Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
I don’t even remember her name.
But I do remember how she died.
“What are you doing?”
I glance up to see a pair of purple eyes shining down at me.
I clear my throat and take a step back. Why do I feel as if I’ve been caught doing something I need to feel shame for?
“I was sponging your tail,” I tell her. “I thought it might help it soak in better than just tossing a bucket of water on you.”
She nods, licking her lips. “Were you going to do the rest of my body?”
My eyes immediately go to her breasts, her nipples contracting into hard, pink pebbles. Though she’s always been topless, I go out of my way not to dwell on her nudity, lest I lose my mind.
But now, she’s making me look. She even juts out her chest a little, as if she wants my attention, wants my hands on her with my holy cloth, making her wet. For a moment, I imagine throwing out all constraints, all inhibitions, and having my way with her. I imagine leaving little bites along the full swell of her belly, along her fleshy sides, leaving just the tiniest trails of blood, which I would delicately lap up with my tongue like a feline. I would make her moan that same deep, breathless sound that she expelled when I was drinking her blood.
Then, I would search for her most intimate spot, perhaps a slit hidden along the front length of her tail, pull out my already rigid cock, and thrust inside her until I heard her screams.
“Yes,” I hear her whisper, so faint that I might have imagined it.
But it’s enough to pull me back in control.
I swallow thickly and avert my eyes from her chest. “I would say my job here is done.”
Before I can change my mind, I take the bucket and throw the rest of the water in her face. She cries out, sputtering as the water cascades over her head, and then I pour what’s left in the bucket over my own.
I need to slap some sense into myself just as much as she needs it.
“I must conduct a funeral and a sermon,” I tell her, wiping the water off my brow. “You’ll have to survive while I’m gone. I can get you something to eat if you tell me what that is.”
She glares at me, rivulets running down her face. “A human heart. Yours, preferably.”
I can’t help but give her a tepid smile. “You’ll never have my heart, little fish.”
Besides, I’m not even human.
The funeral service and the sermon that followed were just what I needed to get myself back on track. Being so wrapped up with the Syren, I’d forgotten what it was like to really perform my role. It’s not just about my relationship—or lack thereof—with God; it’s about my relationship with the villagers. They look to me for guidance, especially in times of stress and fear. Death may be no stranger to these parts, but gruesome accidents, like the ones that had befallen their neighbors, are few and far between.
Yes, there is the occasional skirmish with the native population who live on the outskirts of the settlements, and every now and then, there is a situation of abuse and brutality between a husband and his wife, or two drunks at the ale house, but for the most part, violence isn’t common here, unless it came on the deck of a pirate ship.
These people needed to hear God’s words of wisdom, to feel hope and make sense of the world around them. I needed to remember why I am stuck in this outpost. It’s not just because I deserve isolation—it’s because I have something to offer.
But even though I felt recharged by the time the worshippers left the church, I can’t say my mind was completely focused on my flock, for I kept thinking about the wolf I had behind closed doors. While I gave my sermon about living with sin and finding the courage to rise above it with grace, I was wallowing in the muck and the mire by holding that creature captive for my own gains. Though I kept telling myself I needed to do this for my own sake, it didn’t stop the urges and shameful thoughts from sinking in.
It didn’t stop the truth.
I acted like a man of God when, in truth, I was a man of the Devil.
I was no man at all.
What I really wanted from the Syren wasn’t her blood, and it wasn’t my survival.
It was her.
Just her.
She’s been my captive for less than a week, I don’t even know her name, and I can’t imagine ever letting her go.
If you’re going to have an obsession, make sure it’s the right one. Abe’s words ring in my head. He meant for the monastery and religion to become my obsession because if I was fixated on that, then I wouldn’t have time to think about the beast I was trying to escape. And it worked.