Siren's Fury Read online

  ACCLAIM FOR MARY WEBER

  “There are few things more exciting to discover than a debut novel packed with powerful storytelling and beautiful language. Storm Siren is one of those rarities. I’ll read anything Mary Weber writes. More, please!”

  —JAY ASHER, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THIRTEEN REASONS WHY

  “Storm Siren is a riveting tale from start to finish. Between the simmering romance, the rich and inventive fantasy world, and one seriously jaw-dropping finale, readers will clamor for the next book—and I’ll be at the front of the line!”

  —MARISSA MEYER, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF CINDER AND THE LUNAR CHRONICLES

  “Intense and intriguing. Fans of high stakes fantasy won’t be able to put it down.”

  —CJ REDWINE, AUTHOR OF DEFIANCE, FOR STORM SIREN

  “A riveting read! Mary Weber’s rich world and heartbreaking heroine had me from page one. You’re going to fall in love with this love story.”

  —JOSEPHINE ANGELINI, INTERNATIONALLY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE STARCROSSED TRILOGY, FOR STORM SIREN

  “Elegant prose and intricate world-building twist into a breathless cyclone of a story that will constantly keep you guessing. More, please!”

  —SHANNON MESSENGER, AUTHOR OF THE SKY FALL SERIES, FOR STORM SIREN

  “Weber’s debut novel is a tour de force! A story of guts, angst, bolcranes, sword fights, and storms beyond imagining. Her heroine, a lightning-wielding young woman of immense power and a soft, questioning heart, captures you from word one and holds tight until the final line. Unwilling to let the journey go, I eagerly await Weber’s (and Nym’s) next adventure.”

  —KATHERINE REAY, AUTHOR OF DEAR MR. KNIGHTLEY, FOR STORM SIREN

  “Mary Weber has created a fascinating, twisted world. Storm Siren sucked me in from page one—I couldn’t stop reading! This is a definite must-read, the kind of book that kept me up late into the night turning the pages!”

  —LINDSAY CUMMINGS, AUTHOR OF THE MURDER COMPLEX

  “Don’t miss this one!”

  —SERENA CHASE, USATODAY.COM, FOR STORM SIREN

  “Readers who enjoyed Marissa Meyer’s Cinder series will enjoy this fast-paced fantasy which combines an intriguing storyline with as many twists and turns as a chapter of Game of Thrones!”

  —DODIE OWENS, EDITOR, SCHOOL LIBRARY JOURNAL TEEN, FOR STORM SIREN

  “. . . readers will easily find themselves captivated. The breathtaking surprise ending is nothing short of horrific, promising even more dark and bizarre adventures to come in the Storm Siren trilogy.”

  —RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4 STARS

  “. . . fantasy readers will feel at home in Weber’s first novel. . . . detailed backdrop and large cast bring vividness to the story.”

  —PUBLISHERS WEEKLY, FOR STORM SIREN

  “Weber builds a fascinating and believable fantasy world.”

  —KIRKUS REVIEWS, FOR STORM SIREN

  “. . . this adventure, in the vein of 1980s fantasy films, has readers rooting for the heroes to smite the wicked baddies. Buy where fantasy flies.”

  —DANIELLE SERRA, SCHOOL LIBRARY JOURNAL, FOR STORM SIREN

  “Mary Weber’s debut novel reflects an author sensitive to her audience, a stellar imagination, and a killer ability with smart and savvy prose.”

  —RELZ REVIEWZ, FOR STORM SIREN

  “Between the beautiful words used to create this fairy-tale world, to the amazing power of the Elementals, to the aspects of slavery and war, I’d say this book is a must read for any fantasy lover. It’s powerful and will keep you turning pages faster than you thought possible. I can’t believe this is Mary Weber’s debut novel. Congratulations!”

  —GOOD CHOICE READING BLOG, FOR STORM SIREN

  OTHER BOOKS BY MARY WEBER

  Storm Siren

  © 2015 by Mary Christine Weber

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.

  Author is represented by the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920, www.alivecommunications.com.

  Map by Tom Gaddis

  Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-1-4016-9039-7 (eBook)

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Weber, Mary.

  Siren's fury / Mary Weber, Mary Weber.

  pages ; cm. -- (Storm siren trilogy ; 2)

  ISBN 978-1-4016-9037-3 (hardcover)

  1. Magic--Fiction. 2. Shapeshifting--Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3623.E3946S55 2015

  813'.6--dc23

  2014048037

  15 16 17 18 19 RRD 6 5 4 3 2 1

  To Dad & Mom,

  for always reaching bigger,

  further,

  higher.

  And yet continually showing me the path home.

  You are the heroes in my story.

  And to my sister, Kati,

  whom Nym is based upon,

  for pillaging the mind villages with me

  and fashioning them into castles.

  And for knowing that some melodies are meant to be sung.

  CONTENTS

  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

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  MY POCKETFUL OF THANK-YOUS

  READING GROUP GUIDE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  “Around me I gather

  these forces to save

  my soul and my body

  from dark powers that assail me:

  against false prophesyings,

  against pagan devisings,

  against heretical lying

  and false gods all around me.

  Against spells cast.”

  —FROM SAINT PATRICK’S BREASTPLATE

  CHAPTER 1

  FIVE MINUTES EARLIER . . .

  THERE IS A MOMENT, JUST BEFORE EVERY STORM, when the entire world pauses. As if the atmosphere, in unison with the ocean tides, the wind, the sky’s watery teardrops, is forced to hold its breath. A bracing against the
violence it knows will come—the tempest that perhaps this time, this moment, might actually shred the world’s soul.

  I am in that moment now.

  I am that moment.

  My Elemental blood is paused in my veins—I can feel it the same way I feel Eogan’s hand on my skin as the golden candle orbs float past my window, ascending from the Castle’s courtyard celebration below. On their way to the stars, their round glow shines through the glass pane to reflect off the floor, the glossy walls, the bedpost in my room. They illuminate Eogan’s beautiful black skin and the jagged bangs covering half his face as his green eyes search mine.

  “Are you all right?” His voice is ragged, fresh from the peace-treaty speech he just gave with King Sedric.

  I nod and glance over the healing bruises and cuts I can see, and the internal ones I can’t because they’re hidden behind that unfair tweak of a smile. You? I want to ask.

  His grin widens as he traces a finger down my cheek to my jawline and leans his tall self in until he is inches away and I am breathing in his familiar scent of honey and pine mixed with something oddly musky. His gaze drops to my mouth.

  I swallow.

  Never better, his eyes answer. He bends closer so that, for a second, his lips nearly touch mine.

  I swear it almost dissolves every piece of me in the in-between as I wait for his kiss. Just as I’ve waited for this moment, this time, finally alone with him, for the past week since the battle at the Keep.

  But the kiss doesn’t come.

  Instead my breath, my veins, they remain bated as the cheers from the courtyard erupt louder through the shut window—the Faelen people extolling Eogan and King Sedric for the truce the two kingdoms just signed.

  “To our own King Sedric!”

  “And Eogan of Bron! Lost prince who helped defend Faelen!”

  Lost prince who is now king of Bron.

  I lean back and clear my throat, then tip my head toward the sound. They’re calling for him to go back out there. Instead he’s here consorting with a slave.

  I give him a sly grin. What will they think? But abruptly my heart is dithering and thudding because, yes, what will they think? What will he think? The only man I’ve cared for is now the most notable person in the Hidden Lands. And I am still Elemental—recently elevated to revered status in Faelen maybe, but I doubt his Bron subjects will feel the same.

  He doesn’t answer. His grin just ripples and broadens.

  Suddenly his whole body is rippling, shaking beneath my fingers.

  I frown.

  Next thing I know he’s raised a scornful brow and uttered a growl and the broadening smile turns toothy.

  I pull away. What in hulls?

  The firelight bounces off of those teeth a moment, making them look long. Shiny. I’d think he was teasing if it didn’t look so disturbing, but he’s stretching his neck and shoulders, extending them up as if adjusting his spine beneath that undulating skin. When he straightens it’s to glare down at me, as if he is still Eogan. And yet not.

  Very carefully he sweeps his black bangs from his face and tucks them behind his ear in a sickening, all-too-familiar trait.

  It makes my stomach lurch. I swallow and retreat another step in my velvet slippers and white waste-of-someone’s-good-fortune dress.

  No.

  It can’t be.

  “I warned you at the Keep,” he whispers.

  Oh, please, no.

  Before I can ask or curse or make my mouth work in any way that forms words, he tips his head to reveal the slightly healed gash running down the back of his neck. Not a gash. A clawed incision.

  Exactly like Breck had when Draewulf cut her open and crawled inside her skin.

  I shake my head. It has to be a trick of Lord Myles. He must be alive and using his mind powers in retaliation.

  I squint, searching his face, waiting for the mirage to change, but he merely bends closer and tucks a swag of my hair behind my ear as a disgusting snarl mars his rich voice. “I told you that you couldn’t save both Eogan and your country.”

  My lungs empty as my heart crashes to the Castle’s stone floor.

  I blink once, twice, to clear my blasted vision. But there’s nothing to clear.

  It’s not a trick of Myles.

  It’s the face of the man I love taken over by a 130-year-old shape-shifting murderer.

  Draewulf. My breath is reeling and my heart is choking out of my chest. “You didn’t. You couldn’t—”

  “Couldn’t?” He lifts a hand to my snowy-white hair.

  My veins ripple, and that half smile I’ve come to care for most in the world goes eerie as his green eyes flicker to reveal black wolf eyes. “You chose Faelen,” he murmurs.

  One heartpulse . . .

  Two heartpulses . . .

  “You should’ve kept a better eye on him, Nym.”

  No, no, no, no. This is not happening. I curl my hand into a fist and cause the sky to thunder so loud my words shake the walls. “What. Have you. Done?”

  He bends closer. “Took over Eogan while you were too busy saving the pathetic people who enslaved you.”

  My breath explodes and I ignite like fire and maelstrom and murder. My body sizzles with the static sweeping through my blood as the siren inside that pushed back the airships, the siren that saved Faelen, flares through my Elemental veins.

  I lift my deformed left hand and place it against my trainer’s broad chest that now holds a monster. He clamps down on my arm.

  I don’t even think about it—I just let loose a surge of energy against him, as if to burn the beast from his body before considering the damage that doing so might cause. His skin lights up like brilliant night skies, but instead of melting him out, my energy molds into a shield over him—Eogan’s block somehow countering me in the only way it’s ever been able.

  “Mother of a toothless—” I let loose choice words owner number four’s mum taught me and press harder, drawing in a mass of clouds above the Castle courtyard where the atmosphere darkens.

  “That erratic temper of yours that he found so appealing does not amuse me, girl. You’ll stop. Now.”

  A flick of my wrist and the lightning it elicits rips through the slit in the window seam, blasting the whole pane open in explosive shards across the floor. The lightning narrowly misses the bed as it cracks the air and practically shatters my eardrums. Eogan growls, and the curtains catch fire—the flames of cloth quickly drip to the seat before sliding to the small carpet.

  He snatches my crippled hand as if to soothe me, control me. “You will stop or—”

  “Or what?” I shove into his chest again to shoot a thin layer of ice from my gimpy, curled fingers, spreading it out across his skin and down his body onto the floor, toward the window and up onto the seat and curtains where it smothers the fire. The next instant the ice is crawling up from my hand to enter his mouth, his throat. His breathing turns labored. He begins choking. Gasping.

  Dying.

  Eogan’s body is dying at my hand.

  His eyes widen. As if Draewulf in him is surprised. Impressed. “Kill me, and you’ll kill his body.” His voice crackles in a tone that’s suddenly too close to Eogan’s. Too intimate. Too perfectly familiar.

  My hand falters.

  His grip tightens over the memorial tattoos on my left arm and Eogan’s ability to soothe rushes my veins, muting the fury, deflating the curse in my blood.

  I pull back. How dare he use Eogan’s block against me.

  But his lips curl as his other hand lashes up to rest right above my screaming heart. And suddenly he’s squelching something. Sucking the life-pulse.

  My insides are being carved up and cut out.

  “What the—?” The siren in my veins begins fluttering and beating, like a bird flailing for escape from the wave of heat barreling through. I try to jerk away, and for a second, I swear a cry breaks out from my rib cage before the hot surge courses in and cools to harden like doused metal underneath my skin,
searing my blood to my bones. The siren’s scream falls silent and there is nothing but heaviness.

  My powers.

  My ability . . .

  I twitch my wrist at the sky to resummon the storm, but the clouds keep dissipating. What in hulls? I wrench harder, twisting my fingers to claim the night air, the wind, the rain.

  Except it’s not there.

  It’s gone.

  As if my Elemental blood has been drained and I am left a normal, non-Uathúil, Faelen person.

  “What did you do?”

  He merely pinches harder.

  I bat him away as his hands grab for my waist, my shoulders. I shove and squirm from his grip, but his fingers crumple my dress as he draws me firmly in place against his chest and sneers down from the mouth that kissed me exactly one week ago when we stood at the Keep while the world went to hulls around us in bursts of bombs and lightning. “Consider it a gift—a deliverance from your curse,” he whispers.

  I struggle against him, except even as I do, I’m inhaling Eogan’s scent of pine and honey mixed with smoke from the extinguished fire, and I am simultaneously yearning for him and disgusted. My fingers claw at his arms but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  He just smirks and slides his hand up to my throat.

  I stiffen and refuse to let him see in my expression how I’m bleeding at every single one of my heart seams. “Go ahead.”

  His fingers constrict.

  I gasp. Wheeze. And wait for the slow death of him shape-shifting into me even as my fingers try to tear chunks from his flesh.

  His hand crushes harder into my neck, cutting off my air. My vision swims until I’m clawing and writhing and a cry has seeped up from my throat. Oh hulls I can’t breathe. I knee him in the thigh, but he doesn’t even flinch. Then I’m gasping, flailing, dying.

  Just as my legs give way and my vision starts to blacken, he relents and I drop to the floor.

  “Like taming a pet,” he snarls. He flips around and strides to the door and opens it to a rush of music from the Great Hall that drowns out the shouts from the partygoers in the Castle courtyard. “Don’t be late to the banquet. I’d like to think you’ll especially enjoy my toast praising your help in destroying Odion and handing me Bron’s throne.”