Siren's Call

Table of Contents

 

 

“
Siren’s Call
is a thoroughly mesmerizing ride—Quinn throws open the doors to an unbelievable world where nothing is as expected. At once terrifying and fascinating and unbelievably entertaining, this is a book you won’t forget.”

—Kate Douglas, bestselling author of
Wolf Tales
and
The Demonslayers

“A romance with well-executed elements of suspense and mystery. All together, a deliciously hot page-turner.”

—
Romantic Times
(4½ stars)

 

“Fast-paced, action-packed, and hotter than sin to read.”

—TwoLips Reviews

 

“Devyn Quinn . . . is a delightful deviant in the art of erotica.”

—Erotica Revealed

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First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

First Printing, August 2010

Copyright © Devyn Quinn, 2010

All rights reserved

 

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PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

eISBN: 9781101451212

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This book could not have been written without the input of the following people. It is with much gratitude that I must mention the following:

Roberta Brown is my absolutely brilliant agent. Not only does she always encourage me to aim higher and do better with my writing, but she’s always there to hold my hand when I’m melting down with doubt. I could not function without her sane and sensible advice helping me navigate through the pitfalls of a writer’s career.

Jhanteigh Kupihea is my amazing editor, whose insight and experience helped to shape the manuscript from a bare-bones synopsis of a few pages to a completed book. She was kind enough to call and speak to me in person whenever I hit the panic button. Her insight and clearheaded thinking keeps me on track.

Bestselling author Kate Douglas generously took time out of her own crazy schedule of deadlines to cheer me along and read the opening drafts of this book. She also delivered a few well-deserved kicks to the rear whenever I began whining about my lack of talent to write a decent sentence. I also need to mention my beta readers, Lea Franczak and Tracey Anderson. Both ladies suffered through those first early drafts and encouraged me with words of praise and support. And I can’t forget my circle of girlfriends on whom I rely for advice, support, and friendship: Jodi Lynn Copeland, Anya Howard, Sara Reinke, Sarah Parr, Marianne LaCroix, and Del “Buddy” Garrett.

Greg Eschenbauch, a talented artist in his own right, kindly loaned me the vision of a mermaid when I had none. Thanks for letting me borrow her. . . . You can’t have her back.

Last, I would like to thank the musicians of Nox Arcana for creating the music that gave me back my inspiration. No, I don’t know these fellows personally, but their CDs played constantly as I wrote. Listening to their compositions reminded me why I wanted to create something others might enjoy.

K
enneth Randall walked along the craggy beach. Hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, he watched ever-rising waves lap against the shoreline. Gray, brooding clouds hung low in the sky. Lightning scratched like an angry animal at their fat bellies. Thunder rumbled in the distance, ominously warning of the deluge soon to arrive. A foghorn blast from the lighthouse standing about a mile off the bay warned stragglers off the water. When the storm finally made shore, it would hit with vicious force.

The bitter sea wind kicked up, driving the water harder against the land. An icy blast of air threaded through his hair, as intimate as the caress of a lover. It seemed the water spoke, although Kenneth knew—just knew—the voice couldn’t be anything but the echo of the wind. Its mournful whisper traveled through the air, brushing against his ears.

Join me
, came the ocean’s song.
I can take your pain away.

Brooding, he studied the restless sea. A vision of sinking beneath the waves immediately unfurled across his mind’s eye, sending a forbidding chill through his veins. It would be easy to do. Wiser inhabitants of Point Rock Harbor had already made their way to shelter. No boats lingered on the water, nor people on the beach.

He was all alone.

Heart thudding dully against his ribs, Kenneth headed closer to the water’s edge. He took one step, and then another, moving with the determination of a man who’d made up his mind. Stopping at the edge of the beach, he felt the water seep into his heavy boots. The unexpected sensation of wet and ooze sent a shiver down his spine.

Bending, he fumbled with the laces, working the heavy, wet things off his feet with clumsy fingers. The Arctic airstream driving the storm had given the water a brisk, eye-opening nip. It was chilly, but not yet unbearable. Self-preservation tugged at the back of his mind where logic still lingered. He really should turn around and head back, go to the hotel room he’d rented for the duration of his monthlong vacation.

His mouth drew into a downward arch. He’d kept the reservations only because there was no refund on the anniversary package he’d booked months ago. He’d been looking forward to the idea of being holed up in a quaint little seaside hotel, making passionate love to his wife. Now he dreaded it.

Traveling alone was the hardest part.

Blinking to clear his blurry vision, Kenneth pulled off his soggy boots and set them aside. His socks followed. It didn’t feel like half a year had passed since he’d laid Jennifer to rest. The trip to Maine had been his idea, an attempt to get Jennifer away from the stress of work and family. It would be just the two of them, reconnecting, rediscovering the old spark of passion.

Instead of celebrating their life together, he was left alone. Mourning Jennifer’s loss.

And looking for a way out
, he thought.

Today, the opportunity presented itself.

Thrusting logic back in its box and locking the mental lid, Kenneth gazed out over the open space. Past Little Mer Island there was nothing but water and more water. The lighthouse located there stood alone, wrapped in its own cloak of isolation. Privately owned, the grounds, dwelling, and tower were off-limits to tourists.

“Might as well take advantage,” he murmured. He doubted the owners would mind his swimming past. After all, he wasn’t planning to stop by for a visit.

Swallowing down the lump forming in his throat, Kenneth took off his jacket and lifted it into the air. The wind quickly whipped it out of his hand, carrying it out of sight. His shirt followed. Goose pimples spread across exposed skin lashed by the blustering wind. The brackish scent of the incoming sea filled his nostrils, clearing away the apathy dulling his senses for so long.

For the first time in months he actually felt energetic, as though a great and terrible weight had lifted off his shoulders.

Clarity gave him a vision. The renewed burst of energy gave him the strength to carry it out.

Jaw tightening, he undid the buttons of his jeans. With a gasp of mingled agony and relief, he slid them down his hips and legs. Stepping neatly out of the pile, his gaze lingered over the last of his clothing. As naked as the day he was born, it was also the way he wanted to leave this life behind. It seemed only fitting the gloomy, unwelcoming waters of the bay would be his grave—the exact opposite of the warm, nurturing womb that had given birth to him.

The storm rolled closer, bearing down on the land like a locomotive without brakes. Lightning flashed, illuminating the shoreline with an eerie glow. Flung down with a vengeance, rain stung his bare skin.

Naked and exposed, Kenneth knew death by drowning wouldn’t be easy. But it would be merciful. That was all that counted. It would probably be a few days before the hotel staff figured out he was missing. Didn’t matter. It probably wasn’t the first time some tourist had gotten himself drowned. His wallet with his driver’s license was still in the pocket of his pants and his SUV was parked nearby. It wouldn’t be hard to identify his remains.

The voices from the water were stronger now, louder. To ignore their call was impossible. Even if he’d wanted to, Kenneth doubted he could’ve found the strength to turn away. He was too weak, his psyche battered by grief, loss, and an agony no amount of time could ever dull.

Losing Jennifer and the child she carried hurt more than he had ever dreamed. As a human being living on planet Earth, one expected life to inflict its tragedies. But expecting and experiencing them were two different things. The subtle rips living inflicted on the heart became a jagged chasm when death reached out to claim someone a man cherished.