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“Fuck…”
“You’ve the mouth of a sailor.”
“The sailor and the siren.” I flash her a painful grin.
Her forehead rumples before she shakes her head.
I wave at the peak. “Lead the way, Siren.”
For a moment, she looks unsure. I waggle my eyebrows, and her mouth tightens in what might be a small, reluctant smile, though I can’t tell before she turns and starts to climb back up the slope. She goes so slowly, I’m pretty sure she’s trying to be courteous—or insulting.
Even when we’re elbow-to-elbow, she moves at a snail’s pace. Our shoes slosh through the runoff, and she ducks her head, holding her jacket hood with one hand. When we’re back up level with the plateau where I landed underneath the arch, she hefts her pack onto her back.
I put a hand on it. “Let me.”
She snorts. “Did I just tumble down the slope?”
“No, but—”
“Thank you. Now proceeding.”
I shake my head, immediately regretting it when struck with a bullet of pain, and follow her under the archway. She starts down the slope’s back side; I stop to absorb the view. I can see the village off to the northwest: a few pinpricks of light beside the dark blanket of the sea. Pale pink clouds have covered up the moon, but even in the darkness, that huge volcano can’t be missed; it looms over to our right, its wide base rising from the steep valley in front of us, its massive slope tilting up into a thick blanket of fog.
Thunder booms, reminding me that I should get my ass in gear. Half a second later, lightning splinters the sky, gleaming off Finley’s raincoat. As if she can feel my gaze, she looks over her shoulder. I give what I hope looks like a friendly wave.
I’m at her side a minute later, watching my footing as we move through a sea of baseball-sized stones that make our descent tricky. A few times, Finley wobbles. Once, my hand darts out to grab her, but I manage to rein in the impulse. She seems prickly…or maybe it’s prideful. Hell, maybe she just hates me. Better not to piss her off again—yet.
The rain falls harder than it has since I’ve been on the island, like someone in the sky is emptying a bucket over us. The water racing down the slope-side hits my ankles and my calves from behind—hard enough to threaten my balance—and as I step forward, I’m riding blind, because the moonlight’s glaring off the runoff, making it impossible to gauge the angle of the slope.
Near the bottom, my foot comes down on a stone that rolls under my shoe. I pinwheel, and when I get my balance again, I find Finley smirking. Our eyes meet, and she arches her brows.
“That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” I shout.
“Most definitely!”
I can’t be sure that’s what she said—the rain’s too loud—but the tilt of her lips as good as confirms it.
“Siren.” I grin.
That’s the last thing I process before the sky rumbles, a few octaves too low and loud to be thunder, and the ground under my feet gives way.
Eight
Finley
It’s like a film reel with a bit clipped from the middle. One moment, I’m working my way down the slope alongside the Carnegie, wondering what’s making me feel squirmy: his gaze on my rear end or my own antsy self-consciousness. Then that thought is overlaid by a horrible rumble.
The next scene opens with me lying somewhere dark and him over me. I squint, and when I try to move my head, a thunderclap of pain bursts behind my eyes.
“Oww.”
“Finley? Are you okay?”
Too loud.
I bring a hand to my face, surprised to find my arm feels weak and…heavy. And— “My head.” My voice is scratchy, near inaudible, so I try to swallow, struggling while my throat remembers how to work. I crack my eyes open again and find his wide as he leans, dripping, over me.
I look around, and dread slams through me. It looks dark and…cave-like. My eyes are blurry, but I see the dark walls and ceiling in the dim light.
