Chapter Five

Isidor woke first, light outside. His initial thought was that he had to piss very badly and then he noticed he was thirsty. And hungry. Then he felt his anthata. All other thoughts left his mind. He looked.

Soule was pressed to him behind her, her fists under her chin, asleep. Her red hair was all over all three of them, a strand curling around his arm, another on his chest. They’d all slept in her siren hair, on it. He looked at her face for a long moment and then leaned down and smelled her.

He had imagined her for so long, but he could never have imagined she’d be someone like Soule. The flavor of her was exactly as it should be, all the parts of her fitting into parts of him, fluid, feminine. Isidor blinked, feeling her. She really was a siren. He was filled with the sense of her spirit, recognition, knowing her deep, pleased with the rightness of her. Protectiveness for his anthata, desire. A bottomless well of desire. In love, he supposed. His arms tightened. And realized he still had to piss very badly.

He began to untangle himself as Winter woke.

“I have to piss,” Winter said, predictably.

Then Winter’s face went a little blank, and his eyes shifted, looking at Soule. Isidor left him alone for that series of realizations and took the opportunity to slip out. He decided he didn’t need a privy when he had the whole forest, sighing at the relief of it. He stopped and drank water until his thirst was slaked and then went back into the cabin, opening the door quietly. Winter passed him, shooting him a look.

They didn’t want her to wake up alone and Winter had to go badly by now, he imagined. Isidor smirked.

Soule was still asleep, on her back now. Isidor got back in bed with her, happy. She immediately turned on her side away from him, her round butt—she had the sweetest, plumpest ass he had ever seen, Winter had noticed that for certain—wiggling until she found his groin as he watched, grinning. He put his hand on a cheek, perfect in his hand, caressing. He had been hungry a moment ago but he forgot, his cock hardening against her thigh.

Winter came in, straight to the bed, getting back in with her. His eyes were on her tits, sweetly pressed between her arms. He reached out and flicked a rosy bud with his finger. She muttered lightly. Isidor turned his attention back to her ass, rounding a cheek, moving lower, caressing that spot where her thighs met.

“Don’t wake her,” Winter protested.

Isidor looked at his brother, his brows going up.

“You want to wait?” Isidor said.

Winter looked at her tits.

“Wake her then,” he said.

But her eyes opened a little at their voices, long lashes. She turned on her back as they watched. She stretched a little and then sighed, going limp, her eyes closing again.

“Wake up, little siren,” Winter growled.

A small frown creased her brows. Isidor leaned, burying his face in her throat, breathing her in again. She smelled incredible. He nipped her earlobe and she made a brief, sharp noise. Her eyes opened. They widened and focused and her hips squirmed.

She struggled up and started to climb over Winter naked, her dark red hair trailing after her, a mussed silky mess, he fucking loved her hair, her lips swollen and her cheeks flushed, gorgeous, giving him a beautiful view of her round ass. Winter pinched her nipple heading in, then the other as she arrived.

She reversed direction toward himself, not awake yet, who also took advantage of her confusion, the pinches fast, her nipples sweet under his fingers. She pushed at his hands and retreated, scrambling straight down out of the bed naked out the bottom on all fours, both of them watching, a wave going through him.

She straightened as soon as she could and shot them both a glance. She looked around for her dress, her hair following her, stopping so her hips could squirm. She squirmed again before they both saw it at the same moment. She dove, Isidor lunging to reach it, their hands on it at the same time.

Isidor held on, grinning. She glared at him and gave a desperate glance at the door. She really had to go. Isidor burst out laughing as she abandoned the dress. She sent him an indignant look, padding to the door naked, disappearing through it.

Isidor leaned back, dropping the dress, his cock hard, lacing his hands behind his head. They lay there in silence.

“Are you happy now?” Isidor finally said to the roof.

“Like you weren’t impatient,” Winter returned immediately.

Silence.

“Have you seen our anthata, brother,” Isidor muttered.

“She sure is beautiful,” Winter agreed low.

She was going to be a handful. Isidor could tell that already. He grinned at the ceiling.

Soule returned slowly through the door, peeking in first, leaving the door open behind her, the cabin already warm. She was naked with that hair, unbelievably beautiful. She walked to the table, her hips swaying, bringing water, shy now, avoiding their eyes.

Winter held out his hand, beckoning her closer. She glanced at him sidelong.

“Come here,” Winter said.

She glanced at Winter again, long lashes. And stayed where she was.

“We’ll feed you in a little while,” Isidor said lazily, propping himself on his elbow, bribing her. “I’ll make you oatmeal with syrup. It’s your favorite.”

She glanced at him now through those lashes, honey eyes, sending a deep thrill through him, her fingers tracing the table idly, no sign she was going to join them soon. A handful.

“I’m going to smack your bottom if I have to come get you,” Winter said.

Her eyes went to his and widened. Isidor didn’t think Maren would have told her about that. Mention of smacking made her even more reluctant. She stayed where she was, her eyes drifting to the open door. Winter threw back the covers in one motion. She froze, that strange stillness. She wouldn’t dare.

They all moved. Soule fled out the door, which she pulled shut behind her—of course—which gave her the delay she wanted, and by the time they were through it she was down the stairs, giving a nervous husky giggle, and up the path to the pool.

They both went down the stairs barefoot, going after her. They caught up with her when she reached the far side of the pool by the waterfall.

She faced them, trapped, panting, naked, her red hair a silky mess down to her hips, her skin almost luminous in the morning light, flushed in her cheeks, her lips, those nipples, the hair between her legs the prettiest dark red. She froze as Winter took one side, Isidor taking the other side, her eyes going between them. They stalked her, Isidor still struggling a little with the fact that she was theirs.

Winter exploded into motion and she shrieked, laughing as he chased her all the way around and straight to him and Isidor found himself with an armful of naked, wiggling siren, her hair all over him. She was still laughing, the sweetest sound. They hadn’t heard her really laugh before. Isidor went still, listening to it, like sunlight in his mind, just sweet, his eyes on her face, surprised. You wanted more.

Winter arrived, hearing it. He slowed, looking at her face as well, also surprised. Her laughter just made you feel good. They were both staring at her, a little lost in it.

Her laughter faded, her eyes shifting between them. Winter bent down and swept her up, Soule laughing again, her butt round on his shoulder, her hair trailing behind him almost to the ground, Winter walking back to the cabin. Soule braced her arms on Winter’s back and looked up at Isidor through her hair, long lashes, her tits pressed between her arms. Isidor grinned at her and she smiled sweetly, going straight through him.

Winter walked her up the stairs and straight back to bed, Soule squirming because she was a handful, because she could. Winter tossed her in, following, collapsing beside her, Isidor taking the other side. She turned her head to look at Isidor, still excited, still flushed, her eyes flashing at him. Isidor grinned, feeling another wave. She’d been flirting with him since they left the pool. He couldn’t resist, leaning in to kiss her full mouth.

When he pulled away, she turned to Winter, who leaned down and kissed her more. Winter pulled away and sat up, moving on the bed, sitting, patting his knees.

“Lay yourself across my lap, little siren, face down,” he said.

Yes, Winter had noticed. She sat up. She frowned a little.

“What for?”

“I’m going to smack your bottom,” Winter said.

Winter didn’t make promises he didn’t keep. Soule shook her head, her hair flying.

“No,” she said solemnly.

Isidor grinned, his eyes meeting Winter’s, seeing if he was falling for it. She seemed entirely sincere, but then her mouth twitched, giving her away.

She scrambled back toward Isidor when Winter reached for her, Isidor not moving, grinning, watching. She pushed back at Winter’s hands, a series of husky giggles and then gave a small cry as Winter grabbed her, dragging her across his lap. Soule squirmed, her little round butt over his lap. There was a sight. Isidor got up and knelt behind her, kneeing her legs apart as Winter pushed her front down gently, his hand on the back of her neck. He let go.

“Stay there, little siren,” he said.

She did, but she wiggled a great deal. She was across Winter’s lap, her butt jutting into the air, her legs spread. She had such a pretty pink little pussy. Isidor’s cock was hard, aching. He looked at her pussy again, coming directly behind her, touching between her legs lightly. Soule made a small needy noise, her bottom squirming.

Yes, she was slick, her wetness following Isidor’s fingers when he withdrew his hand, bringing his fingers to his mouth behind her, the taste making his cock jump, meeting Winter’s eyes. They’d been right about her. Winter saw it, her arousal, his eyes darkening. She liked giving herself over to them, liked being under their hands.

Isidor moved to her side, snaking his hand under her and between her legs. He stroked her soft pussy lips gently, finding her clit as Winter rubbed her bottom, warming her. At Isidor’s touch, her breath caught and she arched a little, bringing her round ass up under Winter’s hands, meeting them, his brother watching. Isidor turned his head. He could see her face, her head turned to the side toward him.

Isidor kept watching her face as he began to stroke her gently, long strokes, two fingers. Her eyes slowly closed, her lips parting, breathing fast.

She was swelling, panting a little. Isidor swirled all around her clit and then around the tip, increasing the speed and pressure of his fingers. She grunted delicately and spread, pulsing. Isidor stopped, stilling his hand, meeting Winter’s eyes. Her eyes opened, long lashes, her brows crooking. She squirmed, wanting more, and then her eyes went wide when Winter’s hand came down, the crack loud in the room.

She jiggled, Isidor’s cock jumping. She cried out, more surprise than pain, her ass squirming. Isidor renewed the strokes on her clit, Soule crying out softly with pleasure, husky, and then higher as Winter brought his hand down again.

Isidor looked at her face, seeing confusion and arousal, the pain on her bottom and the pleasure in her pussy coming together and making one thing. She began to move on Isidor’s hand, pumping her hips as the slaps continued. She became even slicker, her breaths fast and urgent.

She went where they wanted, straight there. Her butt was very pink as she neared her pleasure, whining from her throat. Her eyes were glassy, gone, all of her feeling what was happening to her. Isidor was going to explode just watching her. She began to pulse against his fingers with every slap, waiting for them.

Winter stopped, running his hand all over her sweet bottom, taking the sting, and then down between her legs. He pushed his finger into her pussy. He added a second, obviously tight, fucking her with them as Isidor rubbed faster.

Soule went rigid, arching. She cried out, husky and helpless. They both tilted their heads and watched as she began to come, watching her little cunt swell more, straining, glistening and pink, Winter’s fingers still fucking her, Isidor’s fingers still rubbing her clit, sending a wave of pure lust through Isidor’s lower belly, his cock surging.

She strained in her climax for so long that she finally jutted on Winter’s fingers desperately, her voice high with the pleasure, sending another wave through him. She gave a series of small satisfied noises as she pulsed, her little pussy spasming. She stopped for a delicious moment and began pulsing again. She was panting as they withdrew their hands, long catches in her breathing. His own breathing was ragged, Winter’s was.

“Good girl,” Winter breathed, turning her, pulling her up by her arms onto his lap and kissing her.

When he pulled away, her face was still flushed, still breathing a little fast, her arms around Winter’s neck. Winter leaned back and pulled her against him, turning her a little, his arm coming around her sweet rounded hip securely, curving down to her knee and pulling, bringing her knee closer to her chest.

Isidor’s eyes dropping to where his brother was displaying her, her round butt red from the smacks, her pussy lips showing between her legs, a sweet glistening swelling. Winter’s fingers found her thigh, pulling open her lower lips delicately for him, showing him her silky pink flesh. She looked at Isidor’s face and put her head on Winter’s chest, yielding to him, trusting, letting Isidor look, knowing they’d done it.

Yes, she was theirs. They could do anything they wanted with her now. Lust crawled through Isidor’s belly, dark thoughts, his eyes on her pussy.

Soule glanced at him nervously, arousing him more. She glanced up at Winter, who was looking at her nipples before his eyes shifted to hers, her gaze jumping away and back to him. Isidor grinned at her, standing, reaching for his trousers. He pulled them on over his erect cock as Winter set her down and rose, doing the same, tying the string. Isidor went and got her dress, which she put on over her head, pulling her hair through.

“I promised to make your favorite breakfast,” Isidor said, holding out his hand.

She gave him one of her smiles, sweet, taking his hand.

They’d feed her first.

#

Hours later, Isidor was lounging naked in a meadow not far from the cabin, his cock hard against his belly. It was his turn to have Soule and he was sitting with her between his legs on a blanket on the grass, the remains of lunch beside them, Winter across from them, watching. They’d left her dress on.

Isidor was fully aroused, all his attention on his anthata, running his hand up the silkiness of her inner thigh from behind her, her knees bent, her legs spread. As he’d thought, Soule was a handful. She was so fucking sweet. She kept closing her legs and he kept opening them, her dress riding up.

She closed her legs. He reached and cupped her breast over the dress, pinching her nipple, grinding it between his fingers, his cock surging. She had sensitive nipples. She yelped a little, opening her legs for him. He released her nipple.

He ran his hand back up her inner thigh, lifting the dress, spreading her lower lips, and this time she didn’t close her legs. She was very wet, had been wet. They’d started slowly after lunch, passing her back and forth, kissing her. Brushing against her nipples. Small touches. But they’d moved on. He explored her inner lips gently with his fingers, her clit a hard nub under slick. Her hips jerked. He began to rub circles slowly.

“You want me to lick you there again?” Isidor offered softly in her ear.

She shuddered. Isidor switched to his thumb, slowly entering her with his finger, then another, her pussy pulsing around them. Her head fell back against him, her eyes half-closed, her hips moving. Her breath choked out, beginning to strain. He stilled his fingers. Started them again.

Isidor released her. Winter got up and reached over, taking her, his turn now. Isidor leaned back, watching.

Winter turned her until he was lying on his back and she was straddling him, her wet pussy sitting right on top of his erect cock. She rubbed herself on him, her hands braced on his chest. Winter grabbed her hips, moving her more, dragging her wetness up and down his shaft, breathing heavily.

“I want to bite your nipples, little siren,” Winter said. “Lift your dress.”

She raised the dress over her thighs. Soule was far too gone to care about shyness, higher, revealing her belly and then all the way to show the full swell of her firm breasts, jiggling, her nipples jutting and hard. Winter waited, watching as she lowered her nipple to his mouth, his hands still on her hips, her hands still holding the dress up.

He sucked and then bit, tugging. He pulled away and waited for her to offer the other, her little pussy squirming slippery all over his cock, her eyes glazed with pleasure.

Soule pushed up on her knees over Winter to get the distance and began to rub her swollen clit on the ridge of his cock in urgent strokes, her hips moving, sinuous, still holding the dress up. Isidor’s cock throbbed and jumped on his belly. Seeking her pleasure. Winter pushed back her shoulders and lifted his head to watch, his cock pulsing. She released the dress and braced her hands on his chest again, humping him, making little noises. She threw her head back, her hair all over Winter’s legs behind her, and began to hitch.

Winter lifted her hips just in time. She made a long frustrating sound, whining. Isidor’s cock surged again. He had thought he’d want her to beg, but she wouldn’t. Soule just didn’t talk much. Instead she made that sound, full of helpless need. Isidor loved that sound, wouldn’t change it.

Isidor got up and reached over, taking her, meeting Winter’s eyes, his brother’s flickering agreement. She was ready. More than ready.

Isidor put her in front of him between his legs, facing Winter, who rolled on his side to watch. He spread her legs wide, taking two fingers and parting her lower lips, exposing her, holding her open, resting his other hand flat on her spread pussy. He pressed on her, Soule squirming hard.

He touched her clit and she stilled, slow slick circles, very light. She liked that. He straightened his hand and gave her spread pussy a light slap. Winter grunted lightly across from him in appreciation, his cock moving. It startled her more than anything, and Isidor returned right away to her clit. Her hips moved. She was close, so close.

He slapped her again, putting a little more sting into it, immediately setting his hand flat on her. She pulsed against his hand. He rubbed on her, not stopping, knowing how close she was, bringing her right to the edge. He smacked her little cunt, a sharp sting, his cock throbbing. She yelped and then almost came. He pulled his hand away sharply.

“Please,” she whined.

It also meant that when Soule actually begged she meant it. Isidor entered her with his fingers again, her pussy tight and moving, touching the tip of her clitoris lightly with his thumb, her breath catching, her hips rising. He went too slow to bring her to pleasure, listening to her whine more, enjoying himself. He met his brother’s eyes, leaning down.

“You want Winter to fuck you? If he fucks you, we’ll let you come,” Isidor said into her ear.

“Yes,” she panted.

Isidor immediately pulled her dress straight up and off of her, getting out from behind her.

“Say it aloud, my beauty,” Isidor said, putting her on her back, their anthata’s red hair all around her, standing up and stepping away. “Ask him.”

Soule turned her head and looked at Winter and all of her came to her eyes, aware, her tits falling and rising with her panting. She focused on him and slowly spread her legs, offering herself.

“Please, Winter,” she breathed, her hips squirming with need.

Winter rose, standing over her, looking down at her for a long moment. He went onto his knees between her legs, lining himself up and entering her swollen pink pussy slowly, grunting immediately with pleasure, Isidor watching.

Soule cried out, wiggling, pushing against his chest, trying to get away from him as he dug into her, thrusting. Yes, she was still having difficulty taking them. Winter finally bottomed out, his breath releasing, his thighs meeting hers, waiting for her to adjust. He began to thrust in long strokes.

“Look at me, little siren,” Winter said, his breathing rough.

Soule opened her eyes, honey color, dark lashes. She whimpered up at him. Winter kissed her gently, thrusting harder. She winced with every one as he went faster. He broke the kiss as she began to hitch, watching her face, her eyes locking on his. She looked so surprised. She came, pulling her breath for a long moment and then crying out, her voice husky, as Winter fucked her hard. She went rigid, arching under him.

“Fuck,” Winter bit out, grunting, obviously feeling it.

She still hadn’t released, writhing with pleasure under him. Winter’s breath choked out as his climax came, close from preparing her for so long, grunting savagely, thrusting and holding in her. He cried out. She strained more and then began with those satisfied sounds. Winter grunted, thrusting past it as she massaged his cock, spending in her. He pulled back and thrust again, his hips shaking.

He finally stilled, Soule panting up at him. Winter shuddered, the last of it, thrusting once more. He looked down at her and then leaned in, kissing her deeply, her arms coming around his neck, relaxing into him. He slowly pulled out, Soule tensing and wincing. Yes, she was too sore.

“Let’s take her to the pool,” Isidor said.

#

Isidor walked and knelt down on one knee beside her, getting his arms under her and picking her up, carrying her, Winter grabbing her dress. She put her head on his chest, her hand. Isidor leaned down and kissed her forehead. They kept soap and a cloth by the pool. Isidor set her down, grabbing the soap on the way in, taking her hand, wading with her, Winter sitting on a rock.

Yes, this was nice, Isidor’s soapy hands on her tits, her nipples. She was still sensitive, wincing away a little, and he gentled his hands on them until she sighed. He ran his hand down her back, her belly and thighs, the soap slick, and between the cheeks of that ass, firm and round and slippery.

Isidor couldn’t stop himself from rubbing there slowly, his middle finger passing over her little star repeatedly, pressing in. Her brows crooked at the sensation. On the next pass, he pushed his finger into her ass just a little, to the first knuckle. She squirmed, his finger pumping, his cock rubbing on her belly between them.

“Relax,” he said, pushing in a little more, relishing her tightness, getting her used to the idea.

Her breath stuttered. He withdrew, stepping back, taking up the cloth and washing carefully between her legs. Her cheeks were flushed. She glanced down at his cock, fully erect. She bit her lip, honey eyes raising to his. Isidor shook his head. They had known when Winter took her, from how much pain she still had. There was no need to hurt her because her body wasn’t used to them yet, and she should always trust them, always receive pleasure too, from what they did.

“You’re too sore, my beauty,” he assured her, bending and kissing her soft lips gently, seeing her relief, beginning to wash her hair, so much of it, silky in his hands.

Isidor rinsed her. When she was all clean, he backed them up into the shallows and sat on a rock on the edge of the pool, Winter coming and leaning against the rock next to him. Isidor pulled her between his legs, the water up to her knees. He cupped her face and kissed her, looking into honey eyes, his cock aching and throbbing between them, arcing up his belly.

“I want to do something, my beauty,” Isidor said.

“What?”

“I want you to lick my sex and take me into your mouth.”

Soule looked down, Isidor glancing at Winter. Winter’s breathing deepened. They looked back at Soule. She was still looking at his cock. Introducing Soule to sex was like nothing he could have imagined, the richest, most exquisite and filthy pleasure.

She stepped back. She put her hands on his thighs, bending over, those tits coming down. She hesitated, the anticipation almost painful. She looked up at Isidor again, making his cock surge toward her mouth. She put her tongue out and slowly licked up his shaft.

Isidor hissed, his hips jerking a little. Yes, that felt good. He wanted to feel every moment of it, the first time in his anthata’s mouth. She licked again and he flexed against her tongue, unbearably aroused. He had forgotten how keen the pleasure was.

Isidor saw her looking at his face, interest in hers at his response. She licked him again and he grunted. She began exploring all around, finding out where he was sensitive, every lick a surge of sensation and more need, pulsing and throbbing under her tongue.

Isidor saw her hips squirm. Soule liked it. Something about doing this was arousing her. Fuck, she could practically lick him to pleasure, the sensitivity in Isidor’s cock overwhelming him. He never imagined he could feel such keen sensations. Isidor wanted to come, needed to at this point, but he never wanted this to end. She swirled her tongue, his reaction leading her to do it again.

She slowly pushed him into her mouth. Isidor shuddered, the pleasure so sharp he lost all his breath, looking down at her, a naked siren in the water with that red hair drying around her, her pink full mouth stretching around his cock.

He couldn’t stop himself from thrusting gently, hitting her throat. She gagged and he backed off, but it didn’t slow her down, her soft mouth returning to move up and down on the head of his cock as Isidor grunted and surged again. Winter saw it. He came up behind her, twisting her hair, running his hands down her back, her waist, reaching around her to cup her breasts, touching her nipples.

Soule pressed her mouth on Isidor’s cock when Winter did that, his cock hitting her throat again, but she didn’t gag, controlling it, her hands coming down on the rock to take her weight, their anthata entirely pleasured by it. Her ass came up toward Winter, spreading and tilting herself, an invitation, Isidor pulsing in her mouth to see it.

Winter was looking down at her. He straightened, dropping his arms and stepped forward a little, tilting his hips. She felt him behind her and began rubbing herself against his cock, which was rapidly responding. Isidor’s cock was throbbing and pulsing in her mouth watching her do that. Winter would be happy to accept her offer, Isidor knew, feeling another surge, but Soule didn’t really understand what she was asking for yet.

He could see the temptation, Winter thrusting a little without entering her, rubbing back. Winter stepped away and met his eyes, his mouth crooking a little, reaching under her and between her legs, stroking her, his thumb entering her pussy.

Soule began to make noises, her sweet mouth slipping repeatedly over Isidor’s cock, taking as much of him as she could, entirely absorbed in what she was doing, taken with her pleasure. Isidor’s cock pulsed again, his hips rocking as gently as he could manage. He felt it, the sharp rising of his need, everything about the sensations so raw.

“You’re going to make me come, my beauty,” Isidor breathed.

His pleasure was on him so fast. Too fast. Isidor began to pull out of her mouth but Soule followed, taking him more, squirming on Winter’s fingers behind her. Isidor couldn’t stop himself. He went rigid, definitely not thrusting his hips, crying out, coming, his teeth clenched, his eyes closing. He’d forgotten what the pleasure was like, how intense it was. His seed pulsed from him into the back of her mouth, the release wiping out all his thought, just gone.

His choked his breath out again, surging. She was surprised, he saw, but he was unable to stop himself or slow it down. She didn’t pause. She pulled back and swallowed around him. Fuck, the pleasure of that. His cock flexed again, keeping his hips still barely, shaking, spilling more into her mouth. She swallowed and suddenly came on Winter’s fingers behind her, crying out sharply around Isidor’s cock.

Isidor couldn’t hold back anymore. He grabbed the back of her head and thrust himself into her throat for the last deep surge, the pleasure so rich and deep Isidor cried out again as he pulsed and came, the moment going on. It wasn’t going to end, his body locked.

“Fuck,” Winter muttered behind her, his eyes on her pussy as she came.

Isidor gave one final deep pulse. He opened his eyes, his breathing still stuttering, drawing himself out of her throat quickly. She straightened, catching her breath, her hands on his thighs, panting hard, Winter’s arms coming slowly around her to steady her. They all stayed there for a moment, breathing, recovering, Isidor leaning back on his arms, closing his eyes, feeling that delicious relaxation in his body that came after the pleasure.

He finally opened them and sat forward, Winter releasing her as Isidor brought Soule to himself between his legs. Winter grabbed the soap and went back into the deeper water, lathering, washing himself, his hair. Isidor leaned forward and cupped her face, kissing her, tasting himself, sending a surge through him, just pleased.

Isidor set her away from him and hopped down, stepping back and catching the soap Winter tossed him, walking to deeper water and lathering as Winter turned her around, kissing her. Isidor washed his body, his hair, rinsing himself.

When they were done, they both sat on the rock and watched Soule. She swam in the deep part, seeming pleased, finally getting out of the water slowly, her hips swaying, putting her hair over her shoulder, her back to them, a shaft of light illuminating the red. She began at the top, squeezing the water out. She looked satisfied, healthy. She turned her head and glanced at them over her shoulder sidelong, her gaze lingering on Winter and then shifting to him.

“Fuck,” Winter said again softly beside him.

Isidor grunted in agreement.

He and Winter slowly leaned back, lacing their hands behind their heads so they could still watch her. It had been difficult losing Maren. But Soule meant everything to them. Isidor watched her squeeze more water out of her hair, his eyes lingered on her blunt peaked ears.

He turned his head to Winter, who met his eyes, all of it unspoken between them. They would have to present their anthata to the Siblin Council. Their eyes went back to her. They would protect her, regardless. Nobody would ever hurt her, not while they lived.

#

Winter was braiding Soule’s hair, crossing the strands, his fingers nimble, his anthata perched in front of him. They were leaving in the morning. He paused to touch lightly all around her ear. She shivered, her breath catching.

To their delight, he and Isidor had discovered that her ears were a place almost as sensitive and erotic as her nipples. Winter’s mouth quirked, glad neither of them had touched her there before they knew she was their anthata. He looked at her ear. It seemed different, less blunt at the tip, but he wasn’t sure. She turned and glanced at him shyly, seeing what he was looking at. She knew they were curious.

“Are you well, Soule?” he asked her, tracing her cheek. “Isidor and I, we please you?”

They were Siblin, not known to be tender lovers. Soule certainly seemed pleased. She looked full of good health, and not just that she’d gained weight, either. She had a glow, even more beautiful than when they’d met her, if that were possible.

“Yes,” she said, that way she had.

He had worried a little at first because she was so innocent, although he didn’t think Isidor had ever had any doubts. Soule was made for Siblin pleasure. She gave herself over to them completely, trusting them, her responses passionate. Just thinking about her surrender to them made his breathing deepen, earning him another honey glance from under long thick lashes, sending a surge through his belly.

“Stop it, you,” he said.

Another glance. She was such a handful. She teased him constantly. He pinched a sweet nipple lightly, making her jump. Her nipples were wonderfully sensitive. He rubbed one bud over the cloth of her dress, her breath catching again. Isidor came out of the house with a crate, setting it down.

“Are you going to help or play all day with our anthata?” Isidor complained, gesturing at her.

“I’m braiding,” Winter said.

“Her nipples?” Isidor returned.

Husky giggle in front of him. Winter held up the unfinished end of the braid, long silky red strands still below it, evidence. Isidor made a suspicious noise, going back inside. Winter braided more rapidly. He tied it off, giving her another kiss on the top of her head and rose, grabbing a crate and going inside.

“Do Soule’s ears look different to you?” Winter said, setting the crate down, heaving another aside, making space.

Isidor glanced at him, stopping and straightening.

“I thought so yesterday,” he said, both of them surprised.

They moved things, thinking about that, packing what they would bring from the island to The Singsong when they went.

“We should find Lowen,” Isidor said.

“To meet her?” Winter said warily.

Isidor nodded.

“Things might go easier,” his brother replied.

Lowen was another Siblin twain like Maren had been. Lowen had also offered to take them when their parents died, but they had chosen Maren. Lowen had never held it against them, always friendly. He’d helped them with the loan to purchase The Singsong after Maren disappeared. They had repaid Lowen with interest and their sincere thanks.

Lowen was older, had once held a seat on the Council. He could speak for them. It was a good idea. Winter nodded, agreeing.

“We have to get past the straight first,” Winter muttered.

Winter worried about it. It wasn’t just trusting their luck that a siren wouldn’t show up and sing them to the depths. It was Soule. She was their anthata. They loved her. They didn’t want to lose her.

In his darkest moments, Winter imagined that she would somehow be entranced by the black rocks, the tall thin arches. It was a dark, mystic place, and Soule was real, a person with her own mind and will, but there was also a part of her that was like that. Not evil, but strange and beautiful, like her singing. That part drew them, fascinated them, but they didn’t understand it enough yet to predict what would happen.

He had wondered why Maren hadn’t brought Soule on The Wandering Eye to find them when she was a child. But he had wondered that before he loved her. Now he knew exactly what Maren had feared. Maren hadn’t wanted to take her back where he found her in case she would somehow be compelled to stay there. Siblin had never seen a siren outside the rocks of the straight. He knew it wasn’t entirely sensible, but for some reason the idea of taking her through those rocks terrified him.

But they had a year from the ritual to present her to the Siblin Council as their anthata. They had eleven barrels of Dorsa wine to trade and they wanted a life with her.

“I think she’d let us tie her up if we explained,” Isidor said low.

Isidor had obviously also been thinking along the same lines, although he looked guilty even suggesting it. That idea had occurred to Winter as well.

“It wouldn’t be right,” Winter muttered.

“I know,” Isidor agreed.

Soule was their anthata, not their prisoner. She was herself. They would tie her for pleasure eventually, but not for true, not to keep her with them if some part of her wanted or needed otherwise. She was a free person. It felt wrong. The idea of it made him almost as uncomfortable as taking her through the Brecca rocks.

Soule showed up at the door. She came in, her eyes shifting between them. Beautiful. Winter walked to her, cupping her face, her honey eyes smiling at him. He kissed her, Isidor taking her when he was done, Soule looking pleased.

“We want to talk to you, my beauty,” Isidor told her.

“All right,” she said.

“What did Maren say, Soule, about how he found you when you were a child?” Winter asked.

At the question, Soule avoided his eyes a little. Winter wondered what she was thinking. It was difficult to tell sometimes with Soule.

“Father told me he was sailing in his ship when he saw me on the rocks. He told me he brought me here to Nanine so nobody would hurt me.”

“When we leave tomorrow, we’ll have to pass through the Brecca Straight,” Winter told her. “That’s where the black rocks are. That’s where Maren found you when you were a child.”

She glanced at him and nodded. He still couldn’t tell how she was reacting, what Maren had told her.

“Sirens are sometimes on the black rocks in the Brecca Straight,” Isidor told her.

“There are people like me there?” she said uneasily.

Winter studied her face. Maren hadn’t been able to face what he’d done. Soule’s mother had probably been like her, Maren had to have realized that, raising Soule. He didn’t think Maren had lied to her outright, but he hadn’t told her everything either.

“Not like you, Soule,” Winter told her, giving her the truth, or at least this part of it. “If a siren comes, she’ll sing. Her song will drive us mad. It’s why people fear the sirens. They’ve guarded the straight for two hundred years. We have to go back through them to leave. It’s the risk we took, coming here to find Maren. To find you. We just have to hope a siren doesn’t come.”

“How do you know a siren would do that?” Soule asked cautiously, like she was trying to figure out what to believe.

“Because of the dead men on the rocks, Soule,” Isidor answered her.

“You’ve seen them?” she asked.

“Yes,” Winter said, Isidor nodding.

She turned to Winter, beginning to breathe faster.

“Father told me those are just stories,” she said. “That it was the stories that made people fear me because they didn’t know any better.”

She stopped, looking down.

“He lied, didn’t he,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.

Maren must have gotten himself into a corner at one point and dug himself in deep to actually lie to her. From what they’d read, Soule had been a curious and persistent child.

“That was a lie, yes,” Isidor told her, wincing. “Mostly I think Maren didn’t say everything because he didn’t know all of it. We don’t understand how you can be who you are and they can be what they are. But the truth is still that sirens live in the straight and they kill sailors.”

“Why? Does anyone know?” Soule said low.

Winter couldn’t imagine finding out he belonged to a people who did things like that for no reason, especially if you were a reasoning person yourself. But it was worse than that. And they couldn’t explain it either.

“Nobody knows for certain,” Isidor answered. “People think they know. But there may be no truth to it, it may be as Maren said, just stories. People say in the stories that the sirens—.”

Isidor hesitated. Even if they would lie to her, which they wouldn’t, she was going to hear it elsewhere.

“People say that’s how they eat,” Isidor finished, no way to say it any better.

They saw her understand. She paled, her eyes getting big.

“Sirens eat people?” she said, her voice faint.

“We don’t know that,” Winter said. “All we really know right now is two things. First, you are who you are. Second, some sirens kill sailors. You’re going to see that when we go through the straight, and then you’ll know it’s not a story, so you don’t have to rely on the word of others.”

Soule looked down. Isidor approached her, touching her cheek. She looked up.

“You’re not like them, my beauty,” Isidor said. “Don’t ever think that.”

#

Isidor guided The Singsong, Soule tucked in front of him where he could see her, Winter busy with the rigging, making sure they got every breath of wind. Winter had a feel for the sails. Wind was speed, safety. Isidor was at the helm. He’d always been better at it.

It didn’t take long before they saw the rocks. There were tales to frighten sailors of getting mired in the straight with lifeless sails, stuck there until a siren noticed and came to sing you to madness. But the wind was brisk today, their luck following, he hoped.

The first rocks came on their port side, black as ink, the cliffs beginning to rise around them, also then on the starboard side. Soon the wreckage began to show up, the bodies. Isidor glanced down at the red hair of the siren tucked in front of him. She had seen them. He couldn’t see her face.

The strangeness of it went through him, the unlikeliness of her. Isidor’s eyes went to the cliffs, but all his worry was concentrated on the beauty in front of him, his fear this place would try to claim her somehow. The Singsong carried them, the eerie silence complete, the cries of sea birds in the crags, the crack of the sheets in the wind, more than halfway now.

“We’ll be through soon. This is the worst of it,” Isidor said to her in a low voice, kissing the top of her head, his hands on the wheel.

She turned to look up at him, solemn. Isidor studied her, wondering briefly if all sirens really had her beauty. He couldn’t imagine any woman as beautiful as Soule. Her eyes were clear. Isidor took his hand from the wheel briefly, reaching to touch her ear, tracing the peaked shape of it, remembering when he’d touched it before he knew she was their anthata. He could swear it was more tipped, less blunt. She shivered a little against him.

“How is she?” Winter asked, coming up beside them.

Soule looked up at him. Winter looked at her just as Isidor had, relieved to see she seemed like herself, giving her one of his rare smiles that changed his face. Soule lit up to see it, smiling back at him. Isidor turned his head, motion in his side vision.

“Siren,” he said, the word dropping like a stone, his body locking, his hands whitening on the wheel.

Winter turned sharply to look. They both froze. Isidor realized that he had been so worried about getting Soule through the straight and away from the rocks that he had put the danger of a siren showing up in the back of his mind as less likely, not as urgent.

As any sailor who had ever seen a siren on these rocks had, he imagined, Isidor felt a wash of despair, seeing the inevitability of it. Trapped. There would be no escape. There was no way to stop it, no means to fight her. No sailor who had ever heard siren song in the Brecca Straight had ever survived to tell the tale. It was just luck, or fate. They would die here. Soule might survive, although the thought of their gentle anthata being marooned on the black rocks with this monster was almost as horrifying.

The figure emerged from one of the tall arches in the cliff face, every sailor’s nightmare. She walked barefoot on the bones of dead men, stepping lightly over rocks and spilled cargo, pale, an eerie grace, her upper body not moving. She climbed onto the black rocks on the port side. She stopped, facing nothing, too still.

She slowly pivoted to face The Singsong. Her long dark hair rose and trailed in the wind, dressed, as in the paintings of them, in ragged dirty white cloth draped around her like a shroud, her face a white oval from here, her mouth opening, a dark O.

Isidor’s heart was pounding, their death on the rocks. The Singsong was drawn to pass her by every law of wind and wave. He began to hear it, a voice in the wind, beautiful and true. Isidor saw Winter turn Soule toward him quickly, taking her by the shoulders, the wind coming up to whip his dark hair, her red hair just as wild around her.

“Hide inside our cabin!” Winter raised his voice to be heard. “Lock the door so we can’t hurt you. Don’t open it to us no matter what happens.”

Soule shook her head. She pulled out of his grasp in a sharp move, running from him.

“Soule!” Winter said urgently, going after her, everything happening too fast.

Winter suddenly stopped, his hands going to his head, Isidor doing the same a moment later, releasing the wheel where it spun aimlessly. The song hit them, in their minds, and he couldn’t think of anything else.