Harbor (On the Wind #3)

Sneak Peek of Pool of Dreams

Chapter One

Syren

“Kneel.”

Behind me, the squelch of mud signaled the man’s swift compliance. His knees, weighed down by gleaming armor, sank into the muck at water’s edge, and his adoring gaze prickled the hair at the nape of my neck.

I couldn’t look at him.

This man had come to kill me.

He was not the first to approach my secluded pond, he wouldn’t be the last, but my patience wore thinner with every intrusion. They came with their blustering demands, swinging swords high in the air, threatening to turn the water red with my blood and demanding what was mine.

To the last, they wound up here, on their knees, desperate to recant every word, to prove themselves worthy of a glance from me. All it took was that first look, and the poor warriors melted.

This knight’s sword had pierced the ground and stood upright an arm’s length away from him, forgotten.

I had a sword of my own, but not once in these past centuries had I cause to use it. My glare cut quicker, and my magic, feeble as it’d become in this barren, simple place, was far more comfortable in hand.

My sword had lain glittering at the bottom of the clear blue pond for centuries. The water was still enough that the edges of the blade hardly wavered. Recent rainfall had swollen the banks and turned the surrounding forest muddy and dank. But here, the sunlight filtered through green leaves, dripping golden across the water’s surface.

All these intruders came for a weapon they didn’t understand, couldn’t even wield. Once, it’d belonged to Prince Stryg of Faerie. Now, it was mine. It’d never been meant for human hands. In them, the damned thing only caused devastation.

Three hundred years, watching the sun sweep across the sky from beneath the water’s surface, and I was dead tired of keeping that infernal thing company. This sort of weariness wasn’t meant to happen—not to immortals. Certainly not to one as young as me.

This once, it was tempting to let the mortal take it, see what curses the blade dropped on him. Only, I could no sooner part with the thing than sink my hand into my own chest and rip out my still-beating heart. Fuck, that might be easier than letting the thing go. I could not forget the ways my heart and soul were twisted up in all that gleaming steel.

“Master?” The mortal’s voice floated on the air, soft and sweet and tempting. Or it might have been, were I still whole and susceptible to such trifles.

I scoffed. I’d had masters in my life, but never had I been one myself.

All of this, for one sword that belonged to me, at the bottom of a pond that belonged to me—and neither of those facts mattered, for this world did not belong to me, did not recognize my rights, and would reject me if given half an opportunity.

Unfortunately for us both, we were stuck together.

I turned and looked into the man’s dull, flat eyes. “What’s your name?”

He started, as if he’d forgotten.

“Fernand,” he whispered after a moment. The corners of his lips trembled, as if he feared I would find his name displeasing. It was no more displeasing than the sword at his side or his violent intentions. No more displeasing than his plain face and brute demeanor.

This had always been the power of the fae, to tempt and entice and seduce. Fernand had simply wandered too close to a trap I’d never meant to set. But now that he was here?—

“What do you want, Fernand?”

My sword, I knew. Power, I guessed. Only when his mouth fell open, that was not what he asked for.

“You.” His voice was caught on a gasp. I stepped closer, and his shaky hands rose to trace up my bare thighs, to whisk away the water droplets still clinging to my skin. “I desire only you.”

I touched his face. His cheek was rough with stubble. When I swiped my thumb across his lips, they parted for a warm, humid gasp.

“Then let us make a deal, dear Fernand. I will find a use for these lips”—crimson flooded in his cheeks, and when he nodded, he pressed into my curled fingers—“then you will leave this place and forget you ever found it. I will be nothing more to you than a happy dream. Do you agree?”

“Yes. Gods, yes.” His hands flexed on my hips then, dragging me toward his mouth, open and eager and slick with spit.

I sighed. Perhaps I’d be a happy dream to him.

To me, this human was nothing.