Siren Song (The Fated #1)

22 | Silent Violence

Lykos was gone.

Sunlight streamed in the window, illuminating the small space. Burrowed deep beneath the cot's thin covers, Iliana eyed the room with a small frown. It'd proven difficult to sleep with the cuffs, but not impossible. Still, she was irritated Lykos refused to remove them--citing her escape attempt. The metal chafed against her irritatingly soft skin, but had yet to draw blood. She wondered if her new status as a siren would protect her against the sort of scarring cuffs like these tended to leave behind.

As she considered the thought, Iliana's eyes fell to Callias.

He hadn't moved. Strange, given most people shifted around during the night. His eyes were shut, but she wasn't certain if that meant he was still sleeping. Still, she took it as a chance to study him.

The merman's pale, blue-toned skin was coated with a thin sheen of sweat. His platinum hair hung loose to his shoulders. I wonder if it's as soft as it looks? She shook her head, casting off the strange thought. She highly doubted she'd ever get the chance to find out, not that she really wanted to know.

His right hand was clutched around something that hung at the base of his neck. She doubted it was the same pouch he'd worn when they'd first met--as that one should've kept him from being able to hear her voice. The longer she stared at it, however, the more certain she became that it was some sort of charm. That new sixth-sense of hers recognized it as similar to the golden feeling Eumelia's energy gave. Was that what all witch doctor magic felt like?

"You're staring."

Iliana resisted the sudden urge to hide. He was awake. "I'm not."

"My apologies," he replied, tone even. "I assumed that when someone looks in your direction for a prolonged period of time it's called staring, but I could be wrong."

She bristled. "Do you practice being rude, or does it come natural to you?"

"Rude?" Callias questioned, opening his eyes.

"Yes, rude."

"I believe rude is staring at someone while they sleep," he replied, then shrugged. "But, again, perhaps I'm mistaken."

This wasn't a conversation to be had while laying down, Iliana decided. It took but a moment for her to shift into a sitting position. Her legs dangled over the side of the cot, the blanket tucked around her waist. A shiver ran down her spine, the morning air colder than expected.

"You're an ass."

"And your vocabulary is abhorrent."

She furrowed her brow. Abhorrent... she knew what that meant. Probably.

"Again, rude."

Callias sighed, as if continuing their conversation was more effort than it was worth. Instead, he opened his eyes again and shifted to his feet in one, seamless motion that spoke of the muscle concealed beneath his clothing.

He approached the door, eyeing it for a moment, before turning his gaze to the painting he'd seemed so fixated on the night before. Iliana frowned.

"What is it?" she questioned.

When he didn't answer, she slipped to her feet and joined him by the door. The painting hung but inches above the chest and was framed with light colored wood. Ash, perhaps? Nothing too expensive, leading her to believe the painting itself wouldn't be worth all that much.

Something about the noble couple depicted in the picture was familiar. The longer she stared, the more it tugged at her memories. It looked like someone she knew.