The Siren's Dance by Amber Belldene Read Free Book Online Page A

him her weakness, but she wasn’t able to help it. She began to weep.
    He sighed. “I’m disappointed in you. You’ll never be Giselle if you have so little self-control.”
    “I know, but please, Stas. I’ll…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the humiliating and obvious truth of what would happen if he didn’t let her use a restroom.
    And at that moment, the sign appeared. Любашівка .
    “Fine. If you must.” He pulled off the highway, toward the town, and though a service station was open, he forced her to urinate in a field, squatting down like an animal where anyone could see her. She did her best to stifle her tears, determined to be the ballerina, and the woman, he wanted her to be.
     
    But in the end, she hadn’t been good enough.
    The wail tore out of her, a shriek of fury tangled up with the pain of rejection the vila always tried to keep her from feeling. The wind rose up from the earth and down from the sky, coalescing around her, swirling, twisting at the particles of her ghostly self like it would wring her out, squeeze the pain from her like water from a dishrag. She surrendered to it. If it would only carry her away so she didn’t have to feel any of it ever again.
     
     

Chapter 6
     
    A cool wind billowed past just as Sergey holstered the nozzle on the gas pump and screwed on the cap. Then came a roar like the sound of a train at high speed, louder and louder until the howl engulfed him.
    A train? Impossible. The north-south railroad ran miles west of Lyubashivka. What else could possibly be making such a thunder?
    He scanned his surroundings and found the answer.
    A tornado, barely fifteen yards away. The funnel cloud churned, so dark it cut a slash against the bright blue sky. Which way was it moving? The wind battered him from all sides, but the tornado itself seemed to hover, stationary, over an empty field across from the petrol station.
    The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Moments ago, the sky had been brilliantly clear blue. Tornados didn’t come out of nowhere. They formed as part of storm systems, which meant--Anya.
    He ran to the car.
    Of course, she was gone. He yanked open the passenger door. Gregor’s ring fell onto the asphalt.
    He picked it up. Hell, he couldn’t even see her. How would he ever get it back on her? Shit. He’d lost a ghost, a pretty little pain-in-the-ass ghost. His heart rate shot up to racing speed.
    All around, cars screeched one hundred and eighty degree turns and began driving away, though a few had come to a halt. A young man dashed from the service station, holding out his mobile phone, probably shooting a video. An old woman came to the front porch of her small house.
    “Take cover,” Sergey shouted to the gawkers. “Into your basements.”
    None of the onlookers heeded his warning. Perhaps they couldn’t hear him. Should he run to them first?
    No. His guts were twisting just like that funnel cloud. He had to find her before she blew away.
    “Anya!” He searched the sky, knowing it was futile. He couldn’t spot an invisible ghost.
    Where was she? Somewhere near the car? The answer choked him, lodged in his throat with certainty, a hunch without a shred of proof. She was in the middle of that twister.
    What had set her off? They’d been having an almost civil chat. How she’d lived in sweet and feminine Sonya’s shadow, her obsession with ballet, her ghostly isolation, and the beauty of sunflowers. He’d made inroads toward understanding her, his interrogation methods far more subtle than she’d given him credit for. And she’d revealed tiny confidences, each one more significant, until he’d begun to know what made her tick.
    Once he’d uncovered those gears--seen their size and shape--it turned out she wasn’t so bad. Kind of funny, really. Though he was still completely at a loss about what she wanted with Demyan.
    If he didn’t get Lisko’s ring on her fast, he might never find out.
    “Anya?” he shouted with