Page 18 of Siren's Kiss & Feral Beasts
“In a sense...” A small knock just outside the door causes Grandma to trail off, but then Dad pokes his head in. He’s smiling at us. “Everything okay, Marin?”
“We have eyes.”
“Are you two sneaking me out?” It’d be comical, if not for the disgust on my father’s face. There’s also a low rumble bordering on a warning sound. Mermen and merwomen don’t growl like tide-hoppers; ours is more of a hum. A deep bass vibration that cuts through the water, slicing across the gills and attacking the nervous system.
You’re thrown off if not prepared. More so if it comes from a high-ranking member of the kingdom.
“Orion’s showing his hand.”
“Meaning?” I ask my father, eyes on him, but I don’t miss the look they share.
“Meaning it’s getting late, Princess. Go have some fun.”
The warm,late-afternoon sun feels good on my skin, but it’s the salty breeze that soothes me as I break through the surface. It carries a touch of wet earth from an earlier rain and the ocean’s natural essence, a combination that brings me peace the closer to land I get.
There’s a sense ofhomeI don’t understand, yet I don’t shy away from either. Instead, I close my eyes and take in another deep inhale while blindly pulling back the hood.
There’s still so much going through my head, a myriad of fragmented conversations—the memory of that Alpha Kai searching the shoreline for my scent—but my Grandmother’s words are the loudest. They demand my compliance. My complete obedience.
Stop hunting whatever your grandfather has you chasing before the cost and repercussions are more than you’re willing to pay.
She repeated those words right before I left with my father, taking a private exit that no one outside of the family knows exists. My great-grandfather made the addition, a way for his wife and child to escape if the need ever arose, and today it came in handy.
With a kiss to her cheek, I swam out with Dad, parting ways after exiting the castle. His expression held a tenderness that I haven’t seen in a while, not that the man hasn’t been the most amazing parent, but it was… different.
Wistful.
He hugged me tight before letting go. His words were low. “Follow your heart, Nerissa.”
The streets were still busy then, and with the change in tides coming in soon, people were rushing about. It was easy to mix in, going unnoticed as the cloak kept my scent and aura hidden.
Within minutes, I was far enough to slip behind a grouping of tall pillars and swim toward Avaria.
“Why doesn’t she want her magic back?” I ask aloud, my body shifting into my human skin. Curves replace my fins, wide hips giving way to long, lithe legs, and toes painted in the same varying shades as my tail. Scales recede, leaving tan skin behind—soft and glowing, kissed by a fine mist of water that clings to every mermaid ashore. It’s unnoticeable to most, but for those who know, it’s our one tell.
The first step onto land is always strange. Warm grains press beneath my toes, unfamiliar yet grounding in a way that’s soothing.
I stretch my neck from side to side, loosening the pull of transformation while a few strands of wet hair cling to my face. Light slams into me, and it’s harsh for a moment—toobright after the blue depths—and for a second, the world blurs. It’s gone within a few blinks; shapes sharpen, and the jagged coastline comes into focus.
The beach is empty, but not the port. I’m close enough to see, but not be seen, even without the cloak, and I make out three ships docked while another gets closer. The latter is larger. Its sails are dark, but not black.
A sliver of disappointment courses through me.
“Get it together, Nerissa. Enough already,” I mutter under my breath. My cloak covers me, and I pull the hood up, walking up the beach and toward the small coastal town where I own a home. It’s small compared to anything my family owns in our kingdom, but it’s mine.
No family. No rules. No set expectations from anyone.
Most of the people who reside in Avaria are merchants: a mix of witches, wolves, and one dragon clan that manages the port for the royal wolf pack. It’s a mutually beneficial contract, making them a tax-free business while the pirates collect—get information on who docks here and why.
Then, there are the hybrids. Or day walkers, as locals call them.
They’re the offspring of both a female fae and a male vampire—a union that should never exist. Cursed to crave blood but still roam the light. They feed on the essence of the donor, not just their blood. A trade that satisfies both, their pleasure sealed through satiated moans.
It’s not far from Isla de Lobos, where the werewolf monarch pack resides, or so they call themselves now. A century ago, they were nothing but filthy, greedy pirates.
Ruthless. Pillaging. Feral.
The open waters are their playground, a vast oasis with no rules used to steal and conquer—the merpeople never intervened. We didn’t care about the disputes of savages orthe clash of shifters and other magic-wielding beings until they touched our sacred stone.
