The Lost Siren: Rise of the Drakens Book 1 by Raven Storm (find a book to read .txt) 📗

“You going to jump me too?”

He shook his head frantically back and forth, but it was clear he was fighting off whatever his instincts were telling him.

“GET OUT!” Benedict roared, and both practically tripped over each other as they scrambled for the hallway. Benedict growled until they left, then grunted at nothing. He gestured for me to come over.

“Let me see.”

Still afraid, I gripped the knife tighter, and backed away. He growled.

“You hardly tempt me. Let me see.”

His cruel remarks sapped my will to fight, and I took a tentative step forward. He snatched my hand, examining it critically. I wanted to say something smart, to test the boundaries of my freedom here.

“You could be less rude about it,” I sniped, my pulse racing at my own defiance. He frowned at me, then bent down to examine my finger without another word.

“The wound is deeper than I thought, but not terrible. Outside the mountain you would likely need stitches.”

I snorted; stitches weren’t wasted on slaves. His purple eyes lifted to mine, no anger present at my outburst. He meant it then; I could speak freely here.

“Don’t you have any more of those healing vials of yours?” I asked instead, aiming for a more polite tone.

“You drank them all,” he replied, ignoring my tone. “And unless you want to drink anymore of my blood fresh from the source, hold still.”

My face twisted in horror and realization. Was that what he had given me to drink last night to heal my concussion, and my back before that? His blood? The corners of his lips lifted, and I stonily looked away.

“That’s what I thought.” He brought my hand to his face, and without warning licked the entire length of the wound on my finger. I grimaced in pain and shock, but just as quickly a dull numbness spread through my body, and I sighed in relief. His tongue felt hot and rough against my skin, and I stared at the floor to hide my blush. His face changed as my blood met his lips, and it was a look of such bafflement that I jerked my hand away, only half-healed.

“That bad, huh?”

He scowled at me and seized me around the waist, pulling me back.

“I thought you hated me. Why bother healing me at all?” An annoyed expression crossed his face, and he pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand.

“If you’d rather heal the human way, be my guest. We have no medicines or any other such nonsense, so it’s a gamble if you end up dying from infection or not.”

“You’re horrible,” I shot back. His grip around my waist tightened.

“You don’t even know the definition. Now stand there, shut up, and let me lick you.”

He drew my finger into his mouth again, and I shivered at the sensation. It was impossible not to compare it to Ronan when the positions were almost exactly the same. Goosebumps erupted all over my body, and a delightful tingle raced straight to the area between my legs. I shoved it firmly down, refusing to analyze it. After a moment he pulled away with some effort, and I could breathe again.

“There.” I looked down, in awe of the unblemished skin across my finger.

“T-thank you,” I mumbled, even as he rolled his eyes and began unstrapping something from around his thigh. He slammed the small bit of leather onto the table.

“At least put your daggers in these sheaths, so we don’t have a repeat performance.” His sudden anger didn’t make any sense, so I latched onto the only thing that did.

“You can’t be jealous; you’ve been nasty this whole time until you healed me.”

I didn’t even see him move; one moment he was glaring at me, the next he was in my face, nose-to-nose. I took a step back, but his large hands held me tightly.

“I don’t do jealousy.” His eyes were hard chips of purple ice. “Anything I want, I simply take.”

He backed away, and I tried in vain to slow the rapid thudding of my heart against my chest. He gave me a mock bow.

“Until tomorrow, siren.”

He went through the second door on the right, locking it behind him. I spent the rest of the night with my knives, trying to hit a particular crack in the stone wall and imagining it was Benedict’s face.

SEVEN

On the second day of the Games, I woke up wondering what the task would be. Flinging open the wardrobe, I brazenly pulled on one of the shorter dresses. It ended well above the thigh, and I frowned. I added a pair of breeches underneath, and it was tolerable. The green velvet suited me and acted as a tunic when paired with the breeches. I wasn’t sure if I’d strapped the sheaths on correctly, but at least they were there and within reach. I stood, feeling much more prepared to take on the world. I braided the front part of my hair away from my eyes, but kept the rest flowing free down my back. I slid on the flat, leather boots, and I was ready.

Georg was nowhere to be found, but I felt confident in my ability to get back to the arena myself. After a few nerve-wracking twists and turns the pathway took a sudden steep incline and I grinned: I’d done it. I walked to the balcony to a roar of welcome. The drakens rose to their feet upon seeing me, cheering and clapping, stomping their feet and flashing their fangs. Embarrassed, I gave a shy wave, and sat down on my throne. Benedict was already there, looking grumpy at my happiness. Figures.

“Word travels fast in a stone prison. Every draken is dreaming of their own evening with you.”

I was proud of myself for not flinching when Benedict’s voice whispered by my ear. I didn’t bother turning to face him, or even look at him. I had friends here now and didn’t need