Read Online The Siren Series 3: Brandon (A Siren Novel) by Marata Eros - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marata Eros
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the first two boards. The rest fall, and I simply step out into the dim hallway.
Scooping up my last bit of magic, I fling it outward, trying for Ren. The vaguest ripple, like a stone thrown across a lake, comes back to me. I jog toward that small response.
A spiral flagstone staircase claims the end of the hall, and I eat up its length in long, jogging jumps. I leap from one pie-shaped wedge to the next, long hair streaming out behind me.
I get to the last and am met with six doors identical to the one that imprisoned me.
I don't know if I have the energy to free another person. It took everything I had to get out of where they held me and put out a signal that would recognize Ren's energy.
I rush to each door, taking a hasty look through another tall, arched window at the end of the hall.
Dusk threatens.
I place a palm on first one door, then the next. Nothing.
Again nothing.
I hit the third, and I feel Ren like a goose walking over my grave. That's not in a good way.
I try the door and stumble backward as it smoothly pulls outward into the hall.
Oh Goddess. I cover my mouth when I see the state of him.
Breath wheezes in and out of his broken nose, both of his eyes are swollen shut, and his arm is dislocated.
Those fuckers, I seethe.
Or one fucker. I think of Kellan and can totally imagine him pounding on Ren.
Ren's fingers do a little twitching dance, and I rush to him and cover his hand with my own. I hold back tears when I feel his abused flesh is rough against the smoothness of mine.
“Nova,” he rasps.
I choke back a sob and whisper, “You fucking prick, don't you dare die on me.”
A smile breaks the dry line of his lips. “No.” He coughs and it rattles his broken ribs. “I have to stay around,” he pants, “to irritate you.”
The silence is deafening.
“What can I do?” I ask.
He manages to open his eyes to slits. “My weapons?”
I nod and run into the hall. I try each door. Three doors away, I find his weapons hung on a peg-like rack. I snatch them all, staggering under the weight.
I get back into Ren’s room, and he is sitting up.
“Give me”—he winces, grabbing at his side—“the small dagger.”
I pass him the dagger I've often admired. Its breadth is deep and wide, and an embedded piece of turquoise is stranded in the hilt like an unseeing eye. Ren fumbles with the butt of the hilt, unscrewing the solid brass. A small bag with a draw-string top falls onto his lap.
“Bless the bag with healing, Nova.” His eyes meet mine. “Hurry.”
Sunset bleeds into the room like spilt wine.
“Yes.” I wrap my hands around the bag.
The blessing bottoms out my magic. Not a drop left. For anything.
I lift my fingers from the sack, and I’m shaky with exhaustion, hunger, and fear. Ren unties the top and pours something into his mouth.
His head falls to his chest. “Stay with me.”
I would never want to be anywhere else.
I close in around him, holding him tightly. I feel whatever inert material I sanctified with my magic strengthen him as we sit there.
Night continues to encroach. The colors of the sinking sun coat the walls in rust like dried blood.
“Ren,” I say, worried the Reapers will find us when they wake from their tombs.
“Help me up.”
I stand, and Ren takes my hand, about dropping us both. His eyes are no longer mangled but have bruises all around them. His lips are swollen but free of cuts. His shoulder is mended, his body stiff.
He's done what he can.
We turn to go, and a stranger fills the doorway. He’s as silent as the night that threatens. I know he's a supe immediately.
I also know he's the Druid male. I'd recognize him anywhere. Tall as the Reapers, he’s built to fill the doorway with his broad shoulders, muscular chest, and trim hips. Gorgeous.
His black gaze levels its smolder on me.
A mixture of relief, resignation, fear and desire moves through my body like an avalanche.
Then he speaks.
“You are mine,
Scooping up my last bit of magic, I fling it outward, trying for Ren. The vaguest ripple, like a stone thrown across a lake, comes back to me. I jog toward that small response.
A spiral flagstone staircase claims the end of the hall, and I eat up its length in long, jogging jumps. I leap from one pie-shaped wedge to the next, long hair streaming out behind me.
I get to the last and am met with six doors identical to the one that imprisoned me.
I don't know if I have the energy to free another person. It took everything I had to get out of where they held me and put out a signal that would recognize Ren's energy.
I rush to each door, taking a hasty look through another tall, arched window at the end of the hall.
Dusk threatens.
I place a palm on first one door, then the next. Nothing.
Again nothing.
I hit the third, and I feel Ren like a goose walking over my grave. That's not in a good way.
I try the door and stumble backward as it smoothly pulls outward into the hall.
Oh Goddess. I cover my mouth when I see the state of him.
Breath wheezes in and out of his broken nose, both of his eyes are swollen shut, and his arm is dislocated.
Those fuckers, I seethe.
Or one fucker. I think of Kellan and can totally imagine him pounding on Ren.
Ren's fingers do a little twitching dance, and I rush to him and cover his hand with my own. I hold back tears when I feel his abused flesh is rough against the smoothness of mine.
“Nova,” he rasps.
I choke back a sob and whisper, “You fucking prick, don't you dare die on me.”
A smile breaks the dry line of his lips. “No.” He coughs and it rattles his broken ribs. “I have to stay around,” he pants, “to irritate you.”
The silence is deafening.
“What can I do?” I ask.
He manages to open his eyes to slits. “My weapons?”
I nod and run into the hall. I try each door. Three doors away, I find his weapons hung on a peg-like rack. I snatch them all, staggering under the weight.
I get back into Ren’s room, and he is sitting up.
“Give me”—he winces, grabbing at his side—“the small dagger.”
I pass him the dagger I've often admired. Its breadth is deep and wide, and an embedded piece of turquoise is stranded in the hilt like an unseeing eye. Ren fumbles with the butt of the hilt, unscrewing the solid brass. A small bag with a draw-string top falls onto his lap.
“Bless the bag with healing, Nova.” His eyes meet mine. “Hurry.”
Sunset bleeds into the room like spilt wine.
“Yes.” I wrap my hands around the bag.
The blessing bottoms out my magic. Not a drop left. For anything.
I lift my fingers from the sack, and I’m shaky with exhaustion, hunger, and fear. Ren unties the top and pours something into his mouth.
His head falls to his chest. “Stay with me.”
I would never want to be anywhere else.
I close in around him, holding him tightly. I feel whatever inert material I sanctified with my magic strengthen him as we sit there.
Night continues to encroach. The colors of the sinking sun coat the walls in rust like dried blood.
“Ren,” I say, worried the Reapers will find us when they wake from their tombs.
“Help me up.”
I stand, and Ren takes my hand, about dropping us both. His eyes are no longer mangled but have bruises all around them. His lips are swollen but free of cuts. His shoulder is mended, his body stiff.
He's done what he can.
We turn to go, and a stranger fills the doorway. He’s as silent as the night that threatens. I know he's a supe immediately.
I also know he's the Druid male. I'd recognize him anywhere. Tall as the Reapers, he’s built to fill the doorway with his broad shoulders, muscular chest, and trim hips. Gorgeous.
His black gaze levels its smolder on me.
A mixture of relief, resignation, fear and desire moves through my body like an avalanche.
Then he speaks.
“You are mine,
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