Siren's Call (Dark Seas)

by Debbie Herbert

  She was irresistible to every man...except one

  Lily Borsage is the ultimate siren: gorgeous, aloof and irresistible to all the men in Bayou La Siryna. All of them, that is, until Nashoba Bowman comes back to town. The Native American kid whose innocent first kiss Lily remembers fondly is now all grown-up, hot as an Alabama summer—and immune to Lily’s charms. What self-respecting mermaid could resist finding out more?

  But Nash has a dark history that puts any woman he loves in grave danger, and a heritage of power he isn’t ready to accept. And Lily has a secret that no mortal man can ever know. When a mysterious enemy starts menacing Lily, they will both have to risk everything—and embrace their deepest destinies—if they want to survive.

  Lily leaned into him and gave in to the urge to touch him again.

  She lightly ran a finger along the stern edge of his jaw. A delicious frisson of awareness shot down her spine at the contact. Nash didn’t move. Did he truly feel nothing between them?

  “Don’t,” he said in a harsh, tight voice.

  “Why? You don’t really believe you’re cursed, do you?” Her hand crept to the back of his neck, fingers combing his smooth black hair.

  Abruptly, Nash pulled her to him, his lips crushing against hers. Heat flared and liquid warmth pulsed through her body. His strength was more than the physical, unyielding planes of his mouth, chest and arms. It was an aura as primal and mysterious as anything nature could produce. Lily parted her mouth, inviting him to deepen the kiss.

  Nash thrust her away. “Good night, Lily.”

  Debbie Herbert writes paranormal romance novels reflecting her belief that love, like magic, casts its own spell of enchantment. She’s always been fascinated by magic, romance and gothic stories. Married and living in Alabama, she roots for the Crimson Tide football team. Her oldest son, like many of her characters, has autism. Her youngest son is in the US Army. A past Maggie Award finalist in both young-adult and paranormal romance, she’s a member of the Georgia Romance Writers of America.

  Books by Debbie Herbert

  HARLEQUIN NOCTURNE

  Dark Seas

  Siren’s Secret

  Siren’s Treasure

  Siren’s Call

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  SIREN’S CALL

  Debbie Herbert

  Dear Reader,

  As I wrap up the Dark Seas series with this book, I admit to feeling a bit sad to say goodbye to my shapeshifting mermaid clan in the ’Bama bayou. The characters and the town of Bayou La Siryna feel real to me after spending so much time writing about them. I hope you’ve enjoyed the series as well.

  Lily’s story in Siren’s Call is all about redemption. In earlier books, she did a few unsavory things and was often portrayed as cold in her treatment of the men who fell for her siren’s voice. But to me, she’s always been the most interesting and mysterious one of the mermaid clan. Writing it was a journey into the soul of a woman who needs to learn much of love and how to express her true feelings.

  This book also incorporates Choctaw lore. Native Americans in South Alabama have a fascinating story about mermaids. They were called Okwa Nahollo which loosely translates as “white people of the sea.” While such a tale does exist, I expanded upon it for fiction purposes.

  If you enjoy Native American legends, be on the lookout for a new book I’m writing for Harlequin Nocturne. It takes place in the same town of Bayou La Siryna, but it’s about hoodoo and the Choctaw tale of evil shadow spirits that roam the bayou woods. And—as always—it has lots of romance!

  I invite you to connect with me on my website (debbieherbert.com) or on social media. On Facebook, you can find me at “Debbie Herbert Author” and my Twitter handle is @debherbertwrit.

  May you have a fantastic summer and be sure to take Siren’s Call with you on vacation for that perfect beach read!

  Happy reading!

  Debbie Herbert

  First and always, for my husband, Tim, who has always believed in me. For my father, J.W. Gainey, who takes such pride in my accomplishments. And I want to mention several special friends who have helped me on my writing journey with either their support or the brainstorming of ideas, or critique of this book as it was written: Sandra Wilson Cummins, Sherrie Lea Morgan and Becky Rawnsley.

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Excerpt

  Chapter 1

  “Look at her...”

  Snicker. “Thinks she’s somethin’...”

  “Heard about her latest?”

  Lily ignored the whispers and kept the corners of her lips slightly upturned as she studied the dead fish on display. Her insides churned as cold and slushy as the fishes’ beds of ice.

  “Miss Bosarge!” The portly seafood manager beamed behind the counter. “What can I get ya?”

  She pointed to her selection and he wrapped it in white paper, all the while looking her up and down, a lecherous glimmer in his eyes. He winked. “I’ll make a special deal for you.”

  The buzzing from behind grew louder.

  “Disgusting.”

  “Slut.”

  That was going too far. Lily placed the fish in her cart and withdrew her makeup compact. She held it up and dabbed on a touch of lip gloss, checking out her latest tormentors. Yep, Twyla Fae was with a couple of friends and no doubt the ringleader. Twyla still smarted from the time her then-boyfriend-now-husband briefly dumped her to pursue Lily. You’d think the woman would be over something that happened two years ago.

  Lily composed the habitual all-is-well smile as she faced Twyla. “How’s J.P. doing?” she asked with double-sugar-fudge politeness. “I haven’t heard from him in the longest. I really should drop by and say ‘hey’.”

  Twyla paled beneath her tan but quickly recovered and glowered. “You stay away from J.P.” She shifted the whining toddler in her arms. “We’re a family now.”

  Lily moved her cart straight at the trio. They jumped out of the way.

  “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t,” she threatened in honeyed tones, strolling down the aisle. Never let them see you care—her mantra since puberty, when her siren’s voice had developed and unleashed its power over the entire male population of Bayou La Siryna.

  Lily took her time filling the cart with dozens of cans of sardine and tuna and cases of bottled water. The usual fare.

  An explosion of green bean tins hit the floor, but she didn’t flinch. A teenaged stock boy gathered the spillage, so focused on Lily he made a worse mess and cans rolled in all directions. Almost without fail, men ran into stuff or dropped what they were doing when she walked by. She would have helped the boy, but experience proved it would make matters worse. He’d say something stupid or his girlfriend would see them and get mad, or he’d continue to bumble on or... It was always something.

  The grocery store’s sliding glass doors opened, bringing in a wave of humid Alabama
air. A tanned stranger walked in with an aura as hot and powerful as the bayou breeze. He didn’t look around the store to get his bearings, but immediately turned right and went to the produce department. He had a patrician vibe, as if he were Mr. Darcy strolling across English moors, not a local good ole boy grocery shopping at Winn-Dixie.

  Lily leaned against the cart and watched as he efficiently grabbed a sack of potatoes and loaded it in his cart, paying no attention to the admiring glances of all the women. Something about the angle of his jaw and the gleam of his long, dark hair looked familiar.

  Tingles of awareness prickled her arms and legs. She had to get closer. He drew her like a thirsty traveler to an oasis. Is this how men felt around her? The same clawing need for contact? It was a new experience, and Lily wasn’t sure she liked the loss of control—no matter how exciting the sensations.

  Ignoring the dirty looks from other women, she approached. Bettina, once an elementary school friend, rolled her eyes and deliberately jostled against Lily.

  “Fresh meat, huh?” Bettina whispered, breath whooshing against Lily’s neck like a poisonous vapor. “Can’t you leave one guy for the rest of us?”

  Lily refused to glance at her old friend, afraid of losing it. Bett had deserted her like all the other jealous bitches. She lifted her chin and continued toward the stranger, who was culling through vegetables. What to say? The only opening line running through her brain—Hey, haven’t we met before?—was way tacky. But really, it didn’t matter what she said. The mere sound of her voice would be enough.

  “Hello,” she purred, pulling her cart alongside Mr. Darcy-cum-Brad Pitt.

  He threw some corn in his cart without looking up. “Hi,” he answered in a voice so clipped he might as well have said back off.

  Shock disconnected Lily’s brain from her limbs and she stood immobile while pounding blood made her ears ring. How odd. He acted impervious to the dulcet tones that made other men cross-eyed. Lily stiffened her spine. She’d bowl him over with more talking, would force him to look into her ocean-blue eyes. That ought to do the trick.

  “Are you from around here?” she asked.

  “No.” He pushed away and started down the dairy aisle, his back to her.

  What the hell? Lily froze again as she tried to grasp the foreign concept of being snubbed by the opposite sex. It really kind of sucked. Snickering noises from all around sent heat rushing to the back of her neck.

  “About time she had a comeuppance,” Bettina said with a loud snort.

  Lily faced her directly. “What’s your problem?” she snapped. “What have I ever done to you?”

  Bettina’s lips curled. “You really don’t get it, do you? How about stealing Johnny Adams in junior high? And then Tommy Beckham in high school?”

  It’s not my fault, she wanted to scream. But they would never understand. Their dislike and mistrust ran as deep as the Gulf waters, their tears and anger as salty and bitter as the sea that encompassed the bayou. Forget them.

  Lily shoved away in a huff, turning her attention once again to the handsome stranger’s retreating figure. Her fingers gripped the cart handle until her knuckles were white as sea foam against her already pale skin. She lifted her chin. Nobody ignored her. Envied, yes. Lusted, of course. Later left humiliated and angry at her inevitable rebuff, check. But never this total lack of interest.

  Lily hurried toward the mystery man. “Hey, you. Wait a minute.”

  He slackened his pace but didn’t stop as she drew close.

  “Have we met before?” She’d thought so at first, but she must be wrong. This brutal disregard would have been memorable.

  The man turned so slowly, Lily had a sense of inevitability as the seconds wound down into a series of freeze-frames. One: broad shoulders flexing under a dove-gray T-shirt. Two: a profile of a strong chin and deep facial planes. Three: a lock of obsidian hair falling across high, prominent cheekbones.

  It wasn’t a tan after all; his skin was the shade of light cinnamon from Native American heritage. Leaf-green eyes lit upon her, so shot through with a golden starburst they were startling in their brightness. Not a speck of recognition sparked in them, though.

  But, oh, Lily knew those eyes. “Nash,” she breathed. “Nashoba Bowman.”

  He frowned slightly. “Do I know you?”

  She swallowed down the burn at the back of her throat. Not only was he immune to her siren’s voice and unaffected by her physical beauty, but also he didn’t even remember her. A riptide of humiliation washed over Lily. Only years of hiding her emotions kept her from betraying hurt. She licked her parched lips. “You used to spend summers here with your grandfather when you were little.”

  Nash stared long and hard. The brightness of his pupils deepened to a darker hue as the seconds—minutes?—sped by.

  He had to remember. She held up her right hand and twirled her wrist. His gaze shifted to the colorful beaded bracelet he’d given her when they were children. Friends forever, he’d said when he’d tied it on her wrist. Lily willed him to recall those long-ago walks on the shore, the jaunts in the woods, the picnics and bike rides and... A glimmer of warmth lit his face.

  “Lily?”

  “Yes,” she whooshed in an exhale of relief.

  He gave her the once-over, a slow appraisal that left her hot and breathless. His dilated pupils and smoldering aura suggested he might not be as indifferent to her as he tried to act. Or it might be wishful thinking on her part.

  Did Nash also remember that chaste, sweet kiss they’d once shared as curious twelve-year-olds?

  His eyes met hers again, blazing green and gold. Yet the stoic, expressionless face more resembled Nash’s inscrutable grandfather than the kid she used to know. The heat from his skin and a faint, familiar scent drew her closer, strong as the full moon’s pull on the tide. The same odd compulsion to approach Nash now drove her to touch him. Lily dropped her gaze and rested her pale hand against his bronzed forearm, admiring the contrast of fair and dark. Her gaze swept lower, noting that no gold band adorned his fingers.

  Nash’s skin was hot as the Southern sun and his muscles rumbled and flickered under her touch, like thunder over deep waters. His jaw tightened at the brazen contact, but he didn’t pull away. His fingers curled tightly on his cart. Indifferent, my ass. Lily closed her eyes and inhaled, using her heightened senses to identify Nash’s enticing scent—a woodsy, sandalwood base with wisps of pine and cedar and perhaps a touch of oak moss. He smelled like the backwoods they used to roam together.

  Bet his kiss was anything but chaste now.

  “There you are!” a trilling voice bore down upon them.

  She opened her eyes and watched a tall redhead grin as she lifted a couple of plastic bags. “I picked up the last of what we need for the shoot. Doughnuts and dozens of protein bars while we stalk the elusive mating habits of Alabama clapper rails.”

  Lily blinked and glanced at Nash as he subtly inched away from her touch. The loss of contact left her oddly disoriented. “Elusive... What did you say?” she asked the woman, feeling stupid.

  “They’re birds. Also known as marsh chickens or clappers.” The redhead held out a hand. “I’m Opal Wallace, Nash’s photographic assistant.” Opal’s face was sprinkled with freckles, and a faint scar marred one cheek. A bit plain overall, but her wide smile and merry eyes made up for any lack of sculptured perfection.

  A flush of pleasure shot through Lily at Opal’s kind greeting. It had been a long time since a female, outside of family, had bestowed a genuine smile her way. She shook the proffered hand, pathetically grateful for the friendly gesture.

  Opal winked. “Figured I’d introduce myself since Nash appears speechless.”

  Nash cleared his throat. “You didn’t give me a chance to introduce you,” he answered, frowning slightly. He lifted a hand in Lily’s d
irection. “This is Lily Bosarge, an old friend.”

  “Hey, ole buddy Lily.” Opal waggled her eyebrows. “How close of friends were you two?”

  “Purely platonic,” Lily joked. Well, mostly. Except for one experimental kiss. “Can’t get into too much trouble before the teen years.” Nash had been long gone by the time she’d developed her siren voice. Not that it mattered; he seemed unaffected by its magic. This time, she was the one flushed and bewildered in the presence of the opposite sex.

  And she didn’t like it one little bit.

  “Let’s get together one evening, okay?” Opal whipped out a business card from one of the many pockets on her khaki vest and pressed it into Lily’s palm. “Gotta run. There’s a ton of stuff I need to set up before we get to work.” She gave Nash a brisk wave. “See you on the island in a couple days, boss. I’ll have the area scouted out and set up, the usual.”

  As suddenly as she’d intruded, Opal disappeared in a swirl of red hair and a cheerful smile.

  Awkward silence descended and Lily felt an odd jolt of dismay when Nash glanced down at his watch. She didn’t want to say goodbye. If he walked out now, would she ever see him again, ever discover why he acted immune to her enchantment? Besides, he was the last good friend she’d ever had, and certainly the only one in the male species. Everything had turned to shit in junior high when the guys started chasing her unmercifully. At first it had been tremendous fun—for maybe half a year. Until the girls turned as one against her like a tsunami of destruction.

  Lily grasped at the first conversational thread that popped into her head. “I hear you’re a famous wildlife photographer now. I remember how you used to carry around an old 35 mm camera your grandfather bought at a thrift store.”

  “Most of the time I didn’t have enough money to actually load it with film.” The taut muscles in his jaw and chin relaxed and the green eyes grew cloudy. He shook his head slightly, and the corners of his mouth twitched in a semismile.