Sirens and Scales

by Kellie McAllen

  I brushed away a tear as I turned towards Santino, our fingers still entwined. The gentle wind played with his silver strands, and I watched them caress his high, prominent cheekbones, wondering how the gods had created someone this handsome. His inviting lips were pressed tight, yet there was no tension in them now, only a quiet kind of pensiveness, as if he was waiting for me say what I had wanted to ask since last night—and dreading it with all my being at the same time.

  The scent of pine and Santino enveloped me as I gathered enough courage to give voice to my thoughts, and in the embrace of that fragrance, I found my strength at last.

  “Why are you doing all this, Santino? You know who I am—who I was…”

  His thumb brushing over my lips silenced any further sound.

  “Because I’ve been unable to stop thinking of you ever since you walked through my door, wearing that turquoise sundress, with your hair as wild as the wind howling through Piran’s streets. Because I’ve wanted to ask you out, piccola, from the moment I heard your laugh, just so that I could be privy to such a melody once again, to see, even if only one more time, the way your eyes had lit up, casting away the shadowed burden.”

  He stepped closer, gently tugging on our joined hands as he trailed his free one across my shoulders, then down my back. His breath caressed my lips, his eyes never leaving mine until there was nothing but the barest sliver of space left between us. And even it was fading.

  “I am doing all this, cara, because I might have been taken aback when you revealed your heritage the previous night, but realized, although perhaps not soon enough, that it held no sway over my affection for you. Nothing has changed from the day I met you, Liana. It has only grown stronger.” His hand stilled on the small of my back, and I could taste the warmth of his breath on my lips, my tongue. “You are in my heart, sirenetta, and I would be a fool to let you go. To not give everything within my power just to hear you laugh again.”

  9

  Words raged in my throat but failed to find my voice. All I could think about was the touch of Santino’s hands pressed against my back, the way his breath washed over my lips, as if promising the velvet cascade of pleasure that would ride in its wake if I only closed the distance between us. Heat flushed my cheeks, an ache I hadn’t felt for a century building up low in my body.

  Slowly, I lifted my hand to cup the side of his face, following those chiseled lines with the tips of my fingers and memorizing every exquisite detail of his smooth, sun-kissed skin. Santino leaned into the caress, his eyes becoming pools of liquid silver as they dipped to my mouth, then back up again, consuming me with tender, yet burning hunger. I was so caught up in him, I didn’t even notice when he took my thumb between his lips. It was only the sudden grazing of his teeth against my skin that tore my gaze from his. I moaned, closing my eyes to savor the sensation.

  His tongue continued its tantalizing path, gliding across the now impossibly sensitive skin wherever the edge of his teeth had dug deeper, replacing the gentle, fleeting pain. With a final lick, he released my thumb, then planted a trail of kisses, curving all the way to the tip of my index finger. His gaze devoured mine from beneath the thick crescent fall of his lashes, and I found myself shivering, my knees barely holding under the weight of his seduction.

  As if sensing my delicate state, Santino drew me closer. He never ceased his slow, captivating torture, even as my eyelids fluttered shut—even as he held me so close that my breasts touched the hard expanse of his chest and I could feel the evidence of his own desire pressed against my stomach.

  With every lick of his tongue, he unraveled me further, my need for him growing from an ache into an untamed storm that threatened to shatter the world and me right along with it. And when I opened my eyes anew, when I saw those curving strands of pure silver falling across his tanned features, his gaze fixed on mine, I knew this was a path I could never walk back from.

  “Santino,” I whispered, unsure whether the weakness of my voice even carried the word beyond my lips.

  He released my finger with one last flick of his tongue, my hand falling almost helplessly on his shoulder, then slanted his mouth over mine with such speed and fervor, I would have staggered if the embrace of his arms hadn’t held me in place.

  Every fear, every reservation etched deep inside me was suddenly gone, cast aside by the explosion of pleasure that swept through me as completely and as thoroughly as did his taste. I felt like I was burning. Santino’s scent replaced the air I breathed, the touch of him the only reality I still knew. The only reality that held substance.

  I wasn’t a stranger to men—no Rusalka was, as sin was a prerequisite for our kind—and yet when Santino kissed me, it was as if he were opening up new universes, creating worlds I had never before entered, but would venture into with him so willingly. As one.

  My fingers bunched in his hair as I pulled him closer, coaxing a masculine groan to spill from his lips onto mine. A groan that then reverberated through my body, tightening my enflamed core to the brink of release until I writhed, pressing myself against him until there was no space left between us.

  But Santino—he proved me wrong.

  Guided by his strength, we came even closer, the tangle of our bodies becoming a whole as his hand cupped my butt and he lifted me on my tiptoes, ensconcing me in his need and heat alike. The rigid swell of his demand rubbed between my thighs, my mind swimming from the possibilities, from the pleasure I had believed to be lost forever. I gasped at how hard he was, how right it felt, and I pulled away from his kiss to seek out those piecing silver eyes, as well as the lust that was lurking in their starlit depths.

  Gods, I ached for him. Wanted him more than I’d wanted anyone in my life—or death.

  And yet the hoarse words that clawed their way out of my throat were not a plea to unlock that desire. But a warning.

  “This is dangerous, Santino,” I rasped.

  “I don’t care,” he growled back. His voice snaked beneath my dress, kneading my nipples and slithering down my skin, all the way to my core.

  But even as I moaned from the demand wrapped in his low, velvet voice, I took a step back, staggering in those few seconds I needed to regain my footing. My breaths were ragged, and every fiber in my body still burned with the overpowering craving for his touch, yet even the pureness and beauty of the sensation couldn’t suppress the dark tendrils of guilt that undulated deep within my stomach.

  I wished I could ignore their ugly whispers, ignore their taunt that no matter what I felt for this man, I was still a spirit locked in undead flesh. But they were right.

  Even if we somehow survived the hunters, Santino could never have a future with me. Just as I could never forget the deaths buried in the murky waters of the morass, guided there by my voice, if not my hand or heart.

  I—I couldn’t let him bring such taint upon his life.

  “We can’t…” I whispered, hoping the devastation laid bare in my tone was enough to fill the gaps my inadequate words created.

  Santino’s eyes still burned with silver when he looked at me, but the hunger pulsing from his body lessened. I let loose a breath. He understood.

  And yet the soft tug of a smile that played in the corner of his lips not a moment later shattered the brief spell of relief. I might have stopped us from going under the cascade of the waves we’d stirred, but he wasn’t running away. Not without a fight.

  More than likely noticing the ripples of my confusion—of desiring him, yet wanting to protect him—Santino offered me his hand. Not in a prelude to a whirlwind of passion, although I knew he would have given me it if only I asked, but in a gesture of gentlemanly elegance. An invitation.

  Grounding myself with a long breath, I accepted this temporary truce.

  He guided me up the earth-hewn path, away from the car and up the gentle slope leading to the cabin. The soothing rustle of leaves and the melodic chirping of birds accompanied our steps through the brilliant, untamed nature that stretched all a
round us, and even as the serenity and charm of the sight created an intimate atmosphere, Santino never changed his grip into anything more than I was comfortable with.

  Only support. Safety.

  Precisely what he had promised—and what I sought.

  But my heart continued to thrum erratically in my chest, the blush refusing to leave my cheeks despite the fresh air brushing against them and stealing away some of the heat. I focused on placing one foot before the other, using every last ounce of my scrambled will to gradually clear my head of the daze Santino had conjured.

  We ascended the short flight of stairs leading up the center of the widespread wooden porch, and for once, the presence of water at my back failed to infuse my body with fear. Whether it was Santino’s reassurance or merely his touch gifting me this unusual calm state of mind, I couldn’t tell.

  But I was grateful.

  The floorboards creaked gently as we walked up to the paneled door, and it was only then that Santino released my hand, retrieving a ring of keys from his back pocket. He inserted one of the more rustic looking ones into the lock, only instead of turning it, he turned to me.

  “I understand you think you’re protecting me, piccola. But I assure you, any danger you fear is coming—any danger you fear you might bring—I would take pleasure in facing head-on. However”—he smiled, silver eyes digging into mine and stirring the heat I had barely snuffed out—“if it puts you at ease, I will gladly grant you your space. I will give you all the time in the world you feel you need to come to me willingly, Liana. And willing.”

  I sucked in a shaky breath, but Santino simply unlocked the door and shifted aside, letting me pass before him.

  The instant I stepped over the threshold, I noticed that—much like his apartment in Piran—every inch of the space was imbued with his magnetic presence. From how the air carried his scent to the way every piece of furniture and decoration that occupied the spacious plan of the house seemed to echo his languid, alluring nature. I walked into the room, willing my body to go calm. Yet despite my efforts, I couldn’t help wondering… Couldn’t help asking myself if, perhaps, by escaping the morass, I had inadvertently chosen a path of a far more perilous nature.

  After all, a life can sometimes be easier to give—and lose—than the entirety of your heart.

  10

  After Santino whipped us up some breakfast—a delicious serving of honey-covered waffles with a steaming cup of black coffee on the side—he left the cabin to meet up with Caz. My cheek still burned where he had traced his fingers in a silent goodbye, and I spent the majority of the morning browsing through his selection of books to chase away the lingering sensation. The inexplicable longing it stirred.

  I stayed well away from anything even remotely smelling of romance—more of a challenge than I’d thought—and in the end curled up in an armchair with a historical novel from a Slovenian author that had supposedly become a classic after the morass had swallowed me up. The story was captivating, speaking of a family who had ended up split between two opposing sides during World War II, and the prose flowed like music. But despite my immense gratitude for being able to run my gaze across the black-on-cream paragraphs, it wasn’t the glimpses of the characters’ tragic lives that filled my mind.

  It was Santino.

  Again and again, he reemerged, the scent of pine ensnaring my senses until it felt as if he were right here in the cabin with me.

  Eventually, I realized that trying to force myself to concentrate on reading was a futile endeavor. I’d never had any difficulties immersing myself in fictional worlds, even with books that fell on the blander side of art. So it was safe to presume that no amount of effort on my part was going to make me forget about the reality that seemed more like a fairy tale than anything these volumes harbored between their covers. I slipped a piece of paper inside to note where I’d left off, then slid the leather-bound volume back on its place on the top shelf. I spared it one last apologetic look before I wandered outside, squinting at the sun blazing from above.

  I leaned my forearms against the wooden railing of the porch and focused on my breaths, on the nature around me. The lake beyond the cabin was utterly quiet. I had become so used to the endless sloshing of waves and humming of currents that I needed a few moments to grow accustomed to the serenity overflowing my senses now.

  It wasn’t wrong, this calmness. Just unusual.

  And more than anything, it was inviting.

  I bit my lip. Santino had said he wanted to offer me a place where I would be safe, and I couldn’t help the tears prickling at the back of my eyes at knowing he’d given me far more than mere safety.

  He’d given me back a piece of myself.

  It was a gift I didn’t want to waste.

  Quickly, I scanned the vivid brown-and-green expanse of the forest enveloping the lake from all directions, double-checking that I was, indeed, alone, with no prying eyes ogling me from the brush. Reassured, I kicked off my flip-flops, unzipped my floral-patterned skirt, and draped it carefully across the railing. The T-shirt came next, then my bra, and, finally, panties.

  A low, husky laugh escaped my lips as the warm wind touched my naked skin, and with each barefoot step I took along the pebbled path leading to the glassy surface, the sound only grew. Louder. Happier.

  The shackles cultivated by the morass released their hold, retreating into the background where they stayed. I could still feel their presence, but it held no more substance than an eerie, inky shadow.

  It couldn’t touch me now.

  I let out a liberating breath.

  Every instinct inside me urged to hurry and throw myself into the embrace of water, but I refused to rush something this monumental. So I walked alongside the shore first, soaking in the sun as I made my way to a small pier. The wooden boards were weathered, but secure, and I padded down the narrow strip all the way to the very edge, my smile growing.

  The water below was clear, but deep enough to darken, which also meant I was free to do what I’d craved for ever since the initial shock of the shift had subsided and I’d found myself trying to pull together a semblance of a life in Piran. I chewed on my lip, then planted my feet firmly on the edge of the board, knees slightly bent. Another smile bloomed on my face as I swung my arms. I brought them gracefully over my head, then kicked my feet, and, every muscle in my body taut and controlled, propelled myself into a forward dive.

  The instant my hands pierced the surface, the cool touch of stark, alpine water snaked up my arms, my head, my breasts, then followed the trail of my stomach all the way to my still-human legs. The warmth of magic swept through me with almost a kind of gratitude—or perhaps it was my own emotions, my own relief, transforming the change into a thing of utterly beautiful rapture.

  I glided through the water with ease as the ethereal energy fueled my skin, and once I started to aid the movement with my own body, it was the power of a tail, not the kicking of feet, pushing me forward and farther away from shore. Bubbles of laughter rose as I explored the lake, dipping all the way down to the slick pebbles lining the bottom before drifting higher to where the sun could lay its caresses on my exposed skin. Occasionally, I twirled around to glance at the shimmering spill of lilac and turquoise scales, wondering how it was possible that something of such extravagant beauty was an actual part of me—how a water nymph, stripped of the colors of life through misfortune and misguidance, had been granted this gift?

  Regardless of the Rusalkas’ hostility towards mermaids and its chilling manifestation, I couldn’t rid myself of the sentiment that what the shift in the fabric of reality had bestowed upon me was a blessing, not a curse. I might never be a part of the living world again, but drifting through the crystal bed of water, adorned with scales that glimmered like the most precious jewels, I had never felt more alive.

  Briefly, I resurfaced, drinking in this new perspective on the pocket of nature Santino had brought me to. Puffy white clouds floated on the backdrop of the brillia
nt blue sky that reached all the way to the striking greens of pine needles and wide-spread leaves. The entire world seemed like an intimate dance of light and darkness, the melodic chirping of birds only accentuating the harmony of the breathtaking sight. I leaned back on the water, letting the currents play with my hair and trace a gentle line of kisses down my back while the nurturing rays of late-morning sun warmed my breasts and stomach.

  I didn’t know when I started to cry, but the whispers of water spoke of the tears that had joined its depths, becoming one.

  Delicate currents snaked around me like phantom arms, nestling me in their soothing embrace and promising me that this beauty was one I would never lose. That while the world could be barren and hostile, it didn’t have to be such for me.

  I stilled.

  For a long, long moment, all I did was draw deep, steadying breaths. I didn’t dare look away from the never-ending blue of the sky.

  Afraid of what I would see. Of what I would find.

  But the caresses didn’t stop falling upon my skin. They only intensified.

  The realization that I wasn’t dreaming up their almost sentient attempt at comfort ripped my gaze from the sky. I looked down the length of my body, a gasp escaping my lips as it became clear, without a shadow of a doubt, that it wasn’t my imagination making more out of nature than it was.

  It was my mind, willing the nature to cradle me.

  Somewhat ungracefully, I dunked my tail beneath the surface and scanned the lake.

  Alone. I was still alone.

  And yet there truly was a sentience hovering around me. A quiet, gentle presence that imbued every atom of water—waiting for me to speak with it again.

  By the gods…

  It wasn’t jealousy that drove Rusalkas to hunt mermaids. It wasn’t the life or the liberties we possessed.

  No, what planted the seed of hatred was our ability to bend nature to our will.