Sucker for a siren, p.1
Sucker for a Siren, page 1
Sucker for a Siren
Folk Haven Book Two
Lauren Connolly
Contents
Acknowledgments
Content Warning
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Stay in Folk Haven
Swearing at a Sea Monster
Author’s Note
Newsletter Sign Up
About the Author
Also by Lauren Connolly
Copyright © 2021 by Lauren Connolly
All rights reserved.
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Visit my website at laurenconnollyromance.com
Cover Designer: MoorBooks Designs
Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com
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No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN-13: 978-1-949794-16-8
Created with Vellum
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Kenzie and Katy for your beta-reading insights. You helped me solve the puzzles I hadn’t known I had.
Thank you, Jovana, for your editing expertise and enthusiasm for Folk Haven. My books would be a sloppy mess without your skilled eye and insightful comments.
And as always, this series would never have had the time and space to grow if it wasn’t for my supportive and loving parents. Mom and Dad, you don’t know how much it means to me that I can ramble to you both about romance writing for an entire dinner and not have you searching for a way to escape!
Content Warning
This book contains scenes with choking, violence, and unhealthy parental relationships as well as discussions of captivity, abuse, manipulative relationships, and sexual assault.
1
SEAMUS
I thought I would have more time to prepare. When I step into Coffee & Claws, I expect to see a long line. A bunch of people strung out between me and the counter, acting as a slow interlude to the ordering process. A brief buffer between me and her.
But there’s nothing in my way. No pause I can take other than standing here, just inside the door, awkwardly staring around, as if confused as to why I came to this coffee shop.
I came to order tea. Tea I could easily brew for myself at home.
But she’s not at my house.
Neri.
The woman prominent in my mind stands behind the counter, her back to me as she converses with whoever is working in the kitchen. At least that inattention provides me a moment to readjust. To try imbuing confidence in my stride as I approach the register. And her.
My eyes fix on the swing of Neri’s ponytail as she gives a nod. The white-blonde hair, lighter even than her pale skin, has a little swoop in it. A bend I want to follow by sliding the band out and combing my fingers through the strands.
Neri faces me, and my gut tightens. Her smile is soft, but those silvery eyes are sharp, taking in every inch of me. “Hi, Seamus. Earl Grey? Or you wanna go wild today and get hibiscus?”
The sound of my name in her melodious voice flows along my nerve endings. I shouldn’t get too excited about her knowing it. She’s written it on a cup every day for the past three weeks.
Because, yeah, I’ve been pining after her that long. Coming back to this coffee shop just to bask in her attention for the time it takes to place my order.
“Hello, Neri.” I take pride in how casual I sound. As if I didn’t look forward to the single moment I got to say her name every day. “It appears I’m going to be boring today.”
“Oh well. I’ll convince you one of these days.” She grabs the twenty-ounce cup because if I’m going to buy my tea from this shop, I’m at least going to get a large dose.
Normally, Neri writes my name in quick, neat letters, moving on from me so she can get to the next customer. But there’s no one behind me in the line, and maybe that’s why the slate-eyed woman of my fantasies takes her time, drawing the S of my name so it covers a good portion of the cup.
This is my chance. Time to move past the same small talk we exchange every time I come here. Why didn’t I prepare any talking points?
“So … you’re a barista.” I clear my throat. “That’s … fascinating.”
Curse The Finned One’s games. What did I just say?
Neri pauses in the middle of writing the M to look up at me. Her smile tilts at the corner now, and I focus on the small change. In indication this conversation is not like all the others.
“I guess. Making fancy coffee is a kind of skill set. Quicker to learn than others though. But it has given me some calluses.” She places the marker on the counter and extends her arm, holding her palm up for me to see.
With that offering, I can’t help leaning in closer, getting a good look at her skin. Every line and crease read as perfection to me. But I do see the calluses along with a fading redness.
“What’s that from?” My original question was all fumbling, but true curiosity helps untangle my tongue.
“Steaming the milk.” Neri scoops up a little metal container, showing it to me. “I keep my hand wrapped around the side while I’m steaming. When I can barely stand to hold it anymore, that’s when I know it’s done.”
“That’s barbaric!” Acting on instinct, I reach out, encircling her wrist with my fingers, brushing a thumb across her poor, abused skin. “Can’t you use a thermometer instead?”
When I meet her eyes, something sparks in the gray irises.
“Thermometers are for wimps.” She smirks.
The ring of the shop door opening breaks our stare, and Neri pulls her hand from mine. Shocked at the liberty I took, I shove my own hands in my pockets.
“What about a cookie?” Her singsong voice teases over the last word.
“What’s that?” I’m having trouble focusing as I try to tattoo the memory of the feel of her on my brain.
“Can I convince you to buy a cookie?” The tempting barista waves at the pastry display case. “They just came out of the oven a few minutes ago. Their insides are probably still soft and warm.”
Oh gods. Who would’ve thought hearing a woman discuss baked goods could turn me on?
I clear my throat and nod. “You choose.”
That earns me a wide grin I’m sure is lethal from the erratic effect it has on my heart.
“How about peanut butter?”
“Good.” I need this interaction to be over as much as I want to talk to her forever.
Thankfully, Neri slides the treat into a paper sleeve, finishes writing my name on my cup, and rings me up. After I pull my credit card from the machine, her glance slides over my shoulder to where another customer waits.
Dismissed, I head to the other end of the counter, leaning against a high-top table as I wait for her to fill my cup with scalding water and add the bag of Earl Grey. I hope Neri doesn’t use her bare hand to tell if the water is hot enough. If I find I’m contributing to the irritation on her palm, I’ll have to switch to iced tea.
“I’m heading to the bank.” Sonya, one of the owners of Coffee & Claws, strolls out of a back office. She leans over the counter, loose black curls swinging against copper cheeks as she catches Neri’s eye. “You and Heath hold down the fort while I’m gone.”
“Got it, boss.” Neri offers a thumbs-up and another of her stunning grins.
Sonya catches my eye on the way out and smirks. “Hey, Seamus. Back for more tea?”
She knows. Of course she does.
I came in here yesterday and found Sonya at the cash register instead of the employee I wanted to see. When I asked if Neri was working, my attempt to sound nonchalant probably came off as hopeless.
“Yes.” I am not blushing. “I love tea.”
Sonya’s chuckle lingers, even after she leaves the shop.
Pushing the woman’s reaction from my mind, I refocus on the present moment. The paper surrounding my cookie crinkles in my hand, warmth seeping through the thin barrier. Did Neri realize what she was saying? What my dirty mind would think with those words hanging in the air between us?
“Their insides are probably still soft and warm.”
&nb sp; Stop with the dirty thoughts, I chastise myself. She was just helping a customer. Not flirting.
If I want a hope of Neri looking at me in any kind of way, I’ll need to ask her out. That’s not something I normally balk at. Not since my early twenties. But asking Neri on a date seems infinitely more difficult than starting up the past relationships I’ve had.
I’ve only ever dated selkies or humans. As a selkie myself, that’s normal. Mythics are expected to date their own kind or a non-mythical being.
But Neri is a siren.
Sonya is Neri’s cousin and a siren herself. She let the Town Council know about the new mythic arrival, which isn’t required but strongly suggested. My sister, Moira, was the one to tell me Neri’s species.
I have nothing against sirens. The problem is cross-mythic dating. Our society frowns on it. Because the children of those couples always come out … different.
A selkie with a selkie makes a selkie.
A selkie with a human makes a selkie most often, occasionally a human.
A selkie with any other mythic makes a mystery, and that lack of clarity scares people.
But my younger brother Calder just paired up with a dragon named Delta. If he can do it, why can’t I?
I’m going to ask her out, I decide. If she turns me down, well, then I can at least get over this whole pining nonsense. And stop spending so much money on tea.
I pass my cookie from hand to hand while brainstorming the best way to go about my mission. Should I write my phone number on a card and tell her to call me? Ask her to her face right now? Wait till she gets off work? But that would mean lurking around here, and I’ve been trying hard not to appear creepy.
As I ponder my problem, I break off a cookie chunk and pop it in my mouth. Then, I almost let out a curse because, damn, this pastry is good. Sweet and salty and nutty. Warm and soft, just like Neri promised. My next piece is even larger, and I shove the chunk in my mouth when I hear her voice again.
“Seamus. Your tea.”
So lost in my head, I draw in a surprised breath at the sound of Neri’s humming voice caressing my name. Unfortunately, my gasp ends up sucking a good portion of the cookie down my esophagus. My air supply immediately dwindles, and I begin to panic, trying to cough but unable to catch the breath needed to expel the object from my lungs.
Stars burst in the corners of my eyes, and sweat breaks out all over my body as my temperature rises with panic. Someone shouts nearby, but I’m too busy trying to get my brain to save me to hear the words. I can solve this problem if only I can think, but adrenaline flashes a strobe light in my mind.
Hard, abrupt pressure hits my stomach, and I let out a pathetic wheeze. There’s another slam of something against my solar plexus, forcing the air in my lungs to shove out the cookie chunk, and finally, I can breathe again.
Coughing up crumbs and spit, I collapse into a chair and focus on pulling in breath after breath. Sweet oxygen, more delicious than any baked good.
Eventually, the world around me clarifies, and I notice a reassuring loop getting traced along my back. Someone’s flat hand eases the tension in my spine with their thoughtful strokes.
“How are you doing?” Neri asks. “Want a glass of water?”
I glance up then and find the siren hovering over me. Her hand is the one working calming circles. Then, pausing her stroking and moving slowly, Neri cups my face in her palms. Her worried gray eyes stare into mine, her warm skin glorious on my cheeks.
Neri is the reason I can breathe again.
She saved me.
The sharp spike of gratitude sinks away, replaced by horror.
Neri saved my life. She rescued me when I was in danger, which, in selkie legends, means one thing.
The gods do not control me! a voice howls in my head. I am in control of my life! There is no fate!
“Seamus?”
I launch up from the chair, away from the siren’s intoxicating comfort, and glare at her.
“You are not my mate!”
2
NERI
Going through a near-death experience can cause people to act strange, but I wasn’t expecting what amounts to the opposite of a marriage proposal.
“Excuse me?”
Seamus backs away from me like I’m brandishing a knife at him.
“I am not your mate. So, don’t even think it.”
What in the name of The Winged One?
A moment ago, this guy was the perfect combination of cute and sexy. Every time Seamus comes into the shop, I stand taller and smile brighter, all from the anticipation of getting to exchange a few words with him. Today, I even flirted despite the fact I’d put a pause on all relationships for the foreseeable future.
And now, he’s yelling at me? About wanting to shack up with him? After I saved his life?
“I wasn’t thinking it,” I snap at him, crossing my arms over my chest. The arms, I’d like to point out, that I just used to save his life.
“Good. Because it’s not happening.” His stare stays on me, wary distrust twisting a face I used to think was handsome.
How has his previously adorable, curly hair, falling against snow-pale skin, lost its charm? How have his sharp jaw with its cleft chin and soft brown eyes gotten so ugly in the matter of seconds?
“I don’t want it to happen!” And now, I’m shouting at my job. Great.
The few people in Coffee & Claws stare between the two of us. I hope they’re all as confused as I am.
“Just FYI,” I growl, “I’m not on the market. And if I were, I sure as hell wouldn’t want to get involved with an ungrateful prick like you!”
Whirling around, I snatch up his cup of tea and then turn back to slam it down on the table between us. I avert my eyes from his name on the side, where I tried to add a few extra flourishes because I was giving in to an irrational sense of giddiness earlier. “Here’s your drink, sir.” From years of practice, I drag on my perky customer-service face. The one that hides a boiling anger just beneath the surface. “Have a lovely day.”
And then I stride back to the counter, somehow not flipping the asshole off during my exit.
Heath, one of my bosses and a co-owner of the shop, has his salt-and-pepper head poking through the window to the kitchen when I approach. His pale cheeks are ruddy, most likely from the hot oven he bakes all his delicious treats in.
“Wanna take your fifteen?” The bear shifter is a perceptive mythic, likely able to sniff out my fury if he didn’t hear my snarling from a moment ago.
“Love to.” I toss my apron under the counter and stride down the back hall, exiting through an employees-only door. Jogging past the dumpster and through a small parking lot, I quickly reach the forest that presses against the edge of the town.
Folk Haven, a lakeside settlement in northern Georgia, is supposed to be my new home. The perfect place for me to get a fresh start among a population with a higher percentage of mythics than anywhere else in the world. Here, surrounded by magical beings, I thought I might finally figure out how to become comfortable with all parts of my identity and use that growth to discover what I want to do with my life.
I imagined Folk Haven as an oasis of support in an otherwise dangerous world.
But being a mythical creature doesn’t prevent someone from also being an assface. I’ll have to remember that.
