Page 26

“Fuck yeah. Want to grab some food?”

I nod, and hope my smile hides some of my nervous energy. “Sure.”

She loops her arm in mine, and drags me out of the gym.

“So.”

Cora sits across from me in a crowded cafe just outside of the village. There’s a charm to it, the sparkling vinyl upholstery on the booth seats and the jukebox tucked into a corner. I haven’t ventured out since I got here, other than my failed attempt to get laid last night.

Well, I can’t call it a failure when I got to suck Javier’s cock and come on his foot. And then he made me a fucking smoothie and sent me to bed. What the actual fuck was that?

I know I’m queer. I know I like dominant men, but have no interest in pain play. I know, from the past five years of exploration and experimentation at clubs in Soledad, the kind of partner I’m looking for is firm, but nurturing, strict, but soft.

It’s why I started going out with a forest green hanky in my pocket. Better to put it right out there in the open that you’re looking for a Daddy, than go through dinner and drinks and have it all go sideways when you ask to be called “boy” and told what to do.

“Where are you living now?” Cora asks, watching me over her diet soda.

“Soledad, up in the Central Lowlands. My brother Damian and I have a place.”

Recognition crosses her face. “I remember him,” she says. “He left with his dad when he was pretty young, right?”

I nod. She doesn’t say your dad, even though Damian and I share the same parents. Sirens don’t recognize the men who sire them. They’re nothing more than a necessary sperm donor in the eyes of our mothers. I grew up knowing nothing about the man, other than the occasional glimpse of his old red pickup truck when he dropped Damian off to visit for a weekend.

“Who are you swimming with this year?” I ask.

“An ensemble.”

“Oof.” Ensemble performances are hard work. It’s one thing to synchronize your movements with one other person in the duet performances, but to perfectly match your every breath with seven other sirens is almost impossible. “What song?”

She rolls her eyes. “Toccata and Fugue.”

I snort a laugh before I can stop myself. It was a piece we’ve used before—one of Bach’s most famous—and it matched every dramatic stereotype people had about artistic swimming. “Again?”

“It’s won before, I guess.” She pushes her plate of fries across the table toward me, and I grab the two kinds of mayo I ordered: one tangy and herby, and the other a spicy chile. “It’s the same routine with a few more complex lifts added in.”

“How’s…” I stop, waving a hand around clumsily, unsure of how to word my question. Yucatec’a isn’t home. Not anymore.

“The Colony?” She prompts. When I nod, she lets out a sigh. “It’s the same. Better, now that I’m older. We still practice twice a day and eat the same meals in the dining hall. It’s boring, but predictable. Sometimes I hang out with some of the jaguar shifters who live in Tetochi—did you ever meet them?”

I shake my head.

“They are so hot, Aleks. Disgustingly hot, and fun to party with.” She tucks a lock of dyed hair behind her ear. “Other than that, I go to the coast to see my dad, and hang out with the girls.”

“You see your dad?” I must have misheard her—those of us raised in the Colony didn’t have relationships with our other parents.

“Oh, totally.” She leans forward, pressing her chest to the table so there is barely any space between us. “Between us, I don’t think my mom ever got over him. She would take us to the coast to visit him when we were little. He’s a sweet guy, and actually seems stoked to have a relationship with us. My mom still goes to see him. Not that she talks about it. You know how it is at the Colony—there’s no space for anything but training.”

“Damn,” I say. “It’s so fucking sad when you think about it—we are basically cursed to live a life without meaningful romantic relationships.”

Cora laughs as swallows another fry. “Welcome to sirenhood. You have a tail. You can’t stop from singing, and when people hear you, they will try to drown themselves to get to you. Oh! But wait! It gets better: if anyone hears you sing, you die!” Her smile is saccharine. “Yippee.”

I wave my hand in front of me, putting on a deep, overly-dramatic voice. “Yet hold out hope, yee tailed ones! There is a chance you have a mate! One fated by the Gods! If they hear you sing, you will live!”

“Ah, true love worth dying for. We seriously got the shit end of the curse stick.”

Cora starts to laugh, and I join her. Soon we are both snorting and struggling to catch our breath, and with my cramping sides and my aching face, I don’t feel lonely. Not anymore.

“At least we can still get laid and have a great time,” Cora said, raising her glass of water. I mirror her, the plastic of our cups clicking together with a dull thunk.