Siren's Treasure

Landry tried to remember all the reasons why this woman was off-limits, but he couldn’t name a single one.

Everything about Jet fascinated him and stirred his sensual appetite. The pale glittering skin, full lips and unusually dark eyes framed by black hair were so different from any other woman he’d known.

Jet crackled with energy and a directness that cut through his usual barriers and demanded sole focus on her own unique qualities.

She leaned closer, a glint of desire sparkling like pixie dust in her enlarged pupils, and Landry’s jaw tensed at his body’s immediate tug to draw closer.

She touched his chest with one hand, and even through his thick cotton shirt, the heat of her skin traveled downward, and his stomach tightened.

All reason fled. He had to feel her, taste her, claim her—

* * *

“These contemporary mers are a far cry from Disney characters, theme-park performers and creepy she-devil myths of the sea. Settle in for an exciting swim with a new breed of sirens.”

—New York Times bestselling author Deborah Smith on Siren’s Secret

Siren’s

Treasure

Debbie Herbert

www.millsandboon.co.uk

DEBBIE HERBERT writes paranormal romance novels reflecting her belief that love, like magic, casts its own spell of enchantment. She’s always been fascinated by magic, romance and gothic stories. Married and living in Alabama, she roots for the Crimson Tide football team. Her oldest son, like many of her characters, has autism. Her youngest son is in the US army. A past Maggie Award finalist in both young-adult and paranormal romance, she’s a member of the Georgia Romance Writers of America. Debbie has a degree in English (Berry College, Georgia) and a master’s in library studies (University of Alabama).

As always, to my husband and parents for their support.

To my agent, Victoria Lea, Aponte Literary Agency, for her faith in my writing, and to Mills & Boon Nocturne editor Ann Leslie Tuttle, who gave me a publishing opportunity.

I also want to thank the amazing copy editors and proofreaders at Mills & Boon who whip my manuscripts into shape and make them shine.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

Away down deep in the ’Bama bayou,

You’ll find a mysterious Gothic brew

Where Spanish moss drapes ancient oaks,

And sea-slithery lizards and gators croak.

The swampy water creeps ever in,

And lured down many a man has been

By magical, whispering, haunting sounds

Where not another soul is found.

Stay out of the water, whatever you do,

Ain’t no telling what will become of you

If you can’t resist a quick little dip.

Let me give you a tiny tip:

Should you feel a tug at your feet,

It mightn’t be the tide pulling underneath.

Be wary, human, you must beware—

For some say mermaids lurk down there.

“Siren’s Song,” old folk tune, Bayou La Siryna,

Alabama

Placing second or third? Not good enough.

She had to win the Undines’ Challenge this year at the Poseidon Games, had to discover the reason other merfolk shunned her.

Jet whipped her tail fin and surged forward through the turquoise water—pushing, pushing—speeding through the sea like a rocket, streams of bubbles in her wake. Only one goal consumed her.

Winning.

The adrenaline rush, combined with Jet’s superior strength and determination, propelled her ahead of the other merfolk within the first minute. She took a quick peek over her left shoulder and found Orpheous mere feet behind and rapidly closing in.

Her nemesis was gaining.

Jet sped past the Dismals, a barnacle-ridden limestone outcropping, and toward the next hurdle of the race. At the entrance of the honeycombs she cast a quick glance backward. Orpheous grinned, displaying jagged, pointy teeth. His long cobalt hair and teal tail fin distinctly marked him as one of the rare full-blooded members of the notorious Blue Mermen Clan. Ruthlessly aggressive and muscular, his kind usually won most sporting events.

Jet slowed as she slid through the first opening of a large coral with a series of slender gaps. Although beautiful, the hot-pink coral was razor sharp and could gash exposed flesh and scales, causing painful injuries. Each contestant had to maneuver through the marked portals without any part of their body touching the coral. If they did touch, one of the judges on the sidelines would blow a conch shell, signaling the contestant must start over.

Halfway through the coral maze, the muted bellow of conch blasted. Jet’s heart tripped. She hadn’t touched, had she? She looked at the judges perched on a rock ledge twelve feet away, but they pointed to Orpheous and signaled him to exit and start over.

“Liars!” he screamed, ignoring the stream of blood spiraling upward from a gash on his arm. “I did not touch. You are prejudiced against my clan.”

Jet resumed swimming through the narrow twists and turns. She would win and take her place among the strongest and most skilled. Surely then they would respect her.

A quarter mile ahead, the Wrath of Mer loomed. Already, her breath grew shallower in the methane-laced water and her gills flared, struggling to suck in more of the declining oxygen. A methane vent disturbed the water’s buoyancy under the mile-long towering rock ledge.

The bubbling fields let Jet know what to expect. As her body hit the area, she propelled forward, as if powered by jet fuel. What a rush! Better than any runner’s high she’d experienced on land in human form. She luxuriated a moment in the sensation of near weightlessness.

A mass of black stone was suddenly three feet ahead.

She’d miscalculated.

Jet abruptly swished her tail fin to turn but it was too late. She slammed into the rock with her right shoulder and tail fin taking the brunt of the blow. Searing pain radiated from her shoulder down to her fingertips and she drifted downward, fighting unconsciousness. The metallic scent of blood prickled her nose. Jet surveyed her body but didn’t see any open wound.

Orpheous is near.

He shot through the swirl of bubbles, almost slapping her face with his tail fin. He leered at her briefly, his hair a storm of blue, before shooting away.

Jet clenched her jaw and thrust both arms forward. Her shoulder pain transformed to a numbing sensation. Keep going. Don’t stop. She swam out of the methane trap and came to the roofed cavern, selected for its strong crosscurrents.

Piece of salmon cake.

Orpheous entered the cavern and purposely whacked his tail fin against its walls before racing out. The wall appeared to disintegrate as dozens of disturbed gulper eels oozed out of its crevices, their long snaky bodies slithering into the churning water.

Great. She would have to swim through a mass of pissed-off eels.

She made it through without slowing. With her speed, she could overtake him en route to the Devil’s Well, an ancient, dormant volcano. But once inside, he would have an advantage.

Jet kept up the rhythmic pattern of swimming that best suited her—extending her arms forward first, then crunching her abs and thrusting out her tail fin. At the volcano’s tip, she dived into the narrow passage with Orpheous close by. The light quickly dissipated and Jet extended an arm along the side wall to keep her bearings. Each contestant had to swim the five hundred feet to its bottom and collect a piece of lava rock.

Halfway down, she realized something was wrong. Orpheous had stopped swimming and was moving upward. “Chickening out?” she asked. She swam closer to his vibration until she could make out the blue-white of his teeth.

He exposed his jagged molars in a grin that was half snarl, half glee and held up something in his hand.

Jet fumbled in the darkness until she found his fist, which was closed over a smooth, flat piece of lava rock.

“I’ve got my token.”

Jet’s mouth dropped open. “But how? We haven’t reached bottom yet.”

“I brought it with me. Rules are for losers. Better luck next year.” He turned his back, dismissing her.

Anger shot up from the tip of her tail fin to the top of her scalp like an electrical burn. Jet surged forward, bent her body in two and whammed her tail fin into the back of his scalp. A bubbling argh sound filtered down. The lava rock loosened from his grip and fell.

“I won’t let you cheat me again,” she shouted, racing down with Orpheous hot on her tail.

His voice vibrated close behind. “Ever ask yourself why winning means so much to you?”

She frowned. “It just does.”

“Look at you.” His tone was amused, condescending. “Hair so black it shines blue in the sun. So strong, so competitive. You’re nothing like Lily.”

“Leave my sister out of it.” She hated hearing Lily’s name on his foul blue lips. “You’re trying to delay me with stupid chatter.”

“True.” His voice was closer. “But the two of you look nothing alike. Ever suspect you are one of us?”

One of the Blue Clan? Impossible. “Never,” Jet hissed. She swam faster, all the while expecting Orpheous to grab her tail fin and drag her down into the black abyss. At the volcano’s craggy bottom, she extended her fingers until they scraped hardened lava and extracted a loose nugget. Jet surged upward, passing Orpheous moments before he touched bottom.

She pushed on, free of the volcano. Ahead, a crowd of merfolk perched on rocks, waiting for the winner to leap over Rainbow Rock and claim the golden trident.

Jet had envisioned this moment for years. She gathered speed, dived downward and then thrust upward, breaching water. As she crested the rock, she savored the moment—the drops of water coating her naked breasts, the dark blue and purple tail-fin scales glinting in the afternoon sun and her sleek, muscled torso poised in a perfect arc before diving under the sea.

She slowed and came to a halt at the winner’s platform, a tall, flat boulder where the head judge sat upon a chair of abalone shell, trophy in hand.

She’d done it! Finally she’d won the grand prize.

Jet held out her hand. Firth, a Blue Merman and former winner, was the honorary head judge. He examined the rock and scowled, blue lips twisting over sharp, pointy teeth.

She looked past him and spotted her mother and cousins seated in the first row, smiling and waving.

Orpheous swam to her side and Firth scowled at his fellow clan member. “You dishonor us. Yet, I must perform my duties.” He addressed the crowd. “Jet Bosarge is the winner,” he said flatly, then thrust the golden trident into Jet’s right hand.

Her arm was still numb from the injury but she managed to close her fist over the solid gold trident, which nearly matched her height. Jet stomped the base of the trident in the sand three times and chanted, “As descendant of Poseidon, I claim my reward.”

Instead of the thundering cheer Jet expected, the whistling and applause was decidedly lukewarm. Large swarms of merfolk swam away, moving on to the highly anticipated Siren Song event. Even her mother’s chair was now empty.

“You know how this works,” Firth said, nodding at the trident. “On land, the trident will shrink to the size of a charm pendant. It contains a onetime wish, good for one year.”

Jet bowed her head, eager to get away and watch Lily win the siren contest, but a strong hand closed over her arm. She frowned at the green talons and long fingers resembling seaweed.

“Not so fast,” Orpheous said, rubbing her arm suggestively. “Come with me and meet others in your clan.”

His breath smelled like fish guts and Jet tried not to visualize those jagged teeth ripping apart some tasty amberjack. “Go away, you thug fish.”

Orpheous was seriously getting under her skin. Damn it, she was a Bosarge woman, descended from a long line of mermaids well-known for exceptional beauty and intelligence.

He shrugged. “Deny all you like, but I see Blue in you.”

Jet smacked his midsection with her tail fin and he doubled over. She swam as fast as an eel and made her escape. At the crowded Siren Song competition, she saw her family had not saved a place for her at the front of the stage.

Jet regarded her mother and the rest of her family with new eyes. Every one of them was gorgeous, even by mermaid standards: petite, curvy bodies; pale, gleaming skin; lovely pastel hair tints and varying shades of blue eyes spanning from the lightest ultramarine to the deepest cobalt. All dripping with feminine allure and charm.

Not for the first time, Jet considered her own black hair, cut short to prevent drag in the races, and eyes so dark only a hint of brown radiated from the irises. Mom had even chosen the name “Jet” because of their color. No, she wasn’t a precious gem like Ruby or Sapphire or Pearl. Jet was nothing more than fossilized wood that had fallen into stagnant waters; so common it could be found on most beaches.

Clearly, she was no delicate aquatic flower like Lily.

A hush swept over the crowd as Lily swam to the front of the rock and took her place. Lily raised a hand and the crowd hushed again.

It was hard to call what came out mere singing. It was a symphony of sound, the epitome of tone meeting strength. Judges swam a hundred yards away, measuring the distance of the sound vibrations.

Jet closed her eyes and let the notes wash over her. Even though Lily could charm humans above, her voice was at its purest undersea with the crystal notes melding in the currents.

Jet gave a little shake and studied the seascape. All the hard training had been for naught. No one cared that she’d won the Undines’ Challenge. She scanned the crowd, all in awe of Lily.

At least she had the trident. She would return home, and when Mom arrived later, she would use the trident’s onetime wish. Jet tried to catch her mother’s eye to wave goodbye, but Adriana’s gaze was locked on the fair Lily. Typical.

She pictured Orpheous’s leering face. You are one of us.

Was this why most merfolk shunned her? Why she felt like an outcast even among her own family? Could it be that her bloodline was mixed with the shunned Blue Clan?

Soon, she would demand the answer.

Chapter 1

Perry’s back. Two words that shook Jet’s world, but not in a good way. She’d returned home from the Poseidon Games two nights ago, exhausted, when her cousin Shelly had broken the news.

Jet sighed as she scanned the bored, impatient crowd packed inside the government-services waiting room, its ambience a curious mixture of sterility and shabbiness. The old building was painted an institutional green and smelled faintly of disinfectant, mold and stale coffee. In the lobby, cheap metal folding chairs were set up in rows.

Outside, the morning rain beat down in gusting sheets. Jet eyed the few people roaming Main Street, searching for a certain build, that certain shock of brown hair and chiseled profile.

Stop it. You’ll see Perry soon enough. And oh, how she’d make him pay. That rat would get on his knees, by Poseidon, and beg her forgiveness before she sent him on his way.

Oh, no. Huge mistake. She shouldn’t have pictured him in that position, those brown eyes staring up at her naked body with hunger. Jet squirmed. Think of something else. She closed her eyes, imagined swimming the warm waters of the Florida Keys and scooping up antique cuff links and coins sunk in ships hundreds of years ago, like a child picking up dropped marbles on a school playground.

It wasn’t helping. Jet placed a hand over her stomach. Sexual need fierce as a knife wound seared and twisted her guts. Damn, she hated that part of her mermaid nature that intensified sexual hunger. It could be a hindrance if she saw Perry after this meeting as she’d planned. But she had to face him eventually and see what he wanted. She would have to keep her sexual need under control and send him away with the tongue-lashing of the century.

Ugh, tongues lashing. Now she could taste his lips and tongue in her mouth, his long, slow, languid kisses that made her frantic with desire in nanoseconds.

There she went again. She was the biggest fool on the planet to pine for Perry’s kisses. He’d been out of prison for weeks. If he’d been languishing in a jail cell for the past three years, missing her and regretting his betrayal, he’d have shown up long before now. Forget him—he’d done the unforgivable.

“Jet Bosarge,” the receptionist called out.

She grabbed her backpack, and the man seated across from her frowned. “I’ve been here longer than you,” he grumbled.

She shrugged. “Take it up with them.” Jet marched down the labyrinthine hallway until she found a door marked IRS. No one answered her knock, so she opened it and stuck her head in.

The office was tiny and contained an old wooden desk. A metal folding chair, identical to those in the waiting area, was positioned across from it. The IRS could have sprung for better accommodations; it collected enough money to do better than this bare cubbyhole. A cheap, utilitarian clock hung on the wall; its secondhand clicked inconsistently—slow, fast, fast, slow—as if it were spitting out Morse code. She paused, wondering if she were in the right place, until she spotted the nameplate that read Landry Fields.

She dropped her backpack by the chair and stood at the lone rectangular window. Quite a show played outside with the swirling rain pounding the parking-lot pavement.

Jet pressed her face against the cool, damp pane. She loved the rain. Loved every pore on her body drenched in raindrops. The only thing better than land-walking on days like this was swimming undersea during a thunderstorm. She’d swim close to the ocean surface, watching raindrops bounce on top of the water and meld into a white, bubbling cauldron of energy while underneath, the pull of the tide crested and heaved in response to the wind. And if a rain shower coincided with the night of a full moon, the energy was electric with intensity.

She closed her eyes and touched her palms to the glass, imagined swimming under the rain’s onslaught right now. Her body came alive, prickling with sensation—

“It’s a mess out there, isn’t it?” came a voice, low, rumbling and way too close.

Jet jumped and spun around. Her eyes bored into a pin-striped suit covering a broad chest. Her gaze traveled upward, taking in a strong jaw and ice-blue eyes that pinned her as if she were a trapped butterfly the man wanted to dissect.

“Mr. Fields?” she guessed. Her voice came out a touch squeaky and she cleared her throat.

He extended a hand. “Miss Bosarge?”

His grip was firm and brief, but far from impersonal, at least on her end. Her palm tingled from the contact and she had a wild urge to curl her fingers over his hand and never let go.

Insane. Jet hastily withdrew her hand and crossed her arms over her stomach. Fields gestured to the folding chair, his face reflecting no sign that their contact had affected him at all. “Have a seat.”

She sank into the chair, feeling underdressed. She usually sported black yoga pants, a T-shirt and sneakers, perfectly fine for helping Lily at the salon or working out at the gym. In honor of this visit, she had slightly altered her normal attire by wearing jeans, a purple long-sleeved top and a purple-and-red scarf. Jet wished she’d taken more time with her appearance and played with Lily’s boxes of lotions and potions. At the very least, she could have styled her asymmetrical bob. Oh, well, she had remembered earrings. Maybe her five-carat diamond studs would deflect attention from her plain, unadorned face. Humans seemed to care inordinately about such things.

Under his probing gaze, Jet readjusted the scarf to ensure it completely covered her three-inch gills, which extended from the top of the collarbone to her windpipe on each side of her neck. Although the slotted marks in her flesh were faint, she was careful to keep them covered to avoid questions by any observant human. And this guy looked way too sharp. Jet mentally noted to grow her hair out a few more inches so it would be long enough to cover the gills by the time summer arrived, when scarves and turtlenecks would appear odd. Since her hair grew an inch a week, it should be plenty long enough at summer’s advent.

Fields pulled out a single file from the front drawer and placed it on the desk’s otherwise bare surface. He opened the file and glanced through it, as if refreshing his memory.

“Your letter stated you only found an irregularity in my tax records,” Jet volunteered.

“Mmm-hmm.” He kept reading, never looking up, even when the printer kicked up an odd whirring sound, as if a hive of angry hornets had swarmed to life. The noise ended as suddenly as it had started.

Jet stifled an exasperated sigh and started swinging one crossed leg. The small room was stifling. The man’s mere presence completely engulfed her senses and she stared at his large hands with the clipped, clean nails. No wedding band, but he wore a ruby ring set in a gold band on his right hand. Some kind of class ring, probably from an elite college. His clothes looked tailored and his facial features bore a patrician vibe. The harsh planes of his face, strong jaw and chilly eyes made him appear stern.

The man certainly didn’t fit in with the shabby surroundings. Jet admired his clean, crisp aura and sniffed discreetly, picking up a lingering scent of soap, as if he’d just showered and dressed. And didn’t that make her squirm. Hell, what was wrong with her today? She didn’t even know this man. News of Perry’s arrival must have unsettled her more than she first suspected.

The silence got on her nerves. “Since when did our town warrant an IRS office?” she asked. “I don’t remember ever seeing one here before.”

His gaze stayed fixed on her file as he answered, “It’s a temporary field office for tax season. We’ll close by the end of May. It’s all part of our agency’s public service.”

Public Service? More like a public nuisance. What was so interesting about her tax records? True, she had bucketloads of money in trust funds, but her inheritance was legit. Her ancestors had always been careful to hire the best attorneys to cover where the real money originated—from expensive undersea trinkets strategically sold in bits and pieces over decades.

He finally gave a small nod and faced her. “I remember viewing your file now. The first thing that caught my attention was the income fluctuation in two of your businesses. Four years ago, you claimed a net annual profit of over fifty thousand dollars with The Pirate’s Chest. The business is still listed as open, yet no more profits have been claimed. Then three years ago, another business of yours, The Mermaid’s Hair Lair, reported steady profits until it shut down last year. For the past six months, you’ve been earning an income solely from the interests and profits of various trust funds and stocks.”