The Sea Calls the Siren Sick
any more sea monsters or merfolk after the attack, but the crew watched their captain throughout the rest of the day. Greyson shadowed him, his eyes shrewd and displeased. At any given hour, Aurelia could hear Copson saying, “I’m not sick, I won’t be sick, siren sickness is a myth,” in increasingly frustrated tones.
Eventually night fell, the sails lifted, and the crew turned in. Greyson finally relented and left Copson’s side, and Aurelia returned to her cabin. But as she readied for bed and reached to extinguish the light, unease sent a shiver down her back.
Across the room, Lavinia was already asleep. Aurelia checked for her sword and dagger, which were in their scabbards by her head. The ship rocked gently in the waves, and all was quiet and calm.
Except for her gut.
Ralph had accused her the day before of not having the sense, and if this was it, she wouldn’t ignore it. She stood, tugged on her boots, strapped on her weapons, and grabbed the lantern.
All was dark and quiet beyond her door. The crew’s quarters were filled with gently swinging hammocks and soft snores. She spent only a moment looking at them before she headed for the stairs.
The stars and moon bathed the misty main deck in a pale glow, and water lapped gently against the hull. The Fortuna Royale and the Ophelia slept soundly on either side of the Destiny’s Revenge, and nothing was amiss.
Light poured from the crack beneath the captain’s door, but that wasn’t necessarily different. Still, she bit her lip, considering. Then she mustered her courage, tiptoed to the door, and knocked.
“Who is it?” called a strained voice.
“Miss Rowe.”
Footsteps, then the door wrenched open and a hand flashed into the dark to pull her inside.
“Thank God,” William said, striding for the couch as she froze, dumbfounded, by the door as it closed behind her. Every lantern was lit, as was his fire, and the room blazed with light and heat. She nearly blew out her lantern until William held out his hand. Strands of black hair were matted to his pale, sweaty face, and his damp shirt clung to his torso beneath the gun holster still strapped to his chest as he said, “Don’t. Please. I need light.”
She tried not to let her gaze linger on his body as she edged toward the couch and set her lantern on the low table between him and the fire. “What’s wrong?” she asked hesitantly.
He sucked in a loud breath and sank onto the cushion. “I’m about to be very ill.”
She took a step back. “Um—”
“Not like that,” he said quickly. “Siren sickness.”
“You said it was a myth.”
“I say a lot of things.” He placed his head into his hands and curled his fingers into his hair. “I didn’t want them to know. I didn’t want Greyson to worry.”
Aurelia knelt, tilting her head to see his face between his arms.
“I’ve been resisting the urge to throw myself into the sea all day, but it’s so much harder when the sun is down. Heat and light buy time and stave off the effects, but the madness comes when night falls. The change begins, and my only hope is to light a fire and pray I don’t succumb for long.” He spoke quickly, his words running together. “In total darkness, the sickness takes hours to get over if one doesn’t reach the water, but I hope I’ve already cut the sickness short with—” His head swiveled toward the door.
Above the crackling fire, she heard the delicate harmony of otherworldly voices. A chill shot down her spine. “William?”
He looked at her, his eyes crazed. “They’re coming for me.”
Her hand drifted for her sword. “What should I do?”
“Sit with me. Distract me.” He leaned closer, gripping the cushion. A faint patch of blue-black scales webbed over the back of his hands. Her breath caught at the sight.
“Aurelia, you mustn’t believe a word I say tonight—if the sickness overtakes me—” He gave a violent shudder. “I will do anything, say anything, to get to the water. And if I do it, if I reach the sea, I’m done for. I’ll become one of them.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to be one of them.”
“You’ve been sick before?”
He didn’t answer immediately. “I have no memory of it,” he finally said. “My father’s old crew said I became someone else—something else. They tied me to a mast to keep me from throwing myself over.” His eyes snapped back to the door and the siren song beyond. “They’re all dead.”
She sat on the couch beside him. “Can you fight it?”
He shook his head, then nodded, then his head was moving in diagonals before he shoved it back into his hands. His nails had lengthened, darkening at the edges. “Even with the fire, it’s like there’s a monster in my skin and it’s so damn hard to— God, I’m fighting like hell.” His blue eyes sought her. “If I can’t do it, you must get Greyson. I don’t want—” He flinched and groaned. “Speak to me. Tell me anything, I beg you.”
Her words spilled out in a rush. “I’ve been hearing about a pirate’s intuition since I got on board, though I didn’t understand until tonight when I…I felt something was wrong. I also wonder how you’re such a cheat at cards, because I can’t figure out how you could possibly do it.”
“I pay attention,” he said with a strangled laugh. “To the deck. I count cards. Never let me shuffle.”
She nodded too quickly. “I also wonder why you didn’t tell me you shot Pierre. Everyone says you did.”
His eyes were pained, his face gleaming with sweat. “Impulsivity is often not the virtue I like to think it is, even if I don’t particularly regret it.” An almost-smile flashed over his face before it was replaced by a grimace.
Aurelia kept talking. “This morning when I lost my voice, everyone told me something different about what caused it.”
He rocked back, his eyes shut tight. “I’d have told you it was because of something your aunt might say about the devil.”
“I might’ve been inclined to believe you, had I not watched that awful creature take it.” She laughed weakly like it was funny and not as embarrassing as it felt.
The dark scales on his hands caught the light as he flexed his fingers. “Don’t believe me—please, Aurelia, don’t believe a word I say.”
“Tonight?” she asked quietly. “Or always?”
His eyes snapped open, and he threw his arm toward the door. “Greyson,” he choked. “Now. Quickly.”
She pushed off the couch and sprinted across the room. But as her fingers closed around the doorknob, William’s palm slammed against the door, holding it shut.
He stood behind her, no longer panting or wrung with nervous energy. He was oddly still, save for his slow breath passing lightly over her ear. “Don’t go,” he said in a voice like warm honey and chocolate. “How I do love your company, Lady Danby.”
She flipped around. His irises had turned the deepest black—even the veins in his eyes had turned the color of charcoal, and black scales marked his neck. He grinned at her, revealing longer, sharper canines as he caged her between his arms.
William had lost the battle with the sickness. Now she faced the monster.
Her back pressed into the wood, as though she might force herself through it as he leaned close—so, so close. She could see his pulse fluttering in his throat, feel the heat radiating off his body, those powerful muscles honed by years of sailing. How easily this monster could overpower her, she realized. How cruel he might be with those claws and teeth.
“I-I’m going to get Greyson,” she said. “Like you told me.”
“No, stay with me.” His finger trailed down her cheek, dragging a long, dagger-sharp nail against her skin. Her breath faltered as it passed over her jugular.
She reached for the doorknob. “William—”
He snatched her hand and pressed it to his clammy cheek, his nose at her wrist, sharp teeth so close to the delicate flesh. He closed his eyes and inhaled. “Beautiful,” he breathed, and his eyes opened, black as pitch. “So very lovely.”
She stopped breathing altogether. Don’t believe a word I say.
“I’m getting Greyson,” she said. She tugged at her arm, but his hand was like a manacle, unforgiving as steel. “And everything will be okay. He can keep you safe.”
“Swim with me in the moonlit sea,” he murmured. “Do you know how freedom feels slipping over your flesh?” He leaned closer, his voice a whisper. “Like love and starlight.”
Oh Lord. The monster was seducing her into letting him get to the sea. As though he knew her deepest desires. As though he desired the same.
Wicked. The monster was wicked.
But if Aurelia had learned anything these past months, it was that she, too, could be wicked.
She looked into the obsidian eyes that hadn’t been merciful enough to leave even a hint of blue. With a thundering heart and quaking knees, she matched his smile and dropped her tone to match his. “Do you know what sounds like an even better idea?” she asked in a soft, sultry croon. His breath hitched. She stared at him through half-lidded eyes as she said, “Fetching your first mate.”
He yanked her hand above her head and pinned it against the door, digging her bones into the wood as he brought his face close. “Join me where I want to go,” he said roughly. “Come with me to the water, held in love and dipped in starlight.”
And then his lips were at her throat.
She gasped. In that moment, she wanted to follow him. Anywhere he would ask her to go, she’d happily take his hand and join him, just as he’d asked. Even to the depths of the sea—
Don’t believe a word I say.
She wanted it. She wanted William. But not like this. Not this half-dream—not whoever this was who wore his face and spoke with a voice like his, even as her heart thundered for so many years of wanting, dreaming of him seeing her as desirable.
With great effort, she planted her free hand over one of the guns on his chest and shoved him away, releasing the weapon at the same time. She cocked it and aimed at him. “No,” she snapped. “You won’t do this to me.”
His black eyes moved between her face and the gun. “Do what, lovely one?”
The gun trembled in her grip. “You’re not well, William. I’m going to get your first mate, and you’ll stay here until we help you.”
“I feel wonderful,” he said, creeping toward her. “I feel fantastic.” He grabbed the barrel and pushed it down to her side, whispering and sweating. He slowly reached around her, as though to grip her hip, but the touch didn’t come. “I feel…sweltering.”
He pushed her back, but no door stopped her. She stumbled onto the misty deck, surrounded by a hauntingly beautiful symphony of voices rising from the sea.
His teeth flashed in the darkness as he prowled after her. “Positively scorching. Such that I think only a swim would ease the heat in my bones. And to be in the water with you…” His eyes dropped to her lips.
She lifted the gun as he moved forward, and this time it did not tremble. “I will shoot you.”
His smile made her blood go cold. “No, you won’t.”
She squeezed the trigger. With a loud crack, a bullet embedded in the plank an inch from his boot. “I’ll do it,” she said.
Whether it was because of the sickness or purely William’s own ability, he moved faster than she could react. His arm swung, knocking the gun from her grip before he threw his arms around her and tugged her toward the edge of the ship as easily as if he were leading her in a dance, even as she thrashed.
“Greyson!” she gasped, breathless in William’s tight hold.
“Let the ocean lay claim to us both,” he said in that lilting, lovely voice. He dipped her, bending her back so far over the railing that a slight shift in weight would send them both falling. The sea below churned with songs and scales. Pale hands rose from the water, begging them toward the deep with sharp claws and webbed fingers. “We shall make a home in the waters and live forever.”
“William, please! Let me speak with you first.” She clung to the railing, anchoring herself to the ship and its captain. Her braid swung through the open air. It was a long, long way to the water…
“Speak, lovely,” he said into her neck.
She locked her feet around a baluster and shoved him. For a split second, her balance tipped toward the water, but as William stumbled back, she gripped the rail and swung herself up and away from the edge. She’d hardly gained her footing before his arms locked around her once more.
She went limp, slipping from his grip to the deck. She swung her leg and kicked his feet out from under him, stood, then leveled her sword at him, praying someone had heard the gunshot and would come to investigate. She tossed a quick glance at the door to the lower decks, but it remained shut.
He grinned at her. “What must I do.” The mermaids grew louder as he rose to his feet. “What must I say.”
“Nothing. You won’t leave this ship without me.” She approached, her sword between them, driving him toward the center of the deck. “And I am not leaving.”
“You’re frightening,” he said with a wicked smile. “But I’m frightening too.”
He charged, ducking below her sword and sliding for her legs. She danced out of his way, but not fast enough as he hooked his arm behind her knees and pulled her down. He lunged for her sword and knocked it from her hand, sending it skittering over the deck.
“Greyson!” This time, her scream pealed through the night, carrying over the siren song.
She reached for her dagger and William’s second gun at the same time before twisting to elbow him in the head. He rolled and sprang to his feet, looking angry now.
“Your mother taught me,” she said breathlessly, backing away. “Don’t forget that.”
Out of the corner of her eye, wet hands gripped the balustrades, followed by impossibly beautiful faces and bodies that ended in shimmering tails. Though she still doubted her skill with a gun, she aimed at one of the merfolk and pulled the trigger. The creature fell back into the sea, so she shot the one next to it too. She surged forward, shooting twice more, and then threw herself into William.
They tumbled to the deck. “Wake up!” she cried, meeting his dark glare with one of her own as she straddled his stomach and pinned his arms with her knees.
He hissed. “Let me go.”
“This is your fault for kissing a mermaid, you fool!” Had she not been holding a gun and a dagger, she would have slapped him. Instead, she held the dagger to his throat, and lifted the gun to shoot the creatures climbing the ship as they crooned with terrible, beautiful voices. She screamed as she shot, drowning out the song and the man she loved as he writhed and cursed beneath her.
William worked an arm free and clawed at her leg. His eyes remained hateful and black, but his nails weren’t so long anymore, and they didn’t break through the fabric of her pants.
The merfolk kept singing. She kept yelling.
Greyson burst from the lower deck, brandishing a torch. He bludgeoned the merfolk nearest him, beating them off the side of the ship. At the sight of him nearing, many hissed and dove.
Still, the song continued.
Aurelia knocked William’s hand away from her leg with the butt of his gun before aiming it at his face. He stared at her with wide eyes—at the edges were threads of blue. “Stay down or I’ll put a bullet in you.”
She launched herself toward the bow, shooting until no bullets were left. She dropped the gun, retrieved her sword, and started swinging for the infernal creatures, hollering the same foul curses William had shouted at her moments ago.
While Greyson fought on the starboard, Aurelia took to the port, hacking at hands and faces and tails—anything that shimmered or gleamed or sang. And as she went, the song quieted.
Shots rang out behind her, and she spun.
William standing in the center of the deck, his discarded gun—the first she’d taken—in hand as he picked off the remaining merfolk.
Then the song stopped altogether. Silence fell, leaving only the sound of the water lapping against the ship.
In the light of Greyson’s torch, William’s eyes were clear blue again, and the scales were gone. He pulled his sweat-drenched shirt away from his skin, holstered his gun, and grumbled, “Damn bloody fish.”