by Devyn Quinn
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Teaser chapter
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Praise for the Dark Tides Novels
Siren’s Surrender
“Devyn Quinn writes with a sharp sense of humor, a breathtaking sensuality, and a vivid sense of style. I loved this book from the first page to the last!”
—Darynda Jones, author of First Grave on the Right
Siren’s Call
“Siren’s Call is a thoroughly mesmerizing ride—Quinn throws open the doors to an unbelievable world where nothing is as expected. At once terrifying and fascinating, and unbelievably entertaining, this is a book you won’t forget.”
—Kate Douglas, bestselling author of the Wolf Tales and the Demonslayers series
“Devyn Quinn writes her stories exactly the way I like to read them: rich, detailed, and a touch poetic. You can practically smell the wind, feel the passion, and taste the tears.”
—Morgan Hawke, author of Kiss of the Wolf
“More than a paranormal romance where the star-crossed lovers must battle huge obstacles, Siren’s Call quickly serves up a main course of interesting characters with a side dish of archaeological and historical intrigue. The novel does not delay the inevitable, nor does it retread the oft-trod predictable lines of many paranormal romances. Instead, as the story develops so do intriguing questions about privacy, relationships, and what the world may have a right to know.”
—Fresh Fiction
“This first Dark Tides novel has a nicely inventive shape-shifting heroine. The hero is quite humanly flawed, and yet satisfyingly honorable.”
—Romantic Times
“The questions, feelings, and issues discussed made this unlikely story more real and believable. . . . I felt that the author fully pulled me into the world that she created. . . . I am definitely interested in reading the next book in this series.”
—Night Owl Reviews
“If you like a fast-paced read that draws you in quickly and leaves you begging for more, this is the book for you. . . . I found myself really absorbed in the plot and emotionally invested in the characters. . . . [A]nd I’m sure some are already screaming in Ms. Quinn’s head, begging her to tell their stories. All I can add is, I’ll be waiting none too patiently for the next installment of the Dark Tides series. Ms. Quinn not only delivered, but went above and beyond.”
—Rites of Romance (recommended read)
“I enjoyed the story, especially the prickly Tessa. Paranormal fans with a penchant for mermaids are likely to enjoy this series.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
“A mystical tale of magic-wielding Mers, a lost civilization, and an evil queen hell-bent on destruction; escapism at its finest! If you haven’t read Devyn Quinn before, let me say this, ‘Her descriptions are vivid.’ You’ll also enjoy the malevolent characters as much as her likable ones. I certainly do!”
—LoveRomancePassion Reviews
“You won’t find many paranormals that focus on mermaids, and after reading this one, I have to wonder why. I mean, sure, vampires, weres, and aliens are cool and all, but Tessa and her sisters . . . will introduce readers to a world potentially far more mysterious and intriguing. . . . If you’re looking for a tale that successfully blends emotion, action, and a healthy dollop of intrigue, you’ve found it in Siren’s Call.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“I absolutely fell in love with this book. Siren’s Call is a refreshing change from vampires and werewolves. This book transported me to a magical world underwater.”
—Manic Readers
Praise for the Novels of Devyn Quinn Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award Winner for Paranormal Erotic Romance
“Fast-paced, action-packed, and hotter than sin.”
—TwoLips Reviews
“May just leave the reader . . . begging for more.”
—Coffee Time Romance
“Dark, powerful, and deliciously erotic.... Step out of your comfort zone, embrace the impossible, and lose yourself in this richly sensual tale, the ultimate in dark erotic romance.”
—Kate Douglas, author of the Wolf Tales series
“Altogether, a deliciously hot page-turner.”
—Romantic Times
“[This] is a killer! It totally rocks.”
—Joyfully Reviewed
“Exciting paranormal romantic suspense . . . a thrilling shape-shifting tale of the power of love.”
—Midwest Book Review
“A fantastic story that was definitely a page-turner.”
—The Romance Studio
“Devyn Quinn is a mistress of paranormal penmanship and a delightful deviant in the art of erotica.”
—Erotica Revealed
“An addictive read . . . both dark and extremely erotic, so not for the faint of heart. I’d rate it as deliciously evil.”
—Terri Pray, author of Deed Wife
“Devyn Quinn deserves a place of honor in the paranormal genre.”
—Ecataromance
“An awesome pulse-pounding read.”
—The Romance Studio
“If you like your vampire romance to be dark [and] devilishly sexy . . . then Devyn Quinn is an author you do not dare miss out on.”
—Love Romances & More
AVAILABLE FROM SIGNET ECLIPSE
Siren’s Call
SIGNET ECLIPSE
Published by New American Library, a division of
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First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library,
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First Printing, February 2011
eISBN: 9781101481325
Copyright © Devyn Quinn, 2011 All rights reserved
SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in o
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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For Quincy
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It’s hard to believe it’s time write up another page of thank-yous for the second Dark Tides book. My, how the time flew by! You can pretty much bet that Siren’s Surrender could not have come to be without the following people:
Jhanteigh Kupihea has actually survived a second book with her hair intact. I say that because I’m sure she would like to pull most of it out when dealing with the insanity that is Devyn and the process of writing a new book. Fortunately she has the patience of a saint. She also has a very sharp red pen, and her use of it makes me look smarter than I really am.
Roberta Brown is still my agent and still holding my hand. I am thankful she’s there to listen to my concerns and sort out the messes I seem to get myself in. She’s my rock in this business, and without her advice and career guidance, I would not be where I am today.
Bestselling authors Morgan Hawke and Darynda Jones generously took the time out of their own busy schedules to read the book and give me a couple of killer quotes. Thank you, ladies!
I also need to mention my beta readers, Tracey and Lea. These girls are always willing to suffer through draft after draft and haven’t yet told me I really need to go flip burgers instead of write. Kate Douglas is still there, letting me bend her ear. Vanessa Hawthorne needs to slap me for forgetting to mention her in the last book as part of my posse. And, Buddy, I didn’t mean to lump you in with the ladies. You stand on your own, a fabulous friend and talented writer.
A mention also has to go to reader Jackie Hussein for providing the title of Siren’s Surrender. Thanks, Jackie, for racking your brain so we’d have something to put on the front of the book.
If there’s anyone I’ve forgotten, I’ll catch you the next time around!
Chapter 1
Turning into the hotel parking lot, Blake Whittaker guided his black sedan into the nearest available space and killed the engine. Instead of making an immediate grab for the bag in the passenger’s seat, he simply sat, staring into the distance.
It was amazing how things had changed since he’d last been in Port Rock. Almost seventeen years had passed since he’d last set foot in the small Maine fishing village. And while the old familiar landmarks were still in place, a lot of things looked different. The hotel, for instance, was new. Back when he was a kid the oceanfront acreage overlooking the bay was undeveloped, offering an unobstructed view of the open water and the small island that lay about a mile offshore.
Little Mer Island, he thought. That was where he’d be heading first thing tomorrow. To get there he’d have to rent a skiff, crossing over the wide-open waters of the bay.
A flush prickled Blake’s skin as his heart sped up. Despite the humidity permeating the warm summer night, he shivered. He hated deep water of any kind. Aside from a shower, he did his best to stay far away from the stuff. It didn’t matter if it only filled a swimming pool, or the wide-open ocean. The less he saw of it, the better.
Mouth going bone-dry, his grip on the steering wheel tightened as a series of images flashed through his mind. For a brief second he wasn’t a thirty-three-year-old man, but a four-year-old boy facing an insanely furious woman filling a deep old-fashioned claw-foot tub with ice-cold water.
Forcing himself back toward calm, Blake blew out a few quick hard puffs, filling his lungs and then quickly expelling the air. The strain of clenching his jaw made his teeth hurt. The last thing he needed was a full-blown panic attack while sitting in the parking lot. Thank God the lot was abandoned. There was no one around at such a late hour to see him melt down.
Catching hold of his fear and forcing himself to stuff it away, he slowly uncurled his fingers. A low curse slipped between his numb lips. “Damn.” Just thinking about his mother made him twitch, setting his nerves on edge.
He hadn’t expected that memory to come crawling out of nowhere and ambush him. He did his best to forget those petrifying moments when his mom was drunk on vodka and raging with malice.
Men. She hated them. Every last blasted one and . . .
And some things are best left alone, Blake reminded himself. Remembering his mother was like sticking his hand into a den of poisonous snakes. He was bound to get bitten, but he just couldn’t stop prodding the deadly reptiles.
He’d better stop it or he was going to get bitten. Badly.
Coming back to Port Rock certainly wasn’t helping matters. When he’d finally gotten old enough to leave it, he hadn’t intended to come back. Not ever. At the age of seventeen he’d gotten the hell out, going as far away as he could. A one-way bus ticket and a suitcase was all he had to his name. If he hadn’t just joined the army, he would’ve had no place to go at the end of the trip.
Blake rubbed his burning eyes. To be sane himself, to continue being sane, he had to quit tearing at the scars marking old wounds. There were a lot of ghosts lingering in his past, a lot of skeletons shoved into his family’s closets.
Shut them, bolt them, and go on. That was the way he’d always gotten things done. As a kid he’d put on the stiff upper lip, taken the beatings, and gone about the business of living as best he could.
He’d survived.
Sighing again, he shifted his body in the uncomfortable seat, feeling the cramp in his legs. The three-and-a-half-hour trip through a massive thunderstorm had taken its toll on his nerves.
Palm rasping against a day’s growth of whiskers, he reached for the cup balanced between his splayed legs. He took a gulp of its contents: unsweetened black coffee. It was cold and tasted like shit. As much as he didn’t like coming back to Port Rock, he had a job to do. Not a hard one. Not even difficult. Just ask a few questions, poke around a little. It wasn’t rocket science.
But it was top secret.
As a special agent, Blake presently worked in the A51-ASD division of the FBI. Had it not been a highly covert organization, the A51 would have been familiar enough to tip off most Americans as to its purpose. After all, Area 51 was the nickname for a military base presently located in the southern portion of Nevada in the western United States. Supposedly the base’s primary purpose was the development and testing of experimental aircraft and weapons systems.
That was somewhat true. And anyone not presently situated under a rock knew about the intense secrecy surrounding the base, one that had made it a popular subject among conspiracy theorists who held a belief in the existence of alien life on Earth.
The crackpots weren’t wrong, either. Blake Whittaker knew for a fact the federal government took the existence of aliens very seriously. The genesis of the current operations stemmed from an incident in 1947 in Roswell, New Mexico. At that time, the military had supposedly recovered alien craft and corpses, purportedly held under lock and key, never to be revealed to the public.
It was absolutely true in every respect.
The ASD had been created to cover not only future occurrences of possible alien activity, but also to investigate
other incidents deemed alien, paranormal, or hereby inexplicable.
Curious. Strange. Bizarre. You name it, the ASD had an agent on it.
And that was why he was in Port Rock. Because something curious had taken not only a strange turn, but a bizarre one as well.
It had all begun in the 1950s, when an intense concentration of electromagnetic energy was located in the Mediterranean Sea. There was no rhyme or reason why the energy should be at that precise spot, or what caused it. Using the latest technology in deep-sea exploration, scientists had yet to discover the source. Given the location of the disturbance, most theories ranged from a geothermal field due to volcanic activity, to some sort of alien homing signal or beacon.
For the most part, the energy seemed to be harmless, a phenomenon never to be explained. Naval ships in the area monitored it, and no changes had been reported in the last sixty years. Whatever it was simply was.
And then something happened.
From the data he had, Whittaker knew that an undersea salvage group, working under the name of Recoveries, Inc., had moved into the area. The outfit had recently filed in federal court for salvage rights for what they claimed to be the lost civilization of Ishaldi. Nothing unusual there. Treasure hunters regularly hit the Mediterranean in search of everything from ancient Egyptian barges to Spanish warships to World War II aircraft. After all, for the three quarters of the globe, the Mediterranean Sea was the uniting element and the center of world history.
