Page 37 of Song of Lorelei

He hadn’t expected them to be pleased with this plan, but he thought they’d at least follow his logic. Most didn’t think the sirens could be reasoned with. Even Walsh and Branson were wary. The only other siren those two had ever dealt with was Undine, and as far as they were concerned, her willingness to negotiate might be more an exception to the rule, rather than a model for typical siren behavior.

Killian would have to make it up to everyone with extra time off and hazard pay.

But it wasn’t just his responsibility to his crew’s long-term safety that fueled this effort to broker peace. Killian empathized with the siren, too. She didn’t know what happened to Nireed and likely assumed the worst fate possible. Imagination could be cruel in its tendency to fill in the missing gaps with all sorts of ugliness.

He knew what that was like.

When he was fourteen, and his mom didn’t come back from her weekend mountain climbing trip, he had assumed the worst. Only, the worst imaged scenario had actually come true. Delaney Quinn hadn’t hunkered down somewhere, waiting for a storm to blow over. She hadn’t been injured, or stuck, waiting for rescue.

While park rangers were eventually able to recover the body, she’d fallen from a great height. Quick and painless, they’d said. Dead upon impact. A small mercy he supposed, for her, but the stuff of nightmares for him. She had to be cremated. They couldn’t even have a closed casket funeral.

So, Killian knew all too well what Aersila must be feeling in almost a year of waiting for her worst fears to be confirmed. What he would have given to have had his own fears proven wrong twenty-five years ago. But he was powerless to rewrite the past. The present, however, he could do something about.

He could give Nireed’s sister the peace of mind she undoubtedly needed.

Maybe his crew sensed the empathy in him, and it scared them, because they didn’t understand where it came from—why he’d take the risk with people he knew for years for creatures more likely to try to eat him. But for better or worse, these sirens were Lorelei’s kin. And from what he saw of his fiancée’s interactions with Nireed, she hoped to someday build a relationship with them, which would soon make them his kin, too.

The scrape of claws against metal heralded the arrival of Aersila, and her Merry Band of Murderous Mermaids. There hadn’t even been a disturbance in the water. Nor singing. They’d come quietly up to the boat from the deep.

Listening to that awful screech of metal, Killian ground his teeth, a surge of irritation replacing nervousness. He’d have to repaint the boat again when they got to shore. The last time they encountered sirens, they scratched the side of his boat to hell when they climbed onboard.

Killian alone stood in front of the open crates of potted meat, with a tranquilizer-shooting pistol holstered at his hip, and Branson’s rifle strapped across his back. Most of the Dawn Chaser’s crew stowed away below decks, their noise cancellation headsets firmly in place—Ian’s triple checked. Only McAdams, who was locked away in the pilothouse, ready to turn on the boat’s engines and thrust the throttle forward at a moment’s notice, wasn’t with them.

Killian wore his own headset around his neck, so he could give orders when needed but still hear his surroundings. Only Lorelei’s song affected him, so he didn’t need to cover his ears, except for show in front of his crew.

Clawed hands reached over the side, and seven dangerous beauties hoisted themselves over. Aersila’s amber glare fell on him first, as abrasive as barnacles, meant to cut and shred. She hissed, simultaneously flashing a wicked set of teeth. Her hard, lean muscle flexed as she perched on the gunwale in a half-shifted state, naked save for the bracers and upper arm cuffs she wore made from hammered out potted meat cans. That, and the long dark-hair, streaked with white, that covered her chest.

Unlike Nireed, who had softer features, Aersila’s facial structure could have been chiseled from sea rock, her cheekbones prominent and jawline cut sharp. Scars—some slashes, some crescent-shaped—covered her arms and flanks. Her belly featured both ripped muscle and stretch marks…from childbirth? Killian couldn’t picture this siren in a nurturing, motherly role.

While Lorelei could be fucking scary, Aersila looked like she regularly ate sharks for breakfast and picked her teeth clean with their skeletal cartilage.

The aluminum can adornments only slightly dimmed her terrifying appearance.

Steeling his nerves, Killian slowly worked his way through the signs he practiced with Lorelei—the family name sign, Aersila’s name, the word ‘peace.’ The glaring and hissing stopped. But Killian continued to sign, introducing himself and fingerspelling his name, followed by his relationship to the “Shorewalker.”

Aersila cocked her head to the left. “You know our language.” Spoken word rasped uncomfortably on her tongue.

“Nireed taught Lorelei, who taught me.” The siren slinked down onto the deck slowly, watching him carefully. Killian held up his hand. “That’s far enough.” He kicked the crates of canned pork behind him with the heel of his boot. “This is for everyone, not just you and your friends.”

Aersila’s jaw clenched, but she stopped, holding a crouched position. “I want my sister back.”

Judging by the mature cut of her cheekbones, the weathered, wary look in her eye, and streaks of white in her hair, Killian would have placed the siren as twenty years older than Nireed, at least. A whole generation between the sisters. Killian himself was an only child, but he could relate to the protectiveness the siren felt for a loved one. If their roles were reversed, he would be doing the exact same thing to get back someone he cared about. “I know. And she’s sorry she didn’t tell you that she wanted to go.”

Aersila hissed. “You lie. No one chooses the shore. No one.”

Killian shook his head. “She’s just trying to help.” He jerked his thumb behind him. “This stuff isn’t a permanent solution. But Nireed’s helping us find one.”

Aersila slapped her hands together, the gesture too angry to be a clap. “Choose another. I want my sister.”

As Killian studied the siren, thinking of what to say to put her mind at ease, he remembered what Lorelei had said to him about Nireed and her focus on personal merits and the greater good. He made a couple quick, hopefully spot on, assumptions about her. “Look, I know you love your sister and want to protect her. That’s what big sisters do. But Nireed is old enough to make her own decisions, and right now she’s trying to prove herself worthy to you and all your people. To earn their respect in her own right, as I imagine you have.”

Furrowing her brow, Aersila listened closely and asked him to repeat some parts. And as he clarified, she slowly began to nod along with what he was saying, but her anger wasn’t abating. “Nireed has our respect. But even if she didn’t, she wouldn’t choose this path. It is madness.”

“Then how do I know who you are? And your family name?” He signed it again for emphasis. “If she didn’t agree to this, didn’t think this was the right thing to do, why would she share those details with us?”

The siren paused.

“Perhaps you speak true, Two-Legger.” She sighed, signing the siren name for humans. When she followed that up by fingerspelling his name, surprising him, hope sparked in Killian’s chest. That the siren bothered to remember and use his name, even in anger and frustration, felt big—a sign of respect.

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