Escaping the Siren Prince

Extenuating Circumstances

One of Luka's eyebrows lifted.

The bastard actually looked amused.

"A tail."

"Yes."

"What kind?"

Cora's jaw dropped. "Are you seriously asking me what kind of tail you had?"

"I'm trying to understand the accusation."

"It's not an accusation. It's an anatomical observation."

"Of my tail."

"Stop saying it like that."

"You're the one who brought it up."

Cora felt heat creep into her cheeks and immediately resented him for noticing.

His mouth twitched.

She pointed at him. "You also glowed."

"Did I?"

"Bioluminescence."

"That sounds serious."

"And you kissed me."

That stopped him.

Only for a second, but Cora caught it.

His gaze dropped almost imperceptibly to her mouth before returning to her eyes.

The air between them changed.

Cora became abruptly aware of how close they were sitting. Of the sunlight catching the darker strands in his hair. Of the fact that his shirt was open at the throat and she now knew exactly what the skin beneath it looked like when illuminated blue-green in the darkness.

She also knew what his mouth felt like against hers.

Technically.

Her pulse betrayed her.

Luka leaned forward in his chair.

“I kissed you?”

“You know you did.”

“That doesn't sound like something I'd forget.”

“It wasn't technically a kiss.”

“What would you call it?”

Cora opened her mouth.

Closed it.

“Emergency oxygen transfer.”

Luka stared at her.

“Emergency oxygen transfer?”

“I was drowning.”

“And this is the scientific term?”

“It's the term I'm using.”

His mouth twitched.

“So, not a kiss.”

“No.”

“Despite my mouth being on yours.”

“There were extenuating circumstances.”

“For how long?”

Cora's stomach tightened.

“What?”

Luka didn't blink. If anything, he seemed to double down.

“For how long? How long was my mouth on yours?” His gaze held hers. “Scientifically, what qualifies as extenuating circumstances versus a kiss?”

Cora remembered exactly how long.

Exactly how his hand had felt at the back of her neck. Exactly how his other arm had held her against him. Exactly how his mouth had sealed over hers while that impossible blue-green light moved beneath his skin.

She cleared her throat.

“That's irrelevant.”

Luka's eyes dropped to her mouth again.

“Of course.”

“It wasn't romantic.”

“That's disappointing.”

Cora stared at him.

Was he flirting with her?

No. No. No. Absolutely not.

She refused to be attracted to a man who may or may not be a mythological sea predator and was currently pretending she had hallucinated his tail.

Unfortunately, her body had apparently not received that memo.

"You put your mouth on mine."

"And you remember that clearly?"

Cora's stomach tightened.

"Very."

Something passed through his expression.

"Interesting."

"Oh, don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Turn this around on me."

"I'm trying to understand what you believe happened."

"I don't believe anything. I know what I saw."

"You nearly drowned, Cora."

His tone changed enough to take some of the heat out of her anger.

"You were exhausted," he continued. "You'd been drinking. You spent a considerable amount of time alone in open water, and by the time you reached shore, you were delirious."

Cora went still.

"Reached shore."

Luka took another sip.

"You made it back."

"How do you know?"

"You told me."

"When?"

"Last night."

Cora searched his face.

"I don't remember talking to you."

"Which rather supports my point."

Her certainty wavered.

Only slightly.

Luka saw it.

Of course he did.

"You were confused," he said. "You'd pushed yourself too far physically. The mind does strange things when the body is under that kind of stress."

Cora's fingers tightened around her glass.

"So I hallucinated you."

"It would seem so."

"Underwater."

"Yes."

"Glowing."

"Apparently."

"With a tail."

“I'm beginning to think you're fixated on it.”

Heat immediately climbed her neck.

" That is absolutely not what I meant." Cora stared at him. “You expect me to believe I hallucinated all of it? You underwater. The tail. The glowing. Being able to breathe.” She paused. “And you kissing me?!”

Luka's eyes held hers.

"Perhaps that part was wishful thinking."

Cora nearly choked.

His mouth curved again.

"You are unbelievable."

"So I've been told."

"I do not want to kiss you."

"No?"

"No."

"Good."

"Good."

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither apparently willing to be the first to look away.

Somewhere in the middle of discussing hallucinations, drowning, and Luka's allegedly nonexistent tail, the conversation had stopped being about marine biology entirely. Cora wasn't sure when that had happened, but she was becoming painfully aware of it now.

Especially when Luka's gaze dropped to her mouth.

Again.

Her pulse jumped.

“Stop doing that.”

His eyes returned lazily to hers. “Doing what?”

“You know what.”

“I'm afraid I don't.”

“Looking at my mouth.”

Something shifted in his expression. “I wasn't.”

Cora gave him a flat look. “You're a terrible liar.”

“You've accused me of quite a lot of things today.”

“Because you keep doing suspicious things.”

“Looking at your mouth is suspicious?”

Cora opened her mouth to answer and immediately realized the trap she'd walked into.

Luka's eyes dropped there again.

“That!” She pointed at him. “Exactly that.”

A quiet laugh escaped him, low and warm enough to send another completely unwelcome flutter through her stomach.

God, she hated him.

Probably.

But this time, when Luka looked away, something in him changed. The amusement faded as he glanced toward the harbor, and whatever had briefly made him seem relaxed disappeared with it.

He set his glass down.

“I should go.”

Cora blinked.

"That's it?"

"I have somewhere to be."

"You haven't answered a single question."

"I believe I answered several."

"No. You professionally avoided several."

He stood and Cora looked up at him.

"You're lying to me."

For the first time since she'd sat down, there was no amusement in his expression.

"Go home tomorrow, Cora."

There it was again.

Not you're wrong.

Not you hallucinated.

Leave.

Luka placed enough money on the table to cover both drinks and walked away.

Cora remained in her chair.

She watched him disappear toward the docks.

Then she replayed the conversation.

Exhaustion.

Alcohol.

Delirium.

Hallucination.

His explanation was frustratingly simple. She'd made it back to shore on her own, found him there, and told him what had happened while exhausted and disoriented from nearly drowning.

It was plausible. Rational, even. Exactly the kind of explanation Cora herself might have reached for if she didn't have the very distinct memory of Luka Varek glowing beneath the Adriatic with a tail.

Cora stared at the untouched glass of cherry rakija in front of her.

"Oh my God."

She'd just been gaslighted.

Expertly.

Cora grabbed her bag.

"Not today sir."

"Excuse me."

The fisherman repairing a net beside the dock looked up.

Cora pointed toward the end of the harbor. "Tall man. Dark hair. Looks perpetually annoyed. Luka?"

Recognition flashed immediately.

The fisherman pointed toward a narrow passage between two storage buildings.

"That way."

"Thank you."

Cora headed after him.

The passage opened onto an older section of the docks, away from the cafés and tourist boats. Fishing vessels sat lower in the water here, their paint faded by years of salt and sun. Nets hung drying from wooden racks, and the smell of diesel mixed with fish and hot stone.

Voices carried from somewhere ahead.

Cora slowed.

One of them was Luka's.

She moved toward the sound, already preparing the opening sentence of round two, when another voice answered him.

The words were unfamiliar.

Cora stopped.

It wasn't Croatian.

At least, she didn't think it was. She'd spent enough time in Croatia over the past few weeks to recognize the cadence even when she couldn't understand the language. This was different. Lower.

Fluid in a way she couldn't place, certain sounds seeming to run together while others rose and fell almost musically.

Luka answered in the same language.

Cora moved closer.

The conversation was happening just around the corner of a weathered stone building.

She couldn't understand a word, but she understood tone.

The other man was afraid.

Not nervous.

Afraid.

His voice came quickly, words tumbling over one another as Luka responded in a low, controlled tone Cora had never heard him use before. There was no teasing now. No amusement. None of the carefully detached arrogance he'd used with her not ten minutes earlier.

The fisherman said something sharper.

Luka answered.

Silence followed.

Cora edged toward the corner and peered around it.

Luka stood beside a small fishing boat with his back partially toward her.

Across from him was an older fisherman Cora didn't recognize. His skin was deeply weathered from years in the sun, gray threaded through his beard, and both of his hands were wrapped tightly around the edge of the boat behind him.

He looked terrified.

Luka spoke again.

The fisherman's eyes widened.

Then his gaze shifted.

Directly to Cora, and everything stopped.

Luka turned.

His expression changed the instant he saw her.

The fisherman stared at Cora as though something impossible had just walked onto the dock.

He lifted one trembling hand.

Pointed directly at her.

And switched to English.

"She should be drowned."