POV: Beth
Two days pass after the storm. Enough for bruises to bloom fully. Enough for Alaric to forget he ever held me like I mattered.
We sail under calmer skies now—soft wind, glass-blue waters stretching endless. The crew moves easier. Riva hums shanties. Niall plays dice with Bram using bullets instead of coins.
I learn knots until fingers blister. Kaine teaches me balance on deck. I fall often. He laughs often. Even that feels like progress.
Then, near twilight, the sea changes.
The water turns darker—too dark. Depth looking back. Air cools sharply, though sun still bleeds gold over horizon.
Riva stops mid-song.
Kaine grips railing. “Do you feel that?”
Alaric’s head lifts from charts. His expression shutters—focus hardening into steel.
“Close the shutters. No one listens. If you hear singing, plug your ears,” he orders, sudden authority filling every word. “Beth—stay near me.”
My pulse spikes. “What’s happening?”
“Sirens,” Riva whispers, voice small for first time since I met her. “Sea witches of the deep water. Beautiful death.”
Wind falls still. Ocean holds breath.
Then—faint. Distant. Haunting.
A voice. Not one—many. High and low, woven like silk and bones. The melody is wrong in its beauty. Sweet and cold. Like honey laced with poison.
The crew reacts instantly—men shove plugs of wax in ears, wrap cloth over heads. Riva wraps rope around her torso to mast. Kaine ties Bram to wheel.
“Beth!” Alaric grabs my wrist and pushes cloth into my palm. “Cover your ears. Do not listen.”
I nod, try to comply—but curiosity betrays me.
Just for a second, cloth slips from one ear.
The song floods in.
And the world stops.
Voices echo like cathedral bells underwater. Notes shimmer like pearls sinking. My vision blurs edges of ship—horizon bending. Siren song speaks not to ears but to bones.
Come home…
My breath catches. I should fall into trance—like stories say. Women drown smiling. Men leap willingly into waves.
But instead of seduction—cold recognition slithers through me.
The voices shift, harmonies darkening.
Saltblood… lost daughter… tide-born…
My heart stops.
“Salt… blood?” I whisper.
Alaric rips cloth from my frozen hand and slams it over my ear, fury in eyes. “Are you mad? Never listen!”
“But they— they spoke to m—”
He grips my chin hard, eyes sharp. “No one is immune. Not even kings. Do not test death.”
Except I wasn’t enchanted.
I heard words.
Personal. Directed.
The singing grows. Louder. Closer. Water ripples with unnatural glow. Shadow forms beneath surface—long, sliding shapes like pale limbs.
Riva’s voice shakes. “They’re near.”
Sleek heads break waves—women, but wrong. Skin shimmering silver beneath moon. Hair like seaweed and gold. Eyes black like deepwater trenches.
Nightmare angels.
One rises taller—crown of bone coral, lips blue.
She sings directly toward me.
My limbs tremble—not lust, not surrender. Recognition.
She tilts her head, studying me with ancient hunger.
Saltblood… you are marked…
Alaric pulls me behind him, posture shifting protective and violent. Sword drawn in one smooth motion.
“You don’t touch her,” he growls.
Something dark stirs in chest at his tone.
The siren queen smiles, razor teeth flashing. “She carries the ocean in her veins. Not you.”
“I said—” Alaric steps forward, blade gleaming, “she isn’t yours.”
She laughs—sound like drowning. Waves rise.
Crew struggles against enchantment. Even tied, Bram leans toward railing. Kaine’s pupils dilate. Riva bites her wrist to stay conscious.
Sirens circle.
Their song swells—beauty and terror woven. The ocean answers like black heart beating.
But for me—song changes.
Whispers curl intimate against skull.
Child of tide. Child of storm. Born from salt and blade.
A chill deeper than sea crawls spine.
My pirate mark—hidden so long—burns faint beneath glove.
I tear cloth from one ear intentionally this time—needing confirmation.
Voices hiss like waves swallowing ships.
Saltblood. Leviathan sleeps. Sea bride. Come.
I gasp, staggering back. Alaric grabs my shoulders.
“What did you hear?” he demands.
“They—” my voice shakes, “they called me saltblood.”
Something like shock flashes across his eyes—brief, but real. Then guardedness replaces it.
He doesn’t know what it means. Or he does and won’t say.
The sirens draw nearer, circling like sharks. Water churns frothy white. Mist climbs rail.
Alaric shouts to crew, voice thunder itself. “RELEASE THE CHAIN!”
Bram snaps awake enough to obey. A heavy iron net with spiked buoys drops into sea—splashing around ship perimeter. When sirens attempt to cross, they shriek, flesh searing.
Pain drives them back.
The queen snarls—beautiful horror twisted—then dives, vanishing. Others follow, shadows sinking deep.
Silence returns slowly.
Breathing hurts. Knees weak. Heart refuses to slow.
Kaine collapses against railing, gasping. Riva wipes blood from bitten wrist. Niall fear-laughs, hysterical relief shaking him.
Alaric still grips my shoulders.
Too tight.
Too near.
He whispers, low and ragged from adrenaline. “Never open your ears to them again.”
“I should have drowned,” I say. “But I didn’t feel… drawn. Just… seen.”
His jaw tightens. “The sea notices things she wants. That is not blessing, Beth. It is hunger.”
Fear chills me.
Alaric stares—wind whipping hair, eyes storm-bright, expression unreadable.
I think the ocean waits for me.
Not to kill.
To claim.