Page 5 of A Reckless Indulgence

It’s strange hearing the familiar names from Lyx. Despite the pain, Cav narrows his eyes. “How do you know Heathen?”

Lyx’s spine straightens, like she’s been forced into civility. “I didn’t realize you were acquainted.”

“Or you would’ve been happier to see me?”

Her sour look returns. “Roderick said he had a connection to her. That’s why I was meeting him.”

“Of course he did,” Cav huffs. “But why are you looking for Heathen?” He gestures behind her to the wealthy island now looming over them. Light glints off the sleek materials, buildings dotted with contraptions Cav has never even heard of. “If you’re meeting with people who run in Roderick’s circles, I don’t see what Heathen could do for you.”

Lyx’s jaw clenches. It’s so brief, Cav wonders if it was a trick of the light, but whatever it was is replaced with her unflinching expression. “That doesn’t concern you.”

“But you want my help.”

Her eye twitches. No doubt she’s itching to be free from Cav and everything he brings with him. Maybe she would rather take her chances with Roderick. Gods, what does that say about Cav?

“Or maybe you don’t.” Cav holds up his palms. “I shouldn’t assume. I’m sure you’ve got —”

“I do,” she interjects, neck straining like it pains her to say. “I do. Need…”

There goes that foolish hope in his chest, refusing to die out.

As the boat floats into the dock, Cav digs into his pocket and holds out a cloth pouch between them. “You see that island?” He points to the smaller shape in the distance, a stark contrast to the opulent one before them. “The Indulgence is docked there. Come before sunrise, and you can meet with them.”

Skeptically, Lyx opens the pouch and withdraws two coins. “I have to pay my way?”

“No. Consider it a token of atonement.” Cav reaches out to brace against the dock, steadying the boat against the waves. “Since I ruined your dinner. Among other things.”

There’s the barest hint of emotion in her eyes. Maybe Cav imagines it, because he wants it to be true, because he wants to say more, to ask if she’ll show up tomorrow, to plead for another moment alone.

As if she senses it, Lyx rises abruptly to her feet. She tips backward, and Cav catches her around the waist to keep her from falling. Her body is solid against his, her eyes clinging to his mouth like it’s against her will. Like she hadn’t allowed herself to look until this moment.

When his lips part, so do hers. He can almost pretend she remembers this, too, that Cav hasn’t been the only one clinging to memories…

Then she clamps her mouth shut, shoving his chest and sending him splashing into the water.

In the Grotto

Lyx

Of all the things washed up in Lyx’s grotto, the biggest surprise is a pirate.

At least, one who’s still intact. Plenty of bodies litter this place, skulls crushed between rocks while their bones lie ensnared in plants. By the time the corpses make it here, they look very different from the way Lyx left them. All that remains is gold teeth and rotted clothing, but she remembers their faces from the shipwrecks — the hopeful lust in their eyes, the seaweed reaching toward them, the blue tint of their skin as they sank deeper.

This pirate, however, she doesn’t recognize. He’s pale and sickly from the sea, but there’s still a red hue to his skin. The shape of his face is human, but there are horns sprouting through his short hair. Salt clings to his eyelashes and the spiked tail curled limply beside him. Despite the patches of scales on his body, it’s clear he’s not amphibious. He wasn’t made to withstand the ocean as she is.

The tide lifts Lyx onto a rocky ledge. Water drips from her body and takes her siren form with it, her jellyfish tentacles weaving into two legs, fins and webbing shrinking until she looks almost human. This is the body pirates expect when they hunt for sirens. Beautiful. Vulnerable. Intriguing, but always familiar.

Waves splash against the pirate and rock his body closer to deeper water. If Lyx doesn’t intervene, he’ll drown.

A smile flits across her lips. Good. It will be her gift to the sea.

But the sea doesn’t need his trinkets. Kneeling in the shallows, Lyx feels along his body for pockets. Most of his clothing is torn, leaving his skin exposed to the elements. She runs her hand over one muscled thigh and traces up his abdomen.

Her head tilts, wet hair slipping down her back. Where she expects to find flat pectorals, she’s met with the curve of two breasts. Across his chest are faded marks, like a strip of fabric had been wound around it. More surprising, the pirate’s shoulder bends at an odd angle with muscle pulled taut over the joint.

She hovers over the injury. Feebly, volcanic cracks spread between his scales as if a fire burns beneath the surface. When she leans closer, there’s the faintest scent of soot and cinnamon —

“What a…way to go.”