The Sea Siren

Chapter Forty

Vivian

The world spins when my eyes begin to peel open.

Face-first in a mound of damp hay, I roll my head to the side, blinking continually to regain my sight.

But it isn't sight I recover first. Memories come onto me quick, a bottomless pit forming in my gut as I attempt to move, finding that my wrists are tied.

No...

No!

Through the corner of my eye, standing hazy in this dull light, I sense the shadow of a man. Despite the ache in my bones, the shooting pain in my ankle, I slide until my back molds to the filthy wall, gasping for air to bring the world to a still.

Michel looks pleased to see me in such a state.

"It was always going to end this way, you know."

Ignoring him, I pull on the rope, trying anything to loosen the grip. The fibers barely budge. Clearly the artist knew his craft. My eyes drop to my boots, knowing my ankle has swelled beneath the leather considerably. I'm not even sure I can walk. From there, as everything stops spinning, my gaze shifts wall to wall, taking in the barren surroundings. It isn't until the ground tilts that I truly understand where I am.

Why I'm rocking from side to side.

"This your ship?" I ask hoarsely.

We've cast off from land, that much is clear. My crew... god knows what they are imagining.

Bastian... to return and find the room in disarray. Someone will tell him what happened, won't they?

"No, not mine." He turns when the door unlocks and opens. A man carrying a plate enters, handing it over to the devil in uniform. My teeth grind when I hear the door bolt again behind the sailor, squarely locking eyes with the man I once naively thought I knew.

He is just as evil in the daylight as he was under the stars last night.

Grabbing a chair, he plants it in front of me, taking a seat. Barely blinking, too tense to look away, I watch him pick at the food with his filthy fingers. "There's a decent selection on this ship compared to the last one I was on. They even have fruit."

"Untie me," I snap.

He shakes his head, a single grape between his fingers. "As I cannot do that, you'll have to deal with this."

He holds the grape to my mouth, his intent crystal clear.

It slips through my lips, his eyes dropping down to revel in the nauseatingly submissive gesture. Chewing, I stare into his devoid eyes, forced to remember a time where I would have demurely accepted his demand.

It's hard to imagine he could believe I'm still that woman.

He looks shocked, flinching in disgust, when I spit the food back into his face with a scowl.

A hearty laugh leaves me, watching him wipe the mess from his face. Shooting me a menacing glare, he scoffs, producing a handkerchief from his fresh clothes. "You know... the woman I used to know presented herself like a lady. You weren't one," he laughs, "but you had manners at the very least."

Snarls of rage burst from my lips.

He surveys me closely, calm to be the one untied. "You are quite rabid now." Leaning back, he sighs. "No matter. You'll just have to starve until we reach shore, won't you?"

My fingers tear restlessly at the rope behind my back, my heart raging in my chest.

Whatever blunt force took me under has matted my hair with blood, making my head throb with discomfort. It takes effort to even keep my eyes open.