Kairos: A Syren Story (Syren Stories Book 2) by Naomi Kelly

Author:Naomi Kelly [Kelly, Naomi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-03-20T04:00:00+00:00

Keeping my eyes locked on the horizon, I break into a sprint. I run until the ground disappears beneath my feet. Throwing my arms wide, my wings catch flight.

I soar.

Harpies flock to the skies, following me out of instinct. They were once devoted to my mother, but now their loyalty lies with me. With a silent jerk of my chin, I disperse them across the skies to look out for the boats below.

With my initial glide losing momentum, the time comes for me to flap my wings. I tuck my wings inward with a closing beat. And then they do not reopen. I begin plummeting downwards. My clothes flap wildly against my skin. I begin kicking my feet as the sea rushes up to meet me.

A cry bursts through my lips as I force my wings to expand against the gust of my descent. Sleepy, stiff muscles jolt awake as agony rushes to every feather tip. Whatever thin membrane of skin my body had managed to heal was now being torn away.

I pump my wings furiously, demanding short, frenzied beats to avoid slamming into the water.

My feet skim across the waves before I start rising. Each beat sends a new paroxysm of pain through my left wing, but I continue to push. Slowly but surely, I climb back into the skies, silently praying Kellan couldn’t see my near failure from the distant coastline.

Every wing beat hurts, but I find counting them helps. It distracts me. It convinces me I am moving forward even though I feel as if I’m getting nowhere.

I’m on beat one hundred and ninety-seven, when a harpy squawks loudly to my right. She hovers mid-air for a moment, extending her long, avian legs to points her talons at something on the horizon. It takes me twelve more beats to catch up to her side, and then I see it too.

The boats. Three of them. White painted wood with billowing sails as Maeve described. And they’re hurtling through the waves towards Seven Spikes.

Tucking our wings, we begin our downward dive. Making the most of our stealthy speed, we aim headfirst towards the vessels. The faster harpies, swoop wide, encircling the boats from behind.

“Starboard side!” A sailor bellows, as we get closer. We can no longer be mistaken for a flock of large crows, although it would still be accurate to call us a murder.

“They’re coming in stern-side.” Another voice calls, quickly followed by, “And port-side!”

We surround them effortlessly. There is no escape.

Harpoons and bows point at us from every direction.

“Disarm.” I order, landing on the wooden mast of the central boat. I don’t expect the men to listen to me, but I know my harpies will.

They dive, talons-first, towards the deck. Some men are knocked off their feet by the sheer force of the creatures landing. Others scramble backwards in fear. The few who manage to stand steadfast, brandishing their weapons with a white-knuckle grip are quickly introduced to the harpies’ four-inch talons. They each wrap their black hooks around the bows and harpoons, either snagging them away or breaking them in the process.

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