For years, the faceless terror known as the Hand of Fate has been secretly manipulating the port city of Reyza for her shadowy ends. Those she favors rise in status while those who betray her are never heard from again. When the opportunity to elimi...
Avaren looked behind her to the immobile man on the ground, then back out to the blue expanse of open ocean. If she managed to stay alive, she would see to it that Rigo Iarris paid for what he had done.
Avaren took off the robe's waist tie and used it to bind her hair in a ponytail. She returned to the poisoned man's side and removed her tattered robe. Ignoring Jarle's wide-eyed stare, Avaren hooked her arms under his armpits and began pulling him towards the mouth of the cave.
Huffing with effort, Avaren positioned Jarle's body until he was lying at the very edge of the drop-off. Standing above him, Avaren studied the swirling, foaming waves. She knew the ebb and flow of the morning currents well. If she timed it right, Jarle would fall three or four armlengths at most, then be dragged out into the trough.
⁂
Jarle had imagined his death many times. He'd thought Ven's vengeance would come in the shape of a dagger or a jilted lover, maybe even as a glass of poisoned wine, but never the sea! Had he cheated death thrice over only to be murdered by a socialite whose life he had risked his neck to save?
Through the bright trails of light that clouded his vision, Jarle looked on with horror as the waves crested, then crashed against the rocks. He protested by blinking rapidly, but the woman above him seemed oblivious to his plight.
At that moment, Jarle prayed that every rumor he had ever heard about Tan'os' daughter was real. Paralyzed as he was, with poison beating in his veins, he was about to meet his maker.
"Take a deep breath," was the last thing Jarle heard as Avaren pushed him into the churning waves.
The impact of the fall battered Jarle's broken ribs. He howled in pain; lost precious air. For an eye blink, he floated on the seesaw of the waves that smashed against the rocks, then sank, paralyzed and helpless, beneath the churning surface. His heart pounded against his temples. His blood raced. Panic gripped his mind as the light of the sun faded. The pressure in his ears built up until all he could hear was a high-pitched scream.
Damn her to Hel!
Gripped by the undertow, Jarle was sinking fast. He held his breath until his lungs felt like a coal furnace, then exhaled in a silent scream. His breath escaped in a stream of bubbles. Black dots began to crowd his vision.
Jarle was certain he was on his way to the River of Dust to join all of the souls he'd dispatched to the underworld, when suddenly, Avaren appeared before him. The woman was a monster in every sense of the word. Her eyes burned with azure fire, glowing like two moonstones in the dark. Her hair drifted in the current like wisps of pale smoke. Beneath the surface, her pallor was stark, and her skin appeared like milk glass. Bluish veins pulsed at her throat, and her teeth were sharp like those of a tigerfish. When she spoke, the melodic sound of her voice cut through the piercing shrill that throbbed in his ears.
"Breathe," she said.
Jarle fought the urge to scream as two sinuous black tails whipped behind Avaren's back. The tentacles were long and muscled, covered with dark green iridescent scales that seemed to shift in the currents that buffeted their bodies.
Despite his fear, a delightful shiver raced along Jarle's limbs when Avaren pressed her mouth to his. Jarle quaffed the warm, fresh air that filled his lungs, unable to summon the courage to look down.
Were the girl's lovely legs a mass of writhing tentacles?
Jarle's stomach dropped. Never in his life had he felt such desperation. He willed his limbs to move, to thrash, to follow the direction of the bubbles that escaped their locked mouths, but it was no use. Avaren held him in a tight embrace.
Around them, the current shifted as if the ocean were obeying some unspoken command. They began to move through the blue-green morass in a series of thrusts and twirls; a weightless dance that threatened to make him ill. Disoriented and panicked, with absolutely no idea of where they were headed, Jarle focused on the only thing he could do-breathe.
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