Page 11 of A Reckless Indulgence

When the siren’s hands move to his pants, he coughs a laugh. “What’re…you…”

“Your clothes are in tatters.” There’s another ripping noise before his legs are exposed to the air. “They’re soaked. You’ll be infected before long.”

He doesn’t argue. It’s nice to be free of his sopping clothes, and nicer still to be under her hands again. This time, she tugs on his good arm, hoisting him onto something flat and waxy with a long stem pressed along his spine.

It’s slow work, but eventually, the siren tugs the massive leaf (and Cav atop it) out of the water. The smooth rocks beneath him change to grains of sand and clumps of soil. The scent of the sea is dampened by flora. Fronds brush his body while leafy shadows bob across the backs of his eyelids.

Another huge leaf drapes across his body, preserving whatever modesty he has left. “‘M not…shy,” he manages. The siren doesn’t reply, but he hears liquid sloshing inside the clinking bottles. It’s a reminder of how tight and dry his skin is, stretched uncomfortably over his bones like a strip of leather.

Something pours onto his wounded shoulder, making him hiss and clench. It doesn’t deter the siren. Her motions are sloppy, heaping on gobs of cream that drip down his body. It’s clear she doesn’t understand exactly what she’s doing, but she finds every scratch on him and coats them with different fluids.

After a few minutes, the burning pain subsides. His injuries feel cleaner, if nothing else, and that allows him to unclench his body.

Is she tending to him? Surely not. More likely she’s preparing him to be eaten, although the ointments smell more medicinal than savory. He tries to listen for her, but all he can make out are the distant ocean sounds. Waves crashing, gulls calling, breeze whistling through the cavern above him.

His heartbeat picks up for the first time in days. What if she left? He fights to open his eyes, but his crusted eyelashes tug against each other. “What’s — your name?” he rasps.

There’s no reply.

His voice isn’t strong enough. He tries again. “I’m — Cav. Short for — Cavalier.”

After a long moment, there’s a scoff. It’s further away now, followed by a disparaging remark about pirates. Cav’s laughter nearly strangles him. He can do little more than gasp, drowning in whatever seawater is left inside him.

Unhurried footsteps approach him before a bitter liquid drizzles into his mouth. He gags, but the siren grips his chin and forces him to swallow. He splutters against her slick fingers.

Maybe she’ll suffocate him. Maybe he would like that.

But then she pulls her hand away, and when he gasps for air, he’s surprised at how deeply he can breathe. “Thank you.”

She grumbles. “Thank whomever gave you that dreadful name.”

“I did.”

“Why in the Depths would you choose that?”

His mouth quirks. In truth, he chose a name that could toe both sides of the gendered line. He wanted something true that could also find the path of least resistance. Living as a man makes it easier to secure spots on working ships, to find adventure on the open seas, to keep people’s hands from wandering. Over the years, Cav has grown accustomed to it, but it’s never been the whole story. He loves this part of himself, but there’s another half that’s been left to wither, as stifled as his ribs when he binds his chest.

Despite the lingering pain, he stretches like a cat and arches his breasts against the leaf with a long, deep breath. “I like to keep people guessing.” There’s no telling if Lyx is looking his way. Gods, he must be delusional from dehydration. Why is he trying to entice her, anyway?

Right: her name.

“What’s yours?” He craves to hear her voice again. He knows she’s still there, rustling through the bottles, but she doesn’t say anything. The silence goes on for so long that he doesn’t think she’ll answer, but then a wave recedes, and he swears he hears one syllable.

He tilts his ear toward her. “What was that?”

She doesn’t speak again. He scrambles to decipher the sound.

“Lyx,” he repeats. Her name is fresh water over his tongue, like it could heal the dry cracks of his lips. “Is that short for something?”

She sighs.

His smile grows. “Tell me.”

Her fingernails tick against a bottle. “Only the ocean can pronounce it.”

“Tell me anyway.”

There’s a long stretch of silence again, and then the sharp tip of her finger presses to his bare chest. “I’ve kept you alive, pirate, and still, you ask for more.”