Under the Surface (Song of the Siren Book 1)

by Sonya Blake

She’d heard enough alcoholic’s excuses from her father to know them all. I only had a few. My buddy was buying. It was a good game. I had a rough day. And yes, even I feel like I’ve been drugged.

  But maybe she’d been too hard on Sam. He’d sounded so pathetic—his normally deep, smooth voice had been ragged and weak, on the brink of tears. Still, he’d left her alone on the island all day, with no note and no way to get home. Yes, she’d taken a big risk in swimming to Foley’s Point—but she probably should have just stayed put. She couldn’t blame him for her own choices.

  Sleep wasn’t going to come easily to her that night. She found herself torn between the old anger he had triggered and her memories of the night they’d shared, when he’d opened up an ocean of need inside her. She’d never even imagined it could be like that, never imagined she could give herself so completely to someone.

  Kaia turned and gathered the down comforter tighter around herself to ward off the cold. She realized this was her first night in Maine sleeping without Sam Lowell nearby. He had made her feel safe. Relaxed. She ached for him—not just for the pleasure he could give her, but for the solid reassurance of his presence. Even as she tried to quiet her mind, some part of her brain was still aware of the speargun Felicia had given her, leaning between the bed and the nightstand, and the protective herbs she’d scattered around the house’s foundation, anchoring her to the reality that she was a siren, and that she had enemies.

  *

  Kaia woke to the phone ringing again. She shot out of bed and out of a dream of Sam being attacked by a humongous octopus and her needing to use the speargun to save him. She panted as she threw off the covers and picked up the bedside phone.

  It was the realtor, Markus, returning Kaia’s call. Relieved and a little disoriented, Kaia sat up and did her best to sound alert and adult as she spoke with him about her intention to sell the house on Foley’s Point. A heritage property, Markus called it, and sounded enthusiastic about coming by for a visit later that afternoon, as long as the storm didn’t get too bad.

  “Storm?” Kaia said, rubbing her eyes.

  “Yap. Nor’easter comin’ in, stahtin’ in the next howah or so.”

  “Oh, right,” Kaia murmured, vaguely remembering Felicia mentioning a storm.

  “Two feet, they’re sayin’. Of course, they’re wrong half the time.” Markus laughed. “Could be four feet. So, I’ll, ah, come by ‘round two?”

  “Sure, sounds good.”

  Ending the call with Markus, Kaia got up and showered. She dressed in a comfy pair of patterned leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, and ensconced herself and her banjo on the yellow velvet couch with a steaming cup of coffee within reach. She was picking and singing Moonshiner when there was a knock at the door.

  Reluctantly putting down her instrument, she padded over, turning the cool doorknob and bracing herself for the blast of wintry wind. Sam Lowell stood on the porch wearing a parka and a black beanie, holding her clothes and boots. His face was grim beneath his dark beard, eyes solemn above purple rings of utter exhaustion.

  “Thought you might want this stuff,” he said gruffly, “with the storm coming, and all.”

  Kaia nodded and took the boots and clothes from him. Behind him the clouds were low and white and already filling the air with tiny flurries.

  “Come on in, before I freeze,” Kaia said, and stepped aside.

  Sam entered and shut the door behind him. He stood looking down at her, unsmiling.

  “You gonna tell me what the hell happened?” she asked, cutting right to it. “I need an answer. A real one.”

  Sam shut his eyes and sighed, then opened them again. “I don’t know.” He shook his head, gaze searching. “All I know is I spent half the night puking my guts out.”

  “Does this have anything to do with how you suddenly needed to go back to Thursday Island the other night?” Kaia asked as she set her things down on the hall bench.

  “No.” Sam lowered his brows in thought. “I don’t think so. I just wanted to get back there. I wanted”—he paused, confusion passing over his face—“I don’t really remember. My head’s all messed up.”

  Kaia crossed her arms, keeping herself at arm’s length from him, knowing that if she let herself get too close she’d give in to the warmth and comfort she’d find there. “Did you just freak out?” she suggested. “You’ve mentioned a bunch of times that you’ve never let yourself get close to anyone because you know you’re tied to the ocean, and… you said I terrify you.”

  Sam snorted and leaned back against the door, tilting his head to expose the white, strong pillar of his neck. Kaia remembered kissing him there and felt her cheeks burn, her lips tingle. She tried to stop herself but the memories kept surfacing—Sam’s hands gripping her thighs, his abs flexing as he moved in her, his jaw dropping open, brows knitting together when he came. Tears stung her eyes and she turned away, gripping the banister of the stairs.

  Pull yourself together.

  She was already more attached to him than she should’ve ever let herself be. There was little hope for them. Him: basically a confessed player. Her: still nursing a healing heart and only staying in Maine until she got the house on the market.

  Tell him to go.

  Struggling to keep her back straight and not collapse with the tears threatening to spill out of her, Kaia pulled herself onto the stairs. Sam would leave and she would go up to her bed and cry it out until she was empty, and then she’d meet with this realtor Markus, wait out the damned Nor’easter, then go home to Tennessee.

  Say goodbye.

  Sam’s hand landed softly on her shoulder. “Kaia, please,” he said. He was close behind her now, his warmth against her back, his face nestling into her hair, moving his hands to encircle her waist. “I’d never lie to you. Do you believe that?”

  She did believe that. She bit her lips and squeezed her eyes shut. “Yes,” she answered.

  “I don’t know what happened to me,” he whispered, his breath hot against her hair. “I only know that it made me sick, and hurt me, and left me with no memory. The minute I came back to myself, you were the first thing I thought of. I’m sorry, Kaia.”

  She turned on the step and faced him, still not nearly at eye-level. His pleading eyes met hers and, though she felt the sincerity of his apology, she thought to herself that the smartest move would still be to tell him to go. They had shared one night together and yes, the sex had been life-changing—it seemed everything about their experience together was life-changing—but to keep going now would just be idiotic.

  “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Kaia,” Sam said, his hands brushing down the length of her arms. “Tell me what you need from me, and I’ll make it happen.”

  I need you to leave.

  She opened her mouth but couldn’t bring herself to say it.

  I need you to kiss me.

  She couldn’t say that, either.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “What the fuck,” Violet said between her teeth as she and Emory stood at the second-story window of the master bedroom. “He was supposed to forget about her. Look, his boat’s there at Foley’s Point. Again.”

  Emory shrugged. She possessed the cooler, more collected half of Violet’s mind. She was a drone, of sorts. Violet probably should’ve kept herself in one body. It had been an experiment, one she had thought about for several lifetimes before enacting. Now she was pure creative intelligence, intuition, passion, lust. She was liberated. Emory, on the other hand, was rational intelligence and practicality. In short, Emory was boring. Violet had kept only a small portion of her simpler virtues to herself and generally relied on her twin for things like paying the bills on time and doing taxes.

  “Dammit!” Violet slapped the window frame as she stared out at the harbor, Foley’s Point disappearing in the wash of snow.

  Emory took her by the wrists and turned her away from the window. “Use the sealskin,” she said. “It works.”

  Violet he
aved an aggravated sigh and went up to the cupola. It still smelled of sex and burnt geranium, the floor scattered with colorful silken pillows. She felt a flush creep up her chest and cheeks at the recollection of what she and Emory had done with Sam. She hadn’t expected the spell to work that well. Hadn’t actually expected Baphomet to come. And he had, she was certain. Though she had seen no physical change in Sam, she’d felt the demon’s presence through him.

  Violet knelt at the trunk and used her key to open it. The selkie’s pelt felt heavy and comforting in her arms as she lifted it out of the trunk and cradled it close. “Go home, Sam,” she whispered to it. “Go home and forget about Kaia.”

  She stood and carried the pelt to the harbor-facing windows, where she could look out and see Sam’s lobster boat moored off the southern side of Foley’s Point. “Go home,” she said, squeezing the pelt tighter. “Go home, Sam.”

  She stood there, commanding him repeatedly, waiting to see him rowing around the edge of the Point and getting into his boat, but he never came. Emory appeared at her side at last.

  Hot tears of frustration and envy streaked Violet’s face. “Why isn’t this working?”

  “It’s just not,” Emory said, her hands soft on Violet’s shoulders. “Leave it for now. You need to eat something.”

  She let herself be pulled from the window. Kaia might hold a powerful sway over Sam for now, but Violet would find a way to fix that, and soon.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Sam stood close enough for Kaia to smell his sandalwood soap and the lingering woodsmoke on his jacket. She lifted her hands to his neck and slid into the warmth beneath the collar of his flannel shirt. He lowered his forehead to hers.

  “The realtor’s coming soon,” she told him.

  Sam sighed and stepped back. “I should go.”

  Kaia shook her head. Make up your mind, dammit.

  Just then, the phone rang. Kaia groaned, irritated by its shrill sound raking through the silence of the house. As she went for the kitchen, Sam turned to the door.

  “Wait,” she told Sam. “Just… hang on. Okay?”

  He nodded.

  After taking the call, she came back into the hall to find him sitting on the stairs, his jacket unzipped, leaning with his forearms on his thighs. His dark, tired eyes looked up at her.

  “That was the Markus, the realtor,” Kaia explained. “He’s not coming. Storm’s getting too bad. Says he’s got a crappy car, so…”

  Sam lifted his brows expectantly.

  “I want you to stay,” she admitted.

  A smile melted the tension from his face, softening all the hard angles. Kaia stepped between his knees and felt him wrap his arms around her waist, resting his cheek on her chest. His hair was thick and smooth under her fingers as she brushed it away from his forehead.

  Whatever he’d been through, whatever had kept him from returning to her for a whole day, whatever had made his memory a blank, it had taken almost everything of him. She could feel it in the way he leaned into her, like he needed comfort, needed rest.

  “Are you okay?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know,” he whispered back, his voice choked. “I’m sorry.”

  Her fingers slid over his warm, damp cheeks. “Oh, Sam,” she muttered, holding him closer, pressing her lips to his dark hair. “It’s all right.”

  “I feel like I don’t deserve you,” he said, pulling back, his hands sliding down to rest lightly on her hips. His eyes brimmed with tears; the tip of his nose was tinged with pink. He swiped at his cheeks and shook his head. “I swear to God I don’t know what the hell happened to me,” he said, “but I keep getting this feeling, this feeling like I did… a bad thing.”

  Kaia shook her head and tightened her grip on his shoulders. Eyeing him face-to-face, she said, “Whatever it was, I know you’d never do anything to hurt me. I trust you, Sam.”

  He nodded, wiping a hand down the front of his beard. She wanted him more fiercely than ever. She wanted to kiss his tears, to undress him and comfort him the best way she could think of. Taking his hands in hers, she said, “Come upstairs.”

  The bedroom was lit with the cool, quiet light of snow. As she pulled him to the bed, the only sound that could be heard was the soft rush of ocean to land. She slid his coat from his shoulders and let it drop to the floor, then pulled off her sweatshirt as he began unbuttoning his flannel. He watched, his dark eyes glowing with desire, while she slid the top of her leggings down over her hips and wriggled out of them until she was in nothing but a pair of soft black briefs.

  She stepped closer and felt the current of his body heat flow around her. Her hands drifted over his skin, pale and firm. She touched where he was marked with blue-black ink, ran her fingers over the tangle of Nordic knot-work and imaginary beasts coiling from his right pectoral muscle, over the round expanse of his shoulder, twisting down the slope of his bicep and his thick forearm and wrist, ending in a point over the top of his broad hand.

  He had the arms and hands of a man who used his body for work, thick and capable. Appreciating his strength, she lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed the center of his palm, where a silvery scar slashed across his heartline and lifeline. She’d seen it the night she had arrived, when she’d impulsively grabbed his hand and commented on his callouses as a tactic to get him to tell her something of himself.

  Despite knowing more about him than perhaps anyone else did, he was still a mystery to her. It frightened her, that part of him she felt lingering like a dangerous shadow in the faraway reaches of his spirit, but it drew her to him, too. She wanted that part of him, wanted all of his light and all of his shadow.

  His lips were hot and warm in the crook of her neck, sending a shiver of pleasure over her skin. “I’d do anything for you,” he muttered, his lips tracing a line between her ear and her shoulder. “Kaia, I mean it. I know we just met but I’ve never—”

  She wanted to listen to him, but was too taken with the contours of his abdomen flexing down in a sculpted V toward the waistband of his jeans. She palmed the thick ridge straining against the denim of his jeans and shivered with delight when he gasped in response. Her fingers made quick work of his belt and the buttons of his fly. Sam gasped when she pressed her hand down into his boxers and closed her fingers around his cock.

  “Oh God,” he said, leaning back against the maplewood poster bed, chuckling. “You’re making me dizzy.”

  His smile faded and he bit down on his lower lip as he hooked his thumbs into the top of his jeans and boxers and rucked them down a few inches over his hips, his dark gaze holding hers. Her knees quivered. She leaned against him, squeezing his thigh between her own for balance as she tightened her grip and looked down. He’d seen more of her than anyone else ever had, she was pretty sure. She wanted to see him the same way.

  He was slipping his fingers into the back of her panties when she pulled away. “Not yet.” She felt a smirk twist her lips as she nodded down at his exposed arousal. “You first. Everything off.”

  Sam chuckled bashfully. “All right,” he said, and stood from the bed to step out of his jeans.

  “I wanna see you,” she told him as she sidled closer, touching his bent back, the soft fluff under his arm. “All of you. I wanna know all of you, Sam.”

  She ran her fingers up his thigh, palming the round firmness of his ass, then turned him away from her. He gripped the bedpost, leaning against it as she kissed him between the shoulder blades, where his scar broke along his spine.

  She wanted to lay him out and pull him apart until he was weeping, to push her way into him until he was shaking and begging her for release. She wanted to make him cry, to wash herself in his tears.

  Kaia stepped back, shocked by her own indefinable desires. She’d never felt anything like this before—this desire to tear, to break, to consume. It frightened her. It made her recall Felicia Dunne’s words about sirens:

  Some say you’re dangerous. Dangerous to men, at least.

/>   Sam lifted his head and twitched it over his shoulder, then turned to face her. He held his cock in one hand, stroking up and down with a soft, even motion.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  Kaia nodded, finding herself feeling bashful now, caught thinking crazy thoughts. She wasn’t dangerous. Just because she’d discovered something new about herself didn’t mean she was suddenly a different person. Maybe it was Sam that made her feel this way. He certainly made her feel like she could go to the limits of her own soul. He drove her to the edge of her known territory, to see what was out there—only to find the infinite.

  Sam continued looking at her, binding her to him with his gaze as he knelt at her feet, his knees resting on the wide floorboards. She gasped when he pulled her underwear aside and leaned closer until she could feel the heat of his breath on her sensitive flesh, the expectation as intense as the act.

  “So beautiful,” he told her, and brushed his lips over her.

  He licked her softly and insistently, holding her underwear stretched tight against her hip till she felt it threading between her cheeks, nearly snapping along with her own endurance to sustain this level of pleasure while remaining on her feet.

  “Sam,” she whispered, voice trembling, toes gripping the floorboards. “I need you inside me.”

  He reached behind her and slowly, torturously, drew her stretched underwear off her bottom. Kaia’s knees buckled and she groaned. He smirked, apparently delighted with himself now. Cupping her ass as he stood, he lifted her off her feet and onto the bed, crawling over her as he placed a trail of kisses along her sternum.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Sam dropped his head to Kaia’s shoulder. “Shit,” he said. “I forgot condoms.”

  He felt her sigh. Her fingertips drifted up his sides.

  “That’s okay,” she whispered. “I… I can’t get pregnant.”

  Propping himself up on his elbows, he looked down at her face. Her eyes were wide and beginning to glisten. She pressed her lips together and swallowed, then said, “I can’t have kids. I, um, I had ovarian cancer and, yeah. It was five years ago. I’m healthy now. Cancer-free!” She gave a shaky grin, then became solemn again. “It was a really hard time, obviously. I still have to go for routine screenings and the anticipation surrounding them can be, well, it can be a nightmare, but it seems like I’m doing great.”