Free Call of the Siren by Rosalie Lario Page A

Ronin to finish his conversation with the goblin. It served him right, though, for having her meet him here early and forcing her to engage in conversation with him.
    Ronin and the goblin concluded their conversation, and the goblin left without a backward glance.
    “Bye,” she called out to him, cheerfully holding up her glass in a farewell salute, but he ignored her.
    “I think you’ve had enough of these.” Ronin snatched the glass out of her hand and plunked it onto the counter.
    “Suit yourself.” She shrugged and turned to face him. “What do you think?”
    “I think we should see if Sam’s home.” Ronin let out a sigh and impatiently flexed his back as he stared at her. “I also think you’re halfway drunk, which makes me question whether you should come along at all.”
    “Come on, let’s do it. I’ll be sober by the time we get there.” Which was sadly true. As a full-blooded angel, her body healed itself of most afflictions fairly quickly. That was what had made score such a horrible addiction. Her fixes had never lasted long, and she’d always been left wanting more.
    Lina stifled a shudder at the memory of the thick substance coursing through her veins. Never again would she experience the sweet agony of that particular high. She was happy about it, truly. She just wished she could stop thinking about the damn drug.
    Ronin searched her face and was apparently satisfied by what he saw there, because he nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”
    Lina rose and followed him out into the street. When a gust of wind threatened to send the sides of her leather jacket flapping back, she zipped it up. The last thing she wanted to do was expose the arsenal of weapons strapped to her sides.
    Ronin must have caught a glimpse of her weaponry, because he asked, “When did you get the dagger holster?”
    “A few months after I moved to the city. I’ve got a few different kinds, depending on how many daggers I plan on holding.”
    His brow arched. “Smart.”
    “Yeah. Getty was a clever one, I’ll give you that.”
    He pounced on her words with all the finesse of a Council interrogator. “Who’s Getty?”
    Lina stiffened at the realization that she’d unintentionally revealed more than she’d intended. She was starting to get soft around Ronin. She’d have to watch that. Or maybe it was the damn lager.
    “He’s no one.”
    Ronin stopped dead and turned to face her. “Bullshit, Lina. Can’t you—just once—tell me something about your past?”
    Lina stared at him, the need to protect her secrets warring with the conflicting desire to alleviate just a little of the pain she saw in Ronin’s eyes. In the end, the words reluctantly tore themselves out of her mouth.
    “Getty was the mercenary who trained me when I moved to this dimension. He gave me these”—she motioned toward the weapons hidden under her jacket—“and he taught me how to fight.”
    “But why? Why choose a career as a mercenary? It must have gone against every instinct you had. I’m only half angel, and at times, I still have to fight my impulse to maintain peace when I’m on a job. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you.”
    Not so hard, it turned out, when one was dead inside. She started walking again, and he followed. “I found the job suited me. Getty helped me to look past my squeamishness, taught me to use speed to compensate for my physical weaknesses. He made me stronger.”
    And then, like everyone else in her life, he’d left her.
    “Sounds like you cared for him,” Ronin said.
    “I did. He was like a father figure.”
    “Where is he now?”
    “Dead,” she said flatly, the delicious aftereffects of the lager dissipating faster than she would have liked. “The years of hard living finally caught up to him. His heart gave out on him about eight months ago.”
    Ronin walked beside her in silence for several beats before saying, “Sorry.”
    “Yeah.”
    Me too .
    A few minutes later, they came to a stop in