Free Dark Siren by Katerina Martinez

it. The car—Isaac’s car. The black Impala with trinkets hanging off the rear-view mirror was sitting by the sidewalk, being washed by rain so hard it bounced off the hood and the roof. He still drove the same car.
    “It’s important,” she said, “It’s about his wife.”
    This was bullshit. Isaac didn’t have a wife, at least Alice didn’t think so, but he was a private enough man the guard at the door wouldn’t know whether she was lying or not unless he asked. When presented with a choice which required effort—confirming with Isaac—and one which required the simple push of a button…
    “You’re his wife?” he asked, a slight hesitation to his voice.
    “I… am, yes, I’m his wife.”
    The door buzzed open, and Alice stepped through. Her footfalls echoed through the narrow stone hall, accompanied by the tapping of rain on nearby windows and the distant grumble of thunder. Halfway down the hall, the walls opened to create a small, circular block where the security guard was sitting. There was a desk, brown oak with a glossy finish. Pictures of rolling hills with castles at their crests hung on the walls. A tall, green fern grew healthily in the corner, a water cooler sitting idly next to it.
    The guard, a stocky, intentionally bald man, didn’t stand to receive her. When she saw the size of his gut, she knew why. He was massive. So big, in fact, his belly spilled over the desk he was sitting at. But his short sleeved shirt revealed a number of tattoos along his left arm, some Japanese, some traditional. He wore a hoop earring in his left ear, and had fists the size of bricks. He had the look of a man who could knock the consciousness out of even experienced boxers with a single blow.
    “I didn’t know Isaac had a wife,” he said in a gruff voice.
    “Yeah, well, that doesn’t surprise me. Is he in his office?”
    “He is. Wasn’t expecting anyone, though. Told me he didn’t want to be disturbed.”
    “Sounds like him, always has his door closed at home. I barely see him.”
    The security guard, whose name-tag identified him as Dustin, didn’t seem to know what to say to this, though his eyes did wander up and down Alice’s body. He had been difficult to read until then, but his emotions came rushing out of him when he drank in her tight frame and long, dark—and now wet—hair, and Alice was ready to receive them. He wanted to tell her to leave Isaac, wanted to tell her he wasn’t good enough, that he didn’t care enough about other people. Wanted to tell her he would keep her safe, would protect her. He’d probably break her in half, too, but you know, it would at least be one hell of a ride.
    Alice cracked a smile, amused, and watched the security guard stand and make his way down the corridor. “Follow me,” he said, and Alice did as she was told.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
    A Taste
    The Ashwood Imperial Museum was a towering monstrosity of stone and marble, surrounded by perched gargoyles so lifelike they could have gotten up and flown around. Isaac, a curator at the museum, wasn’t just a charming man with a pearly white smile and a smooth British accent, he was a Mage—one of repute. But he was also an anthropologist, having collected a Ph.D. in the field from Oxford University in London, as well as a lover of ancient history, and one hell of a charmer.
    Formerly an acne ridden, awkward child from Surrey, Isaac now brokered seven figure acquisition deals at one of the country’s most prestigious museums, and tinkered with the very fabric of reality. If someone had told him this in the past with any degree of confidence, Isaac would have awkwardly smiled and dismissed the notion entirely. Yet here he was, wearing a fine suit and escorting a beautiful woman through a museum wing he had helped build.
    Isaac walked along the tall halls of the Imperial Museum with his hands behind his back, one hand clasped against the other, closely followed by a tall, Greek