my muscles aching and my spirit following suit. I didn’t want to admit it, but Gilles was right; I wasn’t going to maim anything with this aim, and at this point, my biggest concern was that I was just making my body more exhausted with the relentless effort.

  “We don’t have enough time for this,” Gilles huffed.

  Thanks, Captain Obvious.

  Since it was probably best for only one of us to be this much of a Negative Nancy at a time for, like, general morale, I elbowed him in the side. “Hand me another,” I said, sucking in a deep breath and trying my best to stay positive. “I’ll get better, give me a chance. I’m just sore from being so extra excellent yesterday.”

  “You’ll be sore when they come for you. You’ll be exhausted and worn down, and hopeless. So get used to it.”

  Nock, aim, fire. Fail.

  The bow clattered to the ground. “I need a break.”

  “You need—” Gilles put his hands on me again, “—to be standing taller—”

  I nearly pushed him off of me, but something stopped me. I stared up into his green eyes for a beat, swimming in all that frustration boiling in them. Lingering somewhere in that gaze was a hardness which made it clear to me that, no matter how much progress I made between now and our eventual doom, it wouldn’t be enough for Gilles.

  “I think you just want to touch me,” I purred. He glared at me and I grinned back.

  Honest to god, most of me just wanted him to chill. Unfortunately, there was a side effect to knowing Gilles was off limits. My siren was far too fluent in the language of challenge that was ever present in his eyes.

  “You keep slouching. If anything, you’re asking for it.”

  “Oh?”

  “You think you see right through me, Saylora? I see through you. You wish more than anything that you could entice me with a single bat of your lashes. It kills you to know you have no real power over me.”

  Kills you, Gilles. Kills. You.

  His words hit a little too close to home, snapping me out of siren mode. “I’m not asking for anything. I don’t want you to touch me.”

  It was only 75% a lie.

  Gilles raised his eyebrows at my real
convincing retort, finally letting go of me. He bent down to grab his own bow, and I breathed out the lungful of air that I’d held stagnant in my chest. He rose gracefully, launching his elbow high. With perfect form, Gilles released the arrow, and it smashed into the core of the target. He reached behind his shoulder, grabbed another arrow swiftly, aimed, and released. It landed right next to the previous one.

  In quick sequence, he shot three more with that perfect statuesque form, until the innermost circle of the target was studded with perfectly landed arrows.

  “No wonder you’re disappointed, if you’re gauging me against you.” I cut my eyes to him, realizing too late— “Not that that was a compliment.”

  God, it was unfortunate that that had to be so super hot.

  “You are capable of the same.”

  I folded my arms. “Yeah, in like twelve fucking years. But currently, I’m a dainty little princess who’s been in a coma for fifty. You, on the other hand, are an ultra-fit uber-masculine bro who’s had nothing better to do than be a gym rat for half a century.”

  “You’re certain that you’re not pretending to be bad at this?”

  I balked. “Why the hell would I do that?”

  “Some women enjoy receiving attention.”

  “Yeah, dumb ones,” I looked at him like he was an idiot. Because he was.

  He shrugged, lazy smile in full blast.

  “Fuck you,” I shoved him back and picked up the bow. “Fuck you and your misogynistic bullshit.”

  I yanked the bow from his hand and aimed. When the arrow missed, I snatched another from him, firing out several more in a steady stream and trying not to think about how the thrill of our tension rewired my accuracy.

  Feeling victorious, I finally lowered the bow and turned to find Gilles with his eyebrows raised. “I know you’re trying to egg me on,” I huffed, “but just because you can, like, channel your male rage in a slightly useful way doesn’t mean I’m going to take the bait.”

  “Haven’t you?” His arms folded over one another, a satisfied smile on the bastard as he taught me his anger.

  “You...” I growled. I smacked him on the arm. It wasn’t playful. I wanted a fight. I had the siren trying to usurp me and now Gilles trying to manipulate me. There was only so much emotional juggling a chick living in a high-stakes situation could handle.

  “You’re— such— a—!” I flailed at him, halfheartedly beating against the solid wall of his chest. Gilles grabbed my wrists, his steel grip so frustratingly masculine.

  I had it in my mind to knee him in the balls just when the sting crawled along my forearms.

  “Imagine those terrible things that happened to you,” Gilles said in a murderous whisper. “Imagine them, and tell me it isn’t your rage which calls for justice.”

  I didn’t want to think about my father, or his nameless friend. I didn’t want to, but Gilles’ words and the particular way he happened to be holding my fist up in the air weren’t helping. The memory was falling on me, not supernatural or magical.

  I choked back that sour taste of bile in my mouth, anger coursing through me as I tried to yank my wrist from Gilles. It didn’t budge an inch. But the fear of a triggered memory was quickly being overcome by something far bolder—

  The siren and her rage.

  “Let go of me,” I muttered, while Human Saylor still had the chance to speak. The chills were creeping down my arm, erupting underneath my skin.

  “Fight your way out. I’m trying to help you, Saylora.”

  “This isn’t a joke,” I stuttered as I flung my body wildly, wrist not moving an inch. But the angrier I got, the stronger the pulse of my siren’s fire burned underneath my skin. “I’m not strong enough, let go!”

  “Yes, you are.”

  You definitely were—

  “Let go—”

  Sera, like seraphim—

  “Gilles! I’m going to kill you,” I hissed. It was the siren’s voice, and I was afraid she actually meant it.

  But it was too late.

  Chapter 15

  Crazy Eyes and the Asshole

  “Can I sit?”

  The guy who looked up at me was cute, but in that definitely-a-dick kind of way. Which (naturally) made this all that more appealing. The prospect of winning in a battle of wills with men was a bit too thrilling to me these days.

  It shouldn’t have been, honestly. Seeing as how I always won.

  The guy stared up at me, eyes flat with lazy consideration. Maybe he thought if he refused to answer altogether, I’d wander off. Instead, I sat.

  “Thanks,” I said, pretending like he’d given me permission.

  “No problem,” he muttered.

  He turned to glare out the window and I smiled to myself. No compulsion needed.

  We sat in silence for several hours while the sound of the road droned on in the background. Every once in a while, I’d glance over at the dude when he coughed to find his eyes closed, headphones clamped down over his ears as his head jostled up against the window with the cadence of the road. Mostly, though, I kept my eyes to myself. The way I kept everything.

  I was just getting to an especially engrossing part of my book when I saw him shift towards me, and I instinctively flinched away.

  “Sorry,” I yelped as the movement drew his attention.

  “So jumpy,” the guy said, his voice husky with sleep. I looked over at him to see his brows creased with that ever-present judgment he seemed to have going for him. The piercing gaze finally fell away, and he took a deep breath. “Can you stop humming? Trying to sleep here.”

  “I wasn’t humming,” I said defensively. My face immediately heated; I never sang around people. On principle. Ever.

  “You definitely were,” he shrugged, groggily looking out the window.

  God. Was it true? What was wrong with me?

  “You’re listening to music,” I said, grateful for the barrier to his ears. “How would you even know?”

  “Phone’s been dead for hours. No music.”

  “So those ridiculously pretentious things,” I pointed at his pair of headphones, “are just for show, then?”

  “They ward off unwelcome conversation. Of course, I hadn’t taken the potential of humming into consideration.”

  I slammed my book shut with unnecessary fervor. What. A. Douche.

  “Look, I get that you aren’t exactly thrilled I sat here, but first off, I’m allowed to sit wherever I damn well please. Move on. Second, you don’t have to be a total fucking asshat.”

  He cut his tired eyes back to me. I wasn’t totally sure, but I thought I almost saw the hint of a smile curl onto his lips. “I just asked you to stop humming.”

  “If I was humming, then you’re welcome for the music. What with your phone being dead or whatever.”

  Now he was definitely smiling.

  Ugh, something about this guy got under my skin. The planes of that smug face were just so damn punchable. “We’ve been sitting next to each other for hours not talking, so let’s just get back to that, okay?” I finally said. “Trust me, I much preferred the silence, too.”

  He raised his eyebrows and nodded to himself, kind of like he didn’t expect me to snap back with such intensity, and I kicked myself deeper into my seat, tucking my arms into each other.

  “That’s right, I don’t put up with bullshit,” I retorted, feeling emboldened by my own brazenness. He cringe-smiled at me like he was both a little embarrassed for my outburst but also intrigued by it.

  I took a deep breath, swallowing back the impulse rising in me. It was a power trip, and I didn’t like letting that side of me loose. I felt like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, two me’s, distinct and yet the same. In the years since discovering my unnatural ability to coerce, I’d also learned that it wasn’t just anger that made my instincts go haywire. It was all the good stuff, too. Things like attraction. Like singing.

  So I didn’t sing. Not ever. Not anymore. And for as much of a pain in the ass as this
jaded hipster kid was turning out to be, it wasn’t like I was down to compel him. That privilege was (almost) exclusively reserved for the sleaziest amongst men.

  Why I’d been so resolved to sit next to this motherfucker, who the hell knew. It was always a mistake to indulge my impulses to argue with people who had dicks, let alone were one. It just never ended well for them. It didn’t make me feel especially great, either.

  My head swiveled around to look for another open seat but, on par with my usual luck, there were none.

  “Looks like you’re stuck with me now.”

  I turned back to the guy, surprised he was still engaging with me. He stuck his hand out. “Gilles,” he said.

  I stared down at his hand then looked back up, surveying him with brows raised. “You want me to shake that?”

  The guy— Gilles or whatever— wagged it at me.

  “No thanks,” I said. If mistake number one was singing in earshot of men, touching them came at a close and dangerous second.

  This Gilles guy shrugged, lowering his arm, and then stared at me like I was being excessively rude.

  I sighed. “Saylor.”

  Gilles nodded as if I was only barely maintaining riveting conversation.

  God, the dude was so hot and cold. He turned back to the night outside the window as it rolled past in streaks of darkness and smears of headlights. Just being around him made me feel like I had some point to prove.

  Something curled into me, a sudden need for his rapt attention. My body stiffened in immediate warning. I hadn’t felt this since—

  No. I would not test this. Not here. Not him. Even the seed of such a thought was a temptation I couldn’t afford to entertain.

  My fingers squeezed into fists, nails digging into my skin. “Gilles is an interesting name,” I said.

  “So is Saylor.”

  “Yours is kind of like an old man name, though. Like Leonard. Or Bert.”

  “Well I don’t even know what ‘Saylor’ is.”

  I shrugged. “It’s just what I call myself.”

  “Did your parents love the sea or something?”

  Yes, this was good. I exhaled heavily, fingers clenching and unclenching. Simple conversation. Doable. Distracting.