Page 131 of Siren’s Secret

Lord Stormwell tried to look unaffected, but his mouth tensed into a disapproving frown.

“This reckless display is beneath your station, Wayla,” he rebuked.

“Wayla, no!” Irishen shouted, but it was too late.

With an ear-shattering shriek of rage, Wayla let her power fly. A ball made of electricity and water sped toward her grandfather, who refused to flinch. It hit his cheek with an audible crunch, causing the skin to mottle and bruise. Soon, the mark began to fade.

No one breathed. Even Lucifer looked on with wide eyes and bated breath. Lord Stormwell swiped the last vestiges of water from his cheek while looking at Wave, who shook her hand out.

A game. It was all a game her father had taught her to play. Uncontrolled emotions and reckless actions. Unsuitable and unpredictable to be an heir and paraded around publicly. She needed to give them a reaction, any reaction, to hide her true feelings.

And it gave her a small chance of relief. A way to siphon her power off without rousing suspicion. She needed that now more than ever and tried to breathe in deep to curb the urge to send another ball at her grandfather’s nose.

Still, the silence held.

Lord Stormwell dried his hand with a napkin and his jaw flexed before he looked at Wave again. “Are you done?”

“Yes,” Wave replied and wiggled her fingers.

“I expected better of you, Wayla,” Grandfather said. “If you are going to attack me in the middle of dinner, I expect more significant damage.”

Slowly, the rage calmed in Wave’s stomach, and she rolled her eyes. Yes, her grandfather could be terrifying, but more than disobedience, he despised weakness. It was why her father had come up with the plan to make her seem unsuitable as an heir. It seemed it was all for nothing anyway.

She was the acknowledged heir now. A piece on a board to be bartered off in a game of politics. A never-ending twisted game. One her father had refused to play in the end and that may have cost him his life. Slowly, Wave tucked her feelings aside and pushed her rumbling power behind a shield. She blinked and smiled sweetly.

“But we are past dessert. You are losing your touch. Now apologize.”

Her grandfather frowned, and she gritted her teeth. “Wayla—”

“Apologize, or I will renounce my bloodline this very second. If you are going to insult it, why should I be a part of it?”

That was not a threat thrown around lightly. Or ever. The gasps that rang around the table and the cut off curses filled the air. When her grandfather said nothing, thinking to call her bluff, Wave turned to Lucifer.

“No, no, I—”

“As a High Lord, you’ll be a fit witness. I, Wa—”

That was as far as she got when Grandfather’s aura lashed out, cutting her off. “Fine, Granddaughter of mine. If that is the price you demand, I apologize.”

She turned back to him, hiding her gloating. He had flinched first. “For what?”

“I apologize for speaking ill of the dead.”

“Try again.”

“I should not have said that about your father,” he said, some emotion flickering in his eyes.

“One more time. You are getting warmer.”

“I’m sorry. My son, your father, was a good father. I should have never talked like that about him in front of you.” Lord Stormwell still looked defiant, but his tone finally sounded sincere.

“Accepted.” Wave smoothed out her dress and hair. “Now then, where were we?”

She moved to sit back down, ignoring all the stares. Her relationship with her family was messy, and that was just her stormbringer side. If she ever ended up hosting a dinner to her siren bloodline, this would look like a walk in the park. Not that she would ever dare to go against Mother and Grandmere like she did her father’s lineage.

“The contract,” Lucifer supplied helpfully. Now that the crisis had passed, the demon lord seemed beyond amused.

“The contract is binding, Wayla,” Grandfather started with his lecturing tone.