The Siren's Son (The Siren Legacy Book 1)

  The Siren’s Son

  The Siren Legacy Book 1

  Helen Scott

  Contents

  Copyright

  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

  Epilogue

  Thank You!

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  The Siren’s Son

  Book One of The Siren Legacy Series

  Copyright © 2017 by Helen Scott

  Cover Design © Natasha Snow

  Formatting by Athena Interior Book Design

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the brief use of quotations in a book review.

  This book is intended for adults only. The sexual activities represented in this book are a work of fiction intended for adults. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously by the author. Any resemblance to actual places, events, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DON’T FORGET TO SIGN UP FOR HELEN SCOTT’S MAILING LIST!

  You’ll get the latest news, excerpts, giveaways, and more!

  To my husband, Adam. You are the love of my life and my daily inspiration to pursue my dreams. Thank you for your unending support, my love!

  Chapter 1

  Alec rounded the corner from Third Street as his phone buzzed in his pocket. His fingers were too frozen to fish it out. The cold November wind wound its way around his coat and tried to burrow into his sweater.

  He pulled his jacket tighter.

  He was exhausted after his last assignment, and now he was stuck having to traipse through this nasty weather to restock. Damn these New England winters. He finally spotted Speak O’ the Devil. He would have smiled if his face wasn’t so cold. The shop’s white wood frames looked duller than usual, and the sun was washing out the vibrant redbrick facade. Alec slowed, his brows drawing together.

  Something was wrong.

  MacLeod was a fastidious man. Alec noticed the sandwich board wasn’t in its usual spot and lights only shone from the rear of the store. Tension prickled at the back of his neck. The sign in the window still told customers the store was closed. Alec had to make sure MacLeod was okay. Besides, he needed herbs only the old man could provide, and he hoped his special order was in by now. A glass of scotch and a chat with the old man was exactly what he needed to help him feel back to normal.

  He tried the front door; it was locked. The hairs on Alec’s neck stood on end, and there was a pit in his stomach. Thankfully, he was one of the few MacLeod made privy to the secret of the door handle. Alec wiggled the handle just right, and the door swung open. The late-November air tried to follow him inside, rustling the newsletters and advertisements that sat on a windowsill by the door.

  The store was chilly, like the heat hadn’t been turned up. The familiar scent of herbs and wood polish soothed Alec even though it was missing the rich aroma of the coffee that was usually brewing. He hoped MacLeod was around here somewhere and that his gut was wrong. Alec made his way to the rear of the store, checking the aisles and behind the register. No sign of the wily old man.

  Something thudded in the back.

  Alec silently padded around the register. He didn’t want to risk alerting an intruder if someone had broken in. Careful not to make a sound, he rounded the counter and edged toward the entry to the cramped back of the store. Alec carefully pulled the curtain open, cringing at the minute sounds it made, only to find himself faced with a young and curvaceous backside clad only in leggings and the edge of a sweater. Either MacLeod had finally hired some help around the store, or he had transformed into a woman.

  Alec eyed the woman, who was bent over rifling through the items in a box, and cleared his throat, quickly removing his eyes from her butt. She yelped and fell over, smacking her head on the edge of a wardrobe.

  “Oi! What’re ye playin’ at?” The thick Scottish accent that rolled out of her mouth let him know she was no intruder.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Could you tell me where MacLeod is?”

  Her face fell. All the blood seemed to drain out, and she looked a little wobbly even though she was sitting down. Maybe she had hit her head harder than he thought. The bright green eyes that had been evaluating him suddenly became shiny as she lowered her gaze.

  “He… He, um…,” she stuttered.

  He raised an eyebrow at her as she blinked up at him, looking like a deer in headlights.

  “Why don’t we get you some water and ice for your head?” The last thing he needed was this woman passing out on him.

  “It’s upstairs,” she whispered.

  “Up we go then.” Alec stretched out his hand and helped her up. As she took his hand, a jolt of electricity went through him, leaving his heart pounding. He carefully maneuvered her around the boxes on the floor to the stairs.

  “How d’ye ken where t’go?” A puzzled look crossed her face, crinkling the skin around her eyes and drawing her chocolate-brown brows together.

  “MacLeod and I are friends. We spend many an evening enjoying some of Scotland’s finest whisky together. I take it you two are related?”

  “Aye, I’m his granddaughter,” she said, watching the stairs as they moved up them.

  “Ah, the famous Eilidh. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Alec said, hoping he’d pronounced it right. He thought he remembered MacLeod saying something like eyelid, but they had consumed a few glasses of scotch by that point. He flashed his best smile at her, the one that charmed the pants off almost everyone.

  “And you are?”

  “Getting you some ice. Sit there for me.” Alec deposited Eilidh on the aging plaid couch and set off for the kitchen. He flicked lights on as he went. The upstairs apartment usually wasn’t so dark. The cozy space had always seemed homey to him. The small kitchen was somewhat utilitarian, but it served its purpose well and gave the bulk of the open space to the living room.

  She was much more beautiful than MacLeod had ever let on, although he couldn’t blame the man. He had often talked to MacLeod about his trouble with women, so he doubted that MacLeod wanted him anywhere near his granddaughter. After gathering a handful of ice cubes in a towel and getting a glass of water, Alec made his way back to Eilidh.

  “Here you go. Ice for your head and some water. I’m Alec, by the way.”

  “Thank ye.” She gingerly applied the ice-filled towel to her head. The thick waves of chestnut-brown hair had been pulled back in a bun at some point but were now slipping down around her face. Her big green eyes stared at him unblinkingly.

  Alec normally didn’t mind being the center of attention, but this was getting uncomfortable. Her eyebrows had drawn together, and she was staring up at him, trying to convey something without having to say it. He just had no idea what it was.

  He glanced down, breaking
eye contact. He could still feel her eyes on him like he was standing in a patch of sunshine on a cloudy day. She had oversized, slipper-looking boots on her feet that had probably seen better days, followed by those clingy black leggings, which not only showed off her fabulous ass but also some powerful-looking thighs. He was willing to bet that she was fantastic at being on top. She was clearly in distress about something though, so he definitely should not be thinking about that. Nope. Not at all.

  His eyes continued traveling up, taking in a tank top or T-shirt that would have perfectly shown off her chest if she hadn’t also been wearing a chunky cardigan that looked a few sizes too big for her. When he reached her face, he was again struck by her quiet beauty. She had a pale face and not from shock, porcelain skin except for the few freckles scattered over her cheeks. Her green eyes were cast downward now, hiding their light from him, and the room felt a little colder for it.

  Eilidh had taken a few deep breaths, then the words started tumbling out. “Granddad passed away. If you were good friends as you say, then I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

  Alec sank onto the armchair. He couldn’t have been more surprised if she had slapped him. The last time Alec saw MacLeod was a few weeks ago, before he was sent out on assignment to find the Calydonian Boar’s pelt. Shit. He scrubbed his hands over his face in disbelief. This was why he didn’t make friends with mortals anymore; they died too quickly.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss. Were you and your grandfather close?” Alec asked, remembering that he wasn’t the only one who lost something. MacLeod would talk about Eilidh constantly once you got him going. The man doted on her, but that didn’t mean she reciprocated the feelings. After all, from what he understood, she had never been out to visit MacLeod after he had moved to Portsmouth with his late wife.

  “Aye, he was basically my da.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  “Oh, shit, I’m sorry.” Alec ran a hand through his hair. This poor girl had just lost her father figure, and here he was, wondering where he was going to get the ingredients for his next locator spell. He was sad about his friend, of course, but when you had lived as long as he had, death became an old friend who visited too frequently.

  “What happened?”

  “He had a heart attack when he was trying to move some things around. One of the customers—Demetrius, I think his name was—found him.”

  “Oh, wow.” Alec’s anger flared. How had Dem not warned him about this? They may not be best friends, but they were still brothers. He expected Dem to share the death of their friend with him. He looked around the room. It was the same as it had been the last time he was there.

  Alec and MacLeod had shared a bottle of eighteen-year-old scotch and talked about life. MacLeod had listened to Alec complain about working for the gods, about being—for all intents and purposes—immortal, and about the giant hole in his life that he hated to acknowledge. The hole that Zeus would never allow him to fill, the hole that meant he could never start his own family and dote on a daughter the way MacLeod had doted on Eilidh. He had been a good man and a good friend. Alec swallowed the knot of grief in his throat.

  “So how did you get in? Did Granddad give you a key?” She was blinking furiously.

  “There’s a trick to the door handle that will open it for you even if it’s locked. That is, unless the dead bolt is thrown too.”

  “Oh, I see.” She swirled the water in her glass, creating a miniature whirlpool.

  “I was looking for some herbs that your grandfather used to stock for me. I know it’s probably a bother for you right now, but if you don’t mind my poking around, I’m happy to get them myself. I’m sorry.” Alec’s gut churned, and he immediately felt guilty for bringing it up. “I know this is a terrible time to ask.”

  He smiled in a way that he usually reserved for women he was trying to bed. He wanted to make her feel better in any way he could, and right now this was the best he could offer. The smile worked like a charm every time except for right now. Eilidh stared past him; the expression on her face made him wonder if somehow his wings were visible.

  Chapter 2

  What in the hell was that? Ellie was trying to pay attention to the man on the sofa. What was his name again? Alex? Alan? Alec? He seemed nice enough, and she thought he had just asked her something. The problem was the creature in the corner. It was hairy and brown, with a face that looked like it had been hit with a shovel. Its flat face was covered in coffee-colored skin that was stretched too thin. The beady black eyes and a pointy nose stared straight at her. Then—in a blink—another creature appeared. Soon there were three, then five, and finally seven. They all bowed to her and then scurried about cleaning.

  She must have hit her head a lot harder than she thought to be hallucinating like this.

  “I’m sorry, I…” She took a deep breath and shook her head, rubbing her eyes. “D’ye see that?” She gestured with her head to the scene behind him.

  He glanced over his shoulder, then back at her, and then over his shoulder again. “I didn’t know you had brownies here.”

  “Brownies?” Ellie scoffed. How stupid did he think she was?

  “They’re little brown creatures that love cleaning. Brownies. MacLeod never mentioned them.”

  Ellie’s stomach dropped. She had thought that he was just messing with her and that the past few weeks had finally caught up with her, causing her mind to fracture. “You’re serious?”

  He raised an eyebrow at her as though he couldn’t believe she doubted his sincerity.

  “You actually see them?” she asked under her breath.

  “Yep.”

  “And they’re truly brownies, like the old wives’ tale?”

  “Looks like it to me. Unless we’re both having the same hallucination?” Alec shrugged.

  Ellie glanced over Alec’s shoulder again. The brownies were sweeping the floor by the door to the apartment.

  Had MacLeod not taught his granddaughter about real magic? He knew a lot of people were into the fake stuff or dabbled in using herbs and oils, but did she honestly not know anything about the magical world? Did she think MacLeod’s shop was all an act? Alec scrubbed his face and was reminded he hadn’t shaved yet today. All he’d wanted was a few ingredients. He sighed.

  “How do you ken what they are? Brownies traditionally appear in Scottish and sometimes English folklore, and ye dinnae seem very Scottish to me.” She quirked an eyebrow as she pinned him with an analytical stare.

  “I know a lot about all different kinds of folklore.”

  “I don’t know that I believe ye, but for now, can I get ye a drink? I need one, and I hate drinking alone.” She was already on her way to the kitchen before Alec could answer. He thanked the gods her cardigan didn’t cover her ass, and he got the pleasure of watching it walk away.

  “D’ye know where Granddad kept the whisky? Although, come to think of it, I think ye call it scotch over here.”

  “Here, let me help you.” Alec wasn’t going to say no to a drink with a beautiful woman, especially one that needed the company. His herbs could wait.

  He rose from the couch and retrieved the bottle of scotch from above the refrigerator along with two short, fat glasses from the cupboard. Eilidh smiled up at him gratefully as he poured two fingers of scotch into each glass.

  “How did you and Granddad meet?” She took the bottle of scotch and her glass and led him back to the couch.

  “I was here a lot. We got to talking and became friends.”

  “Did you know Gran?” Her eyes shuttered.

  “No, she had passed away before I discovered Speak O’ the Devil.”

  “Oh.” Eilidh was lost in her thoughts—or maybe it was memories—for a moment before shaking herself. “I wish I would’ve been able to come over with them. Would have saved me a lot of trouble. But it wasn’t in the cards at the time.” She sighed, and her eyes drifted over Alec’s shoulder again, watching the brownies.

  Alec
didn’t want to drag up any painful memories, so he let the comment slide.

  “You know, most folklore indicates you should only have one brownie, two at the most. I counted seven or eight.” Alec needed to figure out what she knew about magic before he said something he shouldn’t.

  “Seven,” she said, downing a mouthful of scotch.

  “So how on earth did MacLeod have so many?”

  “Don’t they stay with families?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m the last member of my line of the MacLeod clan. Maybe they’ve been condensing for a while?”

  “You seem to know your folklore too…” Alec let the thought hang.

  “Granddad was always going on about different myths and fairy tales.”

  “He did love oddball things.”

  “Aye, that he did. Always goin’ on about some creature or another. Writing in his notebooks and sketching little pictures to go with their descriptions.”

  “Did he still do that?” Alec poured her another glass.

  “I dinnae ken. I hadnae seen him in almost two years. I cannae imagine he would stop though; he’s done it as long as I can remember. I loved reading them as a child. Mam said he was goin’ to fill my head wi’ nonsense.”

  “What happened to your parents?” Alec couldn’t help but pry.

  “They died in a car crash when I was a bairn. Gran and Granddad raised me and would sometimes tell me stories of them, but they didn’t really get on. Mam and Da didn’t respect the old ways and poked fun at Granddad’s obsession with myth and magic.”

  She took a long sip of the scotch Alec had poured for her, appearing to savor the hints of fig and caramel as much as he did. It was easy to see the alcohol work its magic on her. Tensed shoulders relaxed, and frown lines softened.

  Eilidh reached for her phone. A jolt of electricity arced from her hand to the screen.