MERIBELLA

Meribella tugged at the short blonde strands of hair brushing against her chin. The temperature in the pub was unholy hot, and the wig had been itching for the last hour. Two weeks had passed since she'd escaped the clutches of what she'd discovered to be an all male cult, but she still didn't feel comfortable wandering about town without a disguise. She'd have left the moment she reached her rental, but she didn't have the funds to purchase a car just yet. As it was, she'd had to pay a penalty to cancel her lease and had spent a week homeless before finding another house, this one little more than a shack by the shore.

"Bella, you got table nine?"

Giving the wig one last frustrated tug, she nodded at Vivian with barely suppressed irritation before grabbing the drink orders from the rowdy guests. The pub was near the docks, and the majority of the patrons were blue collar men who wanted to unwind after a long day of physical labor. The tips would've been better at one of the five star restaurants in the city, but the chances of running into Mr. Bossy here were almost zero. The car, the clothes (when he finally put them on), and the house all indicated he had money and liked to spend it.

"You singing tonight?" Vivian asked while they were both waiting on the bartender to finish their drink order.

"Hadn't planned on it," she answered but couldn't keep from looking at the stage with longing. Selkies and mermaids were both responsible for the Siren myths, and she'd inherited the magic from Kai, though her voice wasn't nearly as potent. She thought of her escape from the cult. Her voice was strong enough to get her out of danger, but for the most part, she just loved to sing.

"Hmmm, you should totally talk to Joe about singing more often. The local guys love it."

"Yeah, but Serafina has a great voice."

"She's piss poor to look at though," Joe fussed, sneaking up on the two women. "I'd be happy to let you sing more often love, but for now, I'd be happier if you'd get those drinks to their owners and stop yapping."

Her lips twitched and it took her a minute to realize they wanted to curve into a smile, an act that was almost foreign to her. Joe was a big, burly man covered in hair, tattoos, and scars, but she'd not met many men kinder than he was.

"Ah, pipe down old man," Vivian groused, winking at Meribella before sashaying away, her generous hips capturing the attention of many patrons.

When Joe didn't leave, she raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm waiting on two more drinks."

"You're fine," he replied, studying her with a critical eye. "I mean it though. If you'd sing more often, this place would stay full. Your voice makes hers sound like a bunch of cats in a bag, and you're not bad on the eyes. You'd be even prettier if you'd toss that wig and those contacts."

Startled, she lifted her hand to pat her wig, and then winced when she realized she'd given herself away. "What gave away the contacts?"

"Your eyes are red most of the time. I'd have thought you were just stoned, but the contacts moved one day when you wiped your eyes and I saw green. You okay?"

"Yeah, I just like playing with my look."

"My daughter liked playing with her look too because it kept her safe from her psycho ex-husband. If you need help, you tell me. You understand?"

Tears filled her eyes and she ducked her head so he wouldn't see. Mostly because she was embarrassed by the odd display of emotion, but also because salt water reacted oddly when in contact with her skin. "Thanks Joe. Let me get these drinks to the table before they start a riot."

She escaped with the heavy tray and managed to ignore the suggestive comments made by the men. As long as they didn't touch her, she didn't care. They all declined a food order, and she rushed to her other three tables to check on their needs, determined to lose herself in the ritual of work.

The next hour passed quickly, and she managed to wrestle her human emotions into submission. Serafina, a mousy girl a few years younger than her, began her set, and her voice, full and sweet drifted across the room and calmed the drunken beasts. They didn't seem to care that she didn't possess traditional beauty; their eyes remained glued to her as she swayed beneath the spotlight. If she didn't know better, she'd suspect the girl of having siren abilities.

"Do you believe them?" Vivian sidled up beside her, dropping her tray onto the bar and rubbing her lower back. Her sandy blonde hair was streaked with a few grays, and there were fine lines around her mouth from years of smoking. Heavy makeup hid a multitude of sins, but the thick black liner around her small eyes added years to an already aged face.

Meribella wrapped her arms around her waist and shifted away from the woman. She was unused to working with people who were so chatty. At most of the upper end restaurants, the staff was too busy competing against each other or brown nosing the bosses to develop friendships. And it had never bothered her because she was there to make enough money to get her to the next point on the map.

"She's good."

"Yeah, but so is Mariah Carey, and I don't think they'd become zombies if I put her on the jukebox."

"I'm not complaining. If they're captivated by her, they're not heckling me."

"Girl, you are right." The door jingled as someone entered. "Do you mind taking them? I need another five minutes or I won't be able to walk tomorrow."

More customers meant more money. "Yeah, you put your feet up for a few minutes. I'll keep any eyes on your tables too. Everyone looks pretty satisfied right now."

"I'm telling Joe to give you a raise. Thanks love."

A warm sensation filled her chest as the older woman gazed at her with gratitude. Pulling out her notebook, she headed to the table where a lone man sat. "Welcome to Finnigan's. What would you like to start with this evening?"

"I'll take a whiskey, top shelf. And some answers after you get that for me."

A crack resounded as the tip of her pencil broke against the paper. There was no need to look; his voice resonated through her, making her tremble in equal parts fear and desire, but she lifted her eyes until they clashed with the ice chips that haunted her sleep. "Afraid we don't carry anything fancy here."

"I like your natural eye and hair color better."

"I'll be right back with your drink."

He was out of his seat and in front of her before she could take the first step. He breathed deeply before tugging the wig off of her head. The relief was instant, her head cooling as her temper heated. "Why did you run?"

"Because you had no right to keep me. How did you find me?"

"Your disguise wasn't very good."

"Considering you saw me for all of two hours in the dark, I'd say it was pretty damn good. What did you do? Set up the accident on purpose? Have you been stalking me?" She was close to yelling, but as much as she'd like to see someone come to her aid, she remembered how easily he'd caught and carried her. He'd decimate anyone who tried to fight him.

"Your leg seems to be fine."

"It is, and I'm going to use it to walk over to the bar. You have two choices: drink your beverage and leave, or have the cops called on you."

"There's a third choice," he leaned forward and let his lips hover above her ear. "You can step outside with me, answer my questions, and then I'll leave you alone."

Driving her heel into his foot, she relished the wince it elicited and stepped around him. Her lungs wheezed as she walked through into a cloud of cigarette smoke. The customer apologized profusely, leaping up as she began to cough. He patted her on the back with one hand. "So sorry," he slurred, swaying into her.

"Get off of her," her stalker shouted, snatching the drunken patron by the arm and hurling him across the room.

Scraping the tears from her cheeks, she stumbled away from the fight that erupted. Joe's baritone could be heard above the ruckus. He leapt over the bar with a bat in hand and raced towards the crowd where Mr. Bossy was holding his own against ten men. Vivian rushed out of the breakroom, her mouth dropping open.

"I'm going outside," Meribella shouted. She'd have to race home on foot, grab what she could carry, and hope she could find shelter in the next town over. Coming back to this town had been foolish, but as she thought of the man she'd left in the bar, she wondered if she could run far enough to truly escape him.

The house she rented was only a mile from the pub, and with her speed, she made it to the door in under three minutes. Nothing in the place belonged to her except her suitcase, and she'd not properly unpacked since moving in. Tossing the few items scattered about the rooms into the satchel, she double checked to make sure she hadn't left anything before stepping back outside and locking the door behind her.

A frigid gust of air whipped around her, biting through the thin layers of her clothes and carrying a musky scent of pine and cinnamon.She whirled to confront the man who was walking up the pathway. Hair and clothes disheveled from the fight, he watched her with his jaw tight and fists clenched. A trickle of blood ran into his left eye, but as she watched, the drip slowed until it stopped completely and the wound closed.

"What the hell are you?"

"Funny," he said, his voice low and gravelly, "I was going to ask you the same question."