Page 4 of Leviathan's Song
Setting his pencil down, he turned toward me, eyebrows pulling together, and one side of his lip quirked up. I probably looked like a squirrel caught raiding the birdseed with my eyes wide and my hands clutching my coffee beneath my chest. His grin widened.
“Empress.”
“Siren.”
“Are you just going to stalk me, or would you like to sit?” he asked, making me sputter. He laughed lightly, his eyes shining in amusement.
“I’m notstalkingyou. I wanted to apologize,” I said, mortified.
He gestured at the chair across from him, obviously seeing my slight horror.
“I promise I don’t bite,” he murmured. My gaze jumped to his slightly too sharp teeth, though I knew he meant it jokingly.
“You really want me to sit?” I asked, stalling. I looked toward my shop, briefly wondering how awkward it would be for me to simply dart away.Pretty awkward.Only my years of ingrained composure training rooted me to the paving stones.
I didn’t like how flustered looking at him made me feel. He was too pretty to focus on. His angular jawline framed generous, soft looking lips, and high cheekbones highlighted a straight nose. Full, sweeping eyelashes surrounded piercing, clear-blue eyes. When factored in with his enchantments tugging at me this way and that, I knew I was bound to embarrass myself again.
“Sit.” He nodded at the chair and pushed it out with his foot, staring at me like he had guessed my plan to bolt.
I hesitated. “Can you turn it off?” I asked, creeping slowly around the table.
The curve of his mouth dipped down into a frown, his eyebrows drawing low. “Turnwhatoff?”
“You know…” I waved my hand around in the air near my head.
He stared at me, obviously having no idea what I was talking about.
“The enchantments.”
He blinked. “Ah, that.” He gave a brittle smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “No, I’m afraid I can’t. That’s a permanent feature.”
My cheeks grew hot again. Apparently, I had pointed out something that bothered him. Maybe it was frustrating, constantly influencing the people around you, whether you wanted to or not.
“I’m sorry,” I said in a rush, quickly pulling out the seat and lowering myself into it. “It’s just a little disconcerting, that’s all.”
“Most people don’t mind. In fact, they never even notice.”
“Oh, I see. Yes,thatdoesn’t turn off for me either, unfortunately,” I said, eyeing the passersby. It was easier to talk to him if I didn’t look at him.
“And how is it that you’re able to feel them, yet you don’t seem to be influenced by them?” he asked, sounding casual, though when I glanced at him his eyes betrayed his curiosity.
I tapped the manacle bracelet on my wrist, a wide silver cuff inlaid with labradorite and pale jade. It connected to several rings on my hand that were holding pale blue and green chalcedony gemstones via strands of thin, silver chains. It was an intricate piece and one of the more physically taxing to imbue and modify. I was immensely grateful I’d spent the time to get it right.
Every word he spoke felt like, if it could just get its hooks in me, it would be an overwhelming lure, dragging me toward him. Is this what everyone felt like around him? I found myself wondering what it would be like to kiss him.
My experience with men was nearly zero, unless you count my childhood friend Rafe, who was strictly an older brother figure anyway.And he certainly doesn’t look like the siren,I thought, gazing at his flexing biceps as he set an arm on the table.
“Huh.” The siren’s eyebrows drew together. “Where’d you get that?” he asked, drawing me back to our conversation.
“I made it,” I answered, focusing on my bracelet, suddenly self-conscious.
“Youmadeit?” he asked, his eyebrows rising in shock. He actually looked impressed. His eyes skated over my body again, flickering from one piece of jewelry to the next, cataloging them. “You make amulets?”
“I do.” I dug a card out of my small purse and set it on the table in front of him. “Do you need an enchantment ward?” I asked, a little confused by his interest.
“No, I’m good on that front,” he muttered, inspecting my card. He dropped his forearm onto the table in front of me with a soft thump, his hand landing palm up. The tattoo sleeve started at his wrist and crawled up under the sleeve of his t-shirt. A large, detailed cephalopod I recognized as a kraken sprawled lazily across his skin, flanked by a predatory whale, while little fish flitted among coral arches and rocks. The piece was exquisite, but even more intriguing than the artwork was the feeling of fortification or even numbness radiating off his arm.
I set my coffee on the table and lifted my hand to let it hover a few inches above his skin, inspecting the artwork more closely. There, hidden among the seafoam and tentacles, were runes, expertly drawn and permanently embedded. Rune smiths were a rare find. Granted, so were golemancers and artificers, and I was sitting right here.
