Page 25 of Traitor Witch
The gills and shark-tail from before are gone and his torso remains completely bare except for the full sleeve of tattoos which cover his right arm. The design is intricate; strands of repeating geometric patterns form a weave which is broken up by larger symbols. Tiny lines of text in an unknown language surround each symbol.
He has others too. Slim bands of abstract trident shapes surround both his wrists, his neck and his ankles.
The darkness of the marks only showcases his golden skin. And there is alotof golden skin. He’s only wearing a thigh-length white skirt which barely covers his ass. No shoes. No trousers.
I’m pretty sure he’s not wearing underwear either.
I’ve never seen anyone like him and that’s what convinces me that some aspect of this dream is real.
Then I look down and discover I’m still wearing what I went to sleep in, which is to say absolutely nothing.
Something the man is clearly appreciating as his eyes trace the sigil tattoos which grace my skin.
I raise a single brow and he smiles wider, clearly unapologetic.
So, naked it is then.
I try to shrug it off. At least two hundred people saw Danika and I naked when the last Lunar midsummer party went wild. What's one more?
I’m more concerned with the fact that he’s hijacking my dreams.
“Who the fuck are you, and why are you in my dream?” I demand.
Goddess, every time his smile grows he gets a little more dazzling to look at. “Niklaus Sirenae Regis—or Klaus, if you prefer—siren, at your service. Also, I think you’ll find you’re in my dream.”
I groan and flop onto my back, staring at the grey sky.
“No offence, Klaus, but I’d really like to just sleep. I’ve had a really shitty day.”
He doesn’t take the hint. No, he moves closer, coming to sit beside me with his arms wrapped around his legs.
“Want to work out some of that tension?”
I lift my head in disbelief.
He just smirks. “I’m good at massages. I’ll happily demonstrate if you give me your name.”
I still, thinking it over. Something about this dream has me oddly compliant, and I don’t trust it. Names hold a lot of power for the fae, but I have no idea if there’s any significancefor sirens. He offered his without hesitation, but I stick with only giving my first name just in case.
“Nilsa.”
“And you are… human?” he guesses, offering a hand to help me turn onto my front. The pebbles in this dream world are strangely spongy but I don’t question it as I relax on them.
I snort. “Witch, but that wasn’t in the deal.”
“How remiss of me.” His hands meet the bare skin of my back and knead, the warmth and expertise in his movements have me limbless in moments.
“You’re so tense,” he murmurs.
I hum noncommittally. “You’re really good at this.”
“I had the best tutors.”
I lift my head in incredulity, “You’re a real-life massage therapist?”
His grin turns wicked. “No, all sirenae males are taught to please their women from childhood. I’m fully trained in sensual massage and the other seductive arts.”
I can really get behind the siren way of life. Then my brain catches up… “Their women?”
