To Seduce A Siren (2 page)

Chapter
One

Charisse
stood at the bar contemplating her options. She needed a drink… a big drink… a
potent drink.  She deserved one.  She’d just spent the past hour hiding
amidst a throng of admiring towering males, listening to them shower her with
increasingly questionable compliments whilst she utilised their large muscular
frames as a living shield. 

Word
at the party was, her Cousin Darcy wanted to talk to her… the only problem
being, Darcy never just talked.  She had an uncanny knack of always
getting her own way, with anyone caught in her vicinity invariably dragged into
the mayhem, lucky to emerge by the skin of their teeth whilst Darcy skipped
away unscathed, carrying some new shiny prize. 

Well,
not this time.  Charisse was prepared to use any means necessary to keep
Darcy at bay.  Even if that meant creating a human fortress, she glanced
back over her shoulder sending a forced smile to her barricade of eager
admirers, standing shoulder to shoulder behind her… good boys, good cannon
fodder.  Thank the Goddess for the Valhalla men, Hadleigh’s cousins and
uncles, no one did looming better than those mountain-sized warriors.

Hmmm,
now back to that drink.  Before she could make up her mind, three of the
bartenders stepped up to offer her assistance, discreetly trying to elbow each
other out of the way, silently fighting to be the one to serve her.

“When
one emerges the victor to do your bidding, I’d like a glass of champagne.”

Charisse
looked to her left, fighting hard to keep a pleasant expression on her face
rather than give any indication of the abject terror that had instantly seized
her.  “Great-Aunt Alma.” 

Oh
Goddess.  Oh Goddess!  Great-Aunt Alma was the family match
maker.  After a long absence, she’d been lured back into the family fold,
charged with helping the determinedly single younger generation in the Southern
Sanctuary find meld matches.  In fact, she was the reason they were here
today, celebrating the formal meld marriage of her cousin, Hadleigh, to Maat
warrior, Vaughn.

“Charisse
darling girl, you look wonderful as always.” 

Charisse
could say the same for Alma, who was an elegant petite woman, dressed today in
a stylish silk light blue jacket and skirt.  Her sleek grey shoulder
length hair was flicked out at the ends whilst her brown eyes glowed with
warmth and affection. Thankfully for Charisse, there was no sign of the gold
sparkles in their depths that signalled her Aunt was getting her matchmaking
gloves on… the boxing kind, not the dainty, elbow-length debutante kind. 

Alma
was a tricky, devious - any means necessary - kind of match maker.  It was
all Charisse could do to lock her knees together and not run away screaming in
terror.
 
Being melded in their family
meant for life… their very long lives.  No thankyou very much, you could
count her out of that equation.
 
Charisse
had enough eternal millstones around her neck with the bitch-rock, she didn’t
need a man to add to her troubles.

“Are
you having a nice time darling?  Met any nice young men?”

Alma’s
query sounded harmless enough but everyone…
everyone,
knew that their Great-Aunt was far from harmless.  If she took an interest
in you, it did not bode well regarding your chances of retaining your current
single status for long. Charisse fought not to cringe, just keep smiling she
reminded herself.

Alma
glanced back over her shoulder, giving a soft throaty chuckle.  “It seems
like you’ve gathered quite the gaggle of admirers as usual.”

Charisse
forced her smile slightly wider.  “You.”  She pointed at one of the
three bartenders still politely jostling one another for the privilege of
serving her.  “Get me a glass of champagne and a gin and tonic, make it a
double.”

One
of the discarded bartenders promptly burst into tears whilst the other sank to
the floor, curling up into a ball.  Charisse heard her name uttered along
the bar by various disgruntled relatives.  Seriously, could they not see
she was in crisis-mode here, with Alma nipping at her toes?  She needed a
drink and she desperately needed an escape plan.

“So
you’re not here with anyone in particular?”  Alma enquired politely. 
“I’m only asking because I have several delightful young men who’d I love you
to meet.”

“Oh,
I think I’ve already got more young men on my plate than I can handle right
now.”

Alma
fiddled absently with the large diamond stud in her ear.    “I’m
talking about someone special darling girl.  Someone who’s right for you.”

Charisse
glared at the bartender; of course she’d have to choose the one who moved
slower than molasses. “To be truthful Aunt Alma, I’m really not interested in
meeting anyone
special
right now… or
even in the future for that matter.  I like my life. I like being single.”

Alma
reached over, patting Charisse’s hand affectionately.  “Everyone says
that, right up until they meet their match.  Trust me.
 
Just meet this gorgeous young man I know…”

“Oh,
your champagne.
 
Here,” Charisse
thrust the glass into her Aunt’s hand and grabbed her own drink.  Turning
on the spot, she caught a glimpse of a black bobbed head over near the dance
floor.  “Oh look, there’s Darcy.  I know she’s been looking for me…
Special Council Liaison business you know.”

“Oh
well.”  Alma gave a small regretful smile.  “You run a long then
darling girl, business before pleasure.”

Charisse
felt Alma’s eyes trained on her as she made her way across the room, squeezing
and wriggling her way through the flock of warrior admirers she’d been using
for protection only a few minutes earlier.  To be brutally honest,
Great-Aunt Alma and her match making machinations scared her way more than
Darcy and her madcap schemes… and that was saying something.

“Darcy…
Darcy.”  She went up on tip-toe, waving to get her cousin’s
attention.  She could still feel Alma’s gaze on her from across the room.

Darcy
raced forward, grabbing her cousin by the upper arm.  “I’ve been looking
all over for you.”  Darcy sent a distracted ‘go on - I double dare you -
keep following us’ death look at the large group of Valhalla warriors
continuing to travel in Charisse’s wake.  The majority of warriors, the
older, more seasoned ones, sensibly stopped in their tracks.

“So
someone just mentioned at the bar, of course I immediately came looking for
you.”  Charisse kept her green eyes wide, praying Darcy wouldn’t see
through her lie.

A
few of the younger, less worldly, Valhalla warriors were still in pursuit,
Darcy arched a fine dark eyebrow studying Charisse’s straggling admirers
intently for a split second, a smile suddenly teasing the edges of her
mouth.
 
Even the most inexperienced and
dim-witted of warriors could interpret her new expression as one of happiness
that she’d finally found volunteer test subjects to test out her new filleting
knife.  Darcy didn’t even bother to watch the handful of youths scurry
away, too intent on getting Charisse alone to care how much she’d frightened
the youngster.

Charisse
appreciated the rescue, phew, fresh air.  She tossed back half the
contents of her gin and tonic in celebration.
 
She’d made an effective escape from Great-Aunt Alma and her evil match
making machinations, dealing with Cousin Darcy, in comparison, would be a
breeze.  

They
came to a halt under the shade of a large tree.  Hadleigh and Vaughn’s
meld party might have been held outdoors, but given the large number of party
guests, it was still quite the crowd.  But trust Darcy to find a nice
quiet out of the way spot.  She was about to open her mouth to express her
thanks but Darcy beat her to it.

“I
need you to do me a favour.”

Charisse
sent her cousin an incredulous look.  Damn, she should have remembered
that the lesser of two evils was still effectively evil.  She’d done
favours for Darcy in the past, had the scars to prove it… well, not physical
scars marring her perfect porcelain skin, but deep, deep psychological
scars. 

What
else was there to do or say but decline politely.  “No way.”

“You
haven’t even heard what it is yet?”

Charisse
took a moment to appreciate Darcy’s outfit of the day; thigh high red boots,
black stockings edged with white and red ribbons, a black tartan micro mini and
a red silk waistcoat over a white bustier.  With her black Louise Brooks
styled hair, full cupid bow mouth and ice blue eyes, Darcy really did look, as
her sister Nell often maintained, like she’d escaped from a convent school
where she majored in burlesque. 

Charisse
let out a soft, almost breathless laugh.  Every man in a twenty foot
radius who wasn’t a close blood relative paused and turned her way. 
Ignoring the sudden attention, Charisse kept her gaze firmly fixed on Darcy.
 When squaring off with a mad dog it didn’t pay to let your attention
stray.  “Sorry, let me be more succinct.  No fucking way.”

Darcy’s
head snapped to the left, a retractable baton suddenly in her hand.  Her
gaze locked on a warrior so young he still had peach fuzz on his cheeks. 
“Take another step and I’ll introduce you to Mr Baton.”

The
warrior backed away carefully, smart enough to keep his eyes downcast as he
went.

“Since
when did you start naming your weapons?”  Charisse eyed the black glossy,
state of the art, flick baton.

Darcy
shrugged negligently.  “I find it makes people more wary.”

Charisse
noted Darcy’s blue eyes had turned the hard colour of a wall of glacial
ice.  “Yeah, I don’t think that’s what makes them more wary.”

“Now
where was I?  Oh yes, the favour, it’s right up your skillset.”

“As
opposed to your knife set?”

“So
funny… so beautiful.”  Darcy sent her a sweet smile that scared Charisse
all the way down to her antique gold Kate Spade wedges.

“You’re
resorting to flattery?  Whatever it is, I’m definitely not doing
it.”  She couldn’t count the number of hours, thanks to Darcy, she’d spent
washing blood out of her hair.

“I’m
trying to be nice here.”  Darcy forced her smile larger still, widening her
eyes and then fluttering them innocently.

“Stop
that, you don’t scare me.  We’re in a public place.”

Darcy’s
eyes narrowed speculatively. “We won’t always be.”

“Darcy! 
What’s climbed up your butt and turned toxic?”

Darcy’s
mouth tightened in frustration, an unusual expression for a girl who pretty
much always got what she wanted, via fair means or - more enjoyably for Darcy
–‘underhanded, devious and painful for other people’ means.  “Men! 
Or more specifically… a man.”

It
wasn’t an apology, Darcy didn’t believe in those, but her admission was enough
for Charisse to realise her cousin was dealing with a very real challenge for
once… and was kind of flummoxed by the rare experience.

“You’ve
let a man get under your skin?”  Would wonders never cease? Darcy was
interested in a man… and not just to see how much damage she could inflict on a
male test subject within a specified time constraint.

“He’s
the most annoying… frustrating… elusive…”  Darcy’s teeth were clenched
together so tightly she couldn’t get out any more words.

“Ooh,
tell me more?”

“Char,
I swear to the Goddess, he’s not normal.”

“Sounds
like a perfect match.”  Charisse couldn’t help but tease.

“No
one… no one has ever evaded a trap I’ve set for them… let alone multiple ones.”

“Err,
a trap?  Hold on… you’re not crushing on some guy are you?”

Darcy
blinked, suddenly taken aback.  “I’m not trying to kill him.  I just
want to pin him down and get some answers.”

“I
didn’t mean, crush, as in destroy, Doofus.”  Charisse rolled her
eyes.  “I meant crush as in… oh forget it.”  Trying to teach Darcy
about the softer emotions was an exercise in futility.  “Okay I’ll bite,
who is this mystery man who can miraculously avoid your sinister traps? 
And what information does he have that’s got you so… off your game?”

Darcy
shifted uncomfortably on the spot; she loathed feeling so useless, frustrated
and impotent.  Until four months ago, those emotions had been completely
alien to her.  All that had changed when her cousin Hadleigh had contacted
her with the most improbable ridiculous story.  A story she had yet to
verify… yet bone deep, she knew it to be true.  And it didn’t get any less
embarrassing every time she shared the story… even if it was only with family
members that she counted as close friends and allies. 

Goddess,
Darcy sighed harshly, she’d already sunk so low as to request Charisse’s help,
it was time to rip off the embarrassment band aid again.  “Hadleigh learnt
a few months ago that I have… that I’ve been marked… magically.  All she
was able to discover, at the time, is the mark is designed to keep men at a
distance from me… a look but you can’t touch kind of spell.”