The Sea Siren

Chapter Sixteen

Antony

It's quiet.

The beaches, the village, even the ocean.

An air of mystery hangs in suspension.

Long ago the fires dwindled into embers and I'm still sitting, staring at the pile of ash to keep myself from going everywhere at once. There is nothing so different of myself apart from a deep hum in my chest that has made my muscles tense, my heart race, my desires awaken in a way I can barely suppress.

I was strong enough to watch her walk away.

I was strong enough to remain here when everyone else departed for rest.

Even when her eyes spoke of lust, I fought the urge with every fiber of my being, knowing condemnation is at the end of this tightrope I'm treading.

It must be nearing dawn although the sky is still as black as ever. Whether the visions I continue to have of her are natural or induced by the laced delicacy I consumed earlier, I have no idea but they keep coming.

I can feel her. I regret looking away when I should have been studying every inch of her.

It's clear I've fallen past a point where stopping this feels possible.

The attraction is nonsensical, something I crave despite what she's done, despite who she is, despite what it could do to my family. I have always been a perfect son, even when I felt anything but that. I made them believe it, did whatever necessary to secure the love of my father.

It was all I had.

Without it, I was no one. Nothing. Without it, I was without family.

I've never been as reckless as I have now. I should be planning this woman's demise—no—I should have already killed her. And yet, here I am, defecting on my duties, on my allegiance to the realm, positive that if that woman walked within five feet of me now, I'd concede to this power within me that wrings my fingers into a fist, that intoxicates my blood beyond comprehension.

I fucking want her.

Overhead, through the clouds, lights soar through the sky with the speed of a bullet. The charred firewood still upright tumbles, pluming into an ash pile. The heat of this region makes the air thick, even without the presence of the sun.

The peaceful silence makes an intruding footstep easy to catch.

My eyes move with reluctance from the cinders and sparks towards the noise, somehow knowing what I'll find. Already, the peace is gone. She steals it from me.

Neither of us move for a few moments. Me by the campsite, her by the willowed tree.

But she's here for a reason.

Corruption.

Her eyes are steady enough to ensure to me that she's been just as preoccupied with lewd thoughts as I have been. One of us has to make the first move—the first mistake.

And that's when I stand, unclenching my fists.

Wearing what is clearly a nightgown covered by her waistcoat, linked with a belt to hold it closed, she stares wordlessly as I approach her with no rush to my steps, feeling every bit of the ruin we wreak with each move I make. I stop in front of her, noting the wildness of her hair, the unnatural excitement in her dilated eyes.

"Not here," she says through almost locked teeth.

And I know without a fact that this isn't going to be gentle.