Page 52 of Siren's Kiss & Feral Beasts
Beautiful to most. To me, it’s another reminder of the empty ache clawing through my chest because the sea keeps her secrets well.
The deck beneath my boots rocks gently as Torren shouts orders up ahead. The sails snap high above, stark black canvas straining against the wind. Ropes creak against metal, and crewmen bark, while twenty wolves-turned-pirates run lines and guide the vessel closer to shore.
They know their roles: trim the sails, guide the rudder, and keep the ropes tight against the gust while the ship beneath us groans, the timber expanding against the water.
Leaving the wheel, I walk to the rail and grip it tight, leaning forward. Ahead, there’s a rocky coast, a nameless village unknown to most but protected by vampires. The oldest house, at that.
I bare my teeth. “Drop anchor.”
The command rolls out, and my men move like wolves on a hunt—formation tight, working as one, following their alpha. A heavy clanking sound follows shortly after, then a loud crash as it rips through the deep blue waters here. Less black, and cooler. Not cold.
The chains rattle as it sinks, while smaller boats are being lowered. Half the crew will go, while the other preps for departure; I don’t want to be here longer than necessary.
“You ready?” Torren asks, already climbing over the banister and positioning his body to climb down. Me? I don’t answer.
I simply dive down and swim ashore while the ethnic sounds of oars follow me.
Their village is silent.Too quiet. Stone halls rise in neat rows, their arched windows open as billowy curtains flutter in the breeze.
A herd house looms at the center, its doors barred but inside low whispers greet my ears. No one is crying, but there is an argument going on between a male and female. Her fear permeates the air, while he’s aggressive in his demands.
Rage flood my veins.This is what they do.
Take women and force them into becoming donors with the promise of opulence and wealth. Some are given that treatment with caveats, but many end up like this place.
They’re packed full. The men in charge of transporting sometimes abusing the humans. Because that’s what vampires traffic: defenseless human with no strength or protection against the filthy bloodsuckers.
Cage and bleeds. Herd and harvest.
My nose twitches as blood leaks through a crack. It’s old and watered down, but the scent is unmistakably metallic.
I break the door with one brutal kick, and screams fill the afternoon air. Women and men, I find both bound by a thin rope and naked, while two caretakers use a water hose to clean them off.
“Get them out. All but these two,” I growl out, and Torren moves fast, his sword breaking through the flimsy ties used. The humans scatter at my bark, dragging the weak and I point in the direction of the ship I’d spied earlier. The one used to take them north to Morvane. “Find out if any of the men know how to sail and load them up. Await instructions after.”
“Yes, Alpha,” they answer in unison, yet Torren stays beside me, His nostrils twitching. “You smell it?”
“I do. Human, but not.”
“Find the source. Bring him or her back alive.”
“Aye, Alpha.” Through our link, I catch his laugh as he heads toward a solid red door at the back of the room. It’s thick and marked with four distinct claw marks in the front…
Turning toward the shaking caretakers, I point at the door from over my shoulder. “Who’s in there?”
They hesitate, lips trembling, but one steps forward. “Lord Severus forbids us from?—”
He doesn’t get to finish; I rip his throat out, and blood sprays hot across my arm and chest. It drips onto the floor, and the few hurrying out gasp, and the other caretaker becomes as still as a statue.
“Move,” I growl, wiping the crimson streaks across my jaw. And they do. Gods, they hurry out as if on fire, while my friend, the still-alive keeper, pees himself. He knows and I know that he will not make it to sundown, and all he has left is to pray.
His lips move, reciting an ancient prayer for mercy in death, while Otto joins his brother in tearing through the solid wood door. It creaks, groaning under the force, while a few of my men begin to tear through everything in sight.
In the grand hall, tables can be heard being overturned and fabric ripping, the crash of heavy glass and boots crunching them into dust. Then the other rooms. From one building to the other, they trash everything in their path until what’s left is in ruin, and then they loot.
My crewmen begin to drag heavy chests from the coven feeding rooms: silver, coins, solid gold bars, and trinkets. Then, there are the ledgers. I’m given a few to look over as I babysit the man at my feet, his legs too heavy to carry the burden of being scum.
Because I may be a pirate, a feral beast at times, but I’d never hurt a fucking innocent woman, man, or child. That’s a line you simply do not cross.
