Chapter Six

I snake my way down the versant much more quickly than it took me to climb up and I drop to the ground. When my feet hit the dirt, I sprint in the direction of my cave by the river. Thickets and bushes scrape my legs, and large rocks block my path, but I weave and run even harder. As soon as I reach the mouth of the cave, I let out a high pitched bird whistle to alert the girls to attention. I dart into the turquoise lit cave and scramble all the way to the back. I side step the small bed and random trunks scattered throughout until arriving in front of a black leather chest. I pop the top open and pause, staring down into the tinderbox of ancient memories.

I reach down and take a leather holster in my hands, rubbing my thumb along the bloodstained material. A matte black pistol complete with full magazine and one in the chamber lies atop a small pile of charcoal colored clothing. My fingers tremble as my gaze locks onto an obsidian dagger with electric yellow etching. I lift it out of the trunk and twirl it around a bit for old times' sake. I snap it tight against my forearm in its natural resting position, smiling with nostalgia. It's been so long since I've held this blade that I thought it'd feel foreign, but it doesn't. It's as natural as breathing.

I pull myself back to reality and grab every item from the chest before slamming it shut. When I arrive at the bank of the river, I toss the items onto a rock at the water's edge. Thankfully, almost every woman is present and accounted for, save for one. They sit along the shoreline or lounge on top of rocks while whispering amongst themselves with confusion. Xena, the last missing piece to my harem puzzle, finally comes darting upstream from the ocean, her lilac tail shimmering in the current. She was the very first woman I ever turned and she's been with me over one hundred and ninety years. I elect not to form any deep personal relationships with the girls, but Xena is the closest thing to a friend I'd say I have. She doesn't know anything about my past life, but she's the one I trust most, especially when it comes to the risky things like scouting out potential threats without being seen.

She slides her caramel toned body up onto the riverbank and shoves her long black hair out of her face in a panic.

"What'd you see?" I ask.

She takes a deep breath, her chocolate eyes filled with concern. "They're already rowing their way to shore; four boatloads of people, at least fifty in number."

My jaw clenches up. "What do they look like? Are they typical pioneers and pillagers or are they possibly militant?"

"I don't know who they are, but they're armed and on a mission," she answers before nervously clenching her jaw and clearing her throat. "They aren't our run of the mill visitors, Iris. Only about a third of them are men...the rest are women."

I roll my knuckles out at my side and snatch my clothes off the rock. "Stay down river, lay low and don't make a sound," I snap. "If anyone shows up that can't be coerced, I want all of you to take off into the ocean and wait until nightfall for my signal."

"And if you don't signal?" Xena asks.

"Then get back on this island, fight with everything you've got and stick to the plan. Do whatever you can to make sure they don't find out what we're keeping on that mountain," I answer while pointing to the lush, flowered cliff off in the distance. Even Xena doesn't know what's up on that ledge, no one besides myself and one other person does. Thankfully, she doesn't need to know, she's only got to follow direction.

She reluctantly nods her head, rounding up the rest of the women and ushering them down the river. She doesn't want to leave me to fend for myself, but it's no longer a choice. They can't walk on land at high noon and even if they could, over half our targets are women who can't be seduced anyways. Less than a handful of my Sirens have legitimate combat experience. The rest would be subpar at best without the use of their current abilities.

I quickly pull on a pair of tight black jeans and a tank top riddled with arrow holes. They still smell exactly as they did when I put them into that box in the first place; they carry the aroma of electric musk and death. I strap the war torn leather holster onto my upper thigh and work my hair into a braided knot. My fingers lace up a pair of black combat boots that've walked over more dead bodies and caused more broken bones than I care to admit. Once the pistol is shoved snugly into its holster and the blade is secured through my belt loop, I begin my trek towards the southeast side of the island. I silently weave through the tropical jungle as birds call to one another and wind whispers through the canopy above my head. I stay off the dirt paths, only treading on areas padded with dead leaves so I don't leave a trail of footprints. My fingertips hover close to the handles of each weapon, ready to whip them out for use in an instant. My breaths stay calm, quiet and deep like they always do when I'm dealing with a threat. I've never been one to break form and I'm not about to start now.

It has been a while since I've been involved in a legitimate skirmish, but this situation is still customary to me. I've been here so many times before that I lost track of my body count somewhere in the hundreds. The moment my fingers found the handle of my blade, I switched into combat mode. I'm designed to become so homed in on a mission that I'll kill the second I get the chance. I'll wait until nightfall and pick everyone off one by one if I have to.

The relative peace of impending warfare is eventually interrupted when unfamiliar voices pollute the air. I stalk close to the ground, crawling on my forearms and knees so I remain unseen. I stay a healthy distance from the shoreline, positioning myself behind a large rock for observation. Four wooden transport boats lie beached on the sand. The majority of the crew are female, just as Xena said. They're unloading chains, ropes, and empty wooden chests. Most of them are armed with bows and bundles of arrows tied to their backs, some carry a variety of swords and blades ranging in size and shape. The men and women alike are dressed in similar clothing; chestnut fabric pants, tan leather boots, charcoal colored belts and weapon holsters, and short sleeved, steel blue shirts that've seen many weeks at sea.

The only anomaly to this equation is one woman in particular.