Page 102 of Ocean of Sin and Starlight

“You treated it like a game,” I tell him, willing myself not to stare at his cock for a second longer. I keep focused on his eyes, although they are just as hypnotic. “You let me loose to see if I would run, and when I did, you tried to hunt me down.”

“That wasn’t me,” he growls, moving for me, but the shackles pull on his wrists, keeping him in place.

“You say that,” I say. “And I know. I saw the monster with my own eyes. But how do I know you didn’t invite him in? How do I know you didn’t enjoy the transformation?”

“Because the monster is a killer, and I am not!”

I stare at him for a moment. “Is that what happened to your family? You killed them?”

He swallows hard and gives a solemn nod, his eyes burning with shame, enough that it loosens a thread around my fractured heart. “I did. I killed them. I don’t remember it all, but…I did.”

I feel the weight of his confession, the air thickening with his regret. I suspected that’s what happened to his wife and children, since he wouldn’t talk about it, but it’s still a lot to hear.

And yet, I’m not looking at him any differently. I don’t think he’s more of a monster. I just know now what drove him to this constant struggle for salvation, what has driven him to make up for the man he lost.

“But you are a killer,” I say quietly. “It’s your nature. You have to kill others to survive. We all do.”

“You and I do,” he says, straining against the chains. “The rest of the world seems to do just fine.”

“Do they?” I ask, raising my brow. “We’re the monsters but the humans aren’t? You know that’s not true. You heard what happened to me on that ship, what happened to my friend. Do you think they aren’t part beast as well?”

He doesn’t say anything to that. Finally, he sighs. “I killed my family. I’ve killed countless others since, hundreds. I suppose it doesn’t really matter why I did it in the end.”

“Were you going to kill me?” I ask, my voice dropping to a whisper, my heart high in my chest.

He stares at me, searching my face before he blinks. “I don’t know.”

“Oh,” I say, looking down. I had really wanted to hear a definite no.

“But I didn’t want to,” he says. “And I wasn’t in control. You have to believe me. If I was…I never would have hurt you.” His gaze drops to my legs.

I turn around, looking at the backs of my calves. The reminder is there; the scarring where he sliced off my skin transferred to my Syren’s tail and back to my human body, leaving ugly marks behind.

A reminder I’ll always have.

“Larimar,” he says.

I look back at him.

A muscle ticks at his jaw as he blinks at me, like he’s trying not to say something. Emotions swirl in his eyes, tugging another thread loose.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a low, rough voice. “I’m sorry for what I did, for all of it. From the moment I found you in the ocean, I’m sorry I ever subjected you to a heathen like myself, a sinner masquerading as a saint, a killer in sheep’s clothing. I am a monster, little fish, in every meaning of the word, and I never should have brought you into my world. I should have been a safe harbor, but instead, I brought you the storm. My church was a sanctuary to everyone but you.”

I want to tell him that it was only a nightmare at the end, that even when he tortured me, I found some perverse pleasure in it, a sick thrill at his possession, at how he desired and coveted me, so much so that he had to keep me by any means necessary. Perhaps a human wouldn’t find such solace in his wanton and deranged desires, but my monster side only wanted more.

But I don’t tell him that. No, I want him to suffer. I want him to grovel. I want him to know that even though I loved being his prisoner, loved being the object of his every thought and affection from sunup to sundown and all the dark hours in-between, he scarred me, both body and soul.

“I gave you my heart,” I tell him, walking over to the bucket of water. “I fell in love with you, Priest. Fast and all at once, I was in love. And that night, I wanted to tell you. I woke up in the night to tell you. Ran into that church to tell you. Then I saw what my love turned you in to.”

He shakes his head, his eyes welling with tears. Damnit, he shouldn’t be breaking me all over again. “I am sorry,” he whispers hoarsely. “Please. I didn’t know.”

“Would it have made a difference?” I ask, picking up a bar of oily soap that smells of lemons. “If I told you I loved you, would the monster have stayed away? Or would I have made it hungrier?”

He stares at me, a tear spilling over. I know what he’s going to say: he doesn’t know.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, sighing heavily, though no matter how hard I exhale, I can’t shake the weight of this, the weight of us. “What’s done is done. I loved you. You tried to kill me. Story of our lives, is it not?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “One chapter of our lives. The story isn’t over. The story doesn’t even need to have an end.”

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