Page 13 of Ocean of Sin and Starlight

I undo the chain and pull it away from her mouth, quickly stepping back with it. Her mouth widens and stretches, and she winces, obviously sore. The chains have left rusty red grooves at the corners of her mouth, reminding me of blood.

“Behave,” I warn her, coming closer again with the chalice. “You bite me, and I will bite you right back. I won’t turn the other cheek.”

She stares at me intently and swallows, licking her dry lips, wriggling the tension from her jaw.

Then, she nods. She may not speak my language, but she understands me.

Acquiescence.

“Very well,” I say, lifting the chalice to her lips. “Drink while you can.”

She sniffs the chalice, most likely checking that it’s not her own blood, then takes a tepid sip, her full upper lip softly clasping the edge. I tip the cup forward so the wine pours into her mouth slowly, careful not to spill, and watch as she swallows it down. Her face contorts for a moment, perhaps shocked at the taste of wine, and then her eyes flutter closed. She looks angelic again, young.

Suddenly, I’m hit with two conflicting desires—the desire to protect this creature from any harm and the desire to do harm to her. To feed from her, to defile her, to know what those lips would feel like if they were pressed against mine or, heaven forbid, wrapped around my dick.

But then, she gulps the rest of the wine down in a frenzy, the red liquid spilling everywhere, and her razor teeth chomp into the edge of the metal chalice, biting it.

I quickly rip the chalice away from her.

“I told you to behave,” I scold her. “To disobey a priest is blasphemy.”

“I won’t behave,” she snarls at me.

I stare at her, mouth agape. “You speak Spanish?” I ask, blinking at her. How is that possible?

“I speak enough,” she says in a beguiling accent.

Then, she spits on my face.

I wipe it away and grin at her. “Well, this has certainly made your little predicament a lot more interesting. For me, that is. I’m so used to talking to a God who doesn’t answer back, it might be nice to talk to someone who does.”

She growls in response and spits on me again.

This time, I wipe it away, glancing at it between my fingers, tinged with wine. I give a small shake of my head and rub her spit along my tongue, swallowing it. Even her saliva tastes divine.

“If you think spitting on me is a deterrent, you are sadly mistaken,” I tell her, tipping over the empty chalice. “I drink your spit like wine. Speaking of wine, I could give you more, but it all depends on your temperament. So far, I’m not sure you’re taking any of this seriously.”

“Damn you, whore,” she sneers.

I burst out laughing, my own laughter foreign to my ears.

The Syren can curse, albeit creatively. She grows more interesting by the minute.

“I like you, you know,” I tell her, still chuckling. “That’s not a good thing in the long run. But yes, I like you very much. Tell me, Syren, where did you learn to speak my language?”

“It is none of your business. Let me go.”

I raise my brow, running my fingertip over the rim of the cup. “Let you go where? To do what? You know, had you been a human who had murdered those men like you did, you would already be dead. That’s how we deal with things in this world. You kill them, we kill you. It’s safer for the world for a savage creature like yourself to be put in the ground, turned into fish food.”

“Put me back in the water or…” She trails off, licking the wine off her lips. I’d like to lick it off for her.

“Or what?” I ask idly.

“I’ll scream,” she threatens. “You know what a Syren’s scream can do.”

“Actually, I didn’t. Not until I met you. I confess. I know nothing about you or your kind. The only thing I know, the only thing I need to know, is that your blood sustains me for very long periods of time. That’s the only reason why you’re here. That’s all I want from you.”

Her eyes darken. “I don’t believe you. You are here to punish me.”

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