2. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
W e swim back to the part of the ocean that we call home, some of us full of the energy that we had recently been lacking and with our hunger fully sated. It's rare that so many of us were able to feed at once. Usually, we fight over a couple of souls and only get a little nibble as we share the bodies between us. The mood amongst those of us who have fed is lighter than it has been in some time, my sisters playing and joking together. Their skin is brighter since the hunt, whereas before, it was dull. Their hair is shiny and healthy in contrast to the thin strands they had before. It is good to see them full of life and virality. When months go past between hunts, everyone becomes more irritable and occasionally aggressive. There have been frequent disagreements and verbal sparring over the past weeks as hunger began to take over and push us all to the edge. Those who didn’t feed today continue to display that hostility.
We have lived in the oceans of Witches Cove for decades. It's the perfect place to lure humans. However, over the years, our hunts have created suspicion and fear among humans. The death of fishermen became a legend, a superstition, a story whispered around campfires. Many refer to it as the witch's curse.
We never leave our victims alive to tell anyone about the existence of our species, so they never find out that sirens are the cause of accidents and disappearances. When we begin a hunt, we don't stop until the sound of human heartbeats has ceased. Until there’s nothing left but scraps of clothing and bones. But of course, when boats were destroyed and sunk far more frequently than is typical, with their passengers nowhere to be found, people started to develop theories.
Some say the boats crashed due to the tumultuous waters and that after, blood thirsty sharks consumed those on board. Stupid, really, sharks don't enjoy the taste of humans anywhere near as much as humans think they do. Just a bite here and there and often by accident. They know to leave them for us.
Other humans believe that a witch has cursed the oceans. The town initially had another name but has been called Witches Cove for many years now. The witch exists—well, so I've been told. I've never seen her myself, but the witch is a legend amongst our kind. She is the creature we tell scary stories about. She isn't responsible for the missing humans but if the stories are true, is capable of causing her own chaos and destruction.
It has always been our mission to keep the existence of the supernatural a secret from humans. We are significantly outnumbered, and we have been taught the history of what mankind does to those who are different. That is why we have our one rule as a species: never let a human escape.
Dead men tell no stories.
The next day, my sisters are relaxing and lounging on the seafloor, enjoying the feeling of full stomachs and the energy that only accompanies a freshly consumed soul. I can’t seem to relax, though. It’s like an itch under my skin that I can’t satisfy. I move from sister to sister, engaging in mindless conversations, not fully invested in what they are discussing. The thing is, the life of a siren is boring. We hunt, we relax, we sleep, and we eat. Occasionally, but not frequently enough, we explore the ocean and some of us go to land. It’s when I’m on land that I see how different life can be and I’m envious of humans and the lives they lead.
Eventually, the boredom becomes more than I can bear, and I break off from my sisters to swim restlessly with no destination in mind. I've been doing this a lot recently. I’m becoming more and more isolated and I feel discontented and unsatisfied.
After swimming mindlessly I find myself drawn to shore. Once again, the land reaches out to me and I can't resist its call.
I pull myself onto the beach within a secluded area surrounded by rocks. The familiar tingling sensation with a hint of pain works its way down my body. My claws retract and the webbing between my fingers disappears. The spikes lining my spine sink beneath my skin, disappearing out of sight. My skin pales and takes on a milky tone instead of my natural blue-gray pallor and lastly, my tail separates into two legs. In moments, I am no longer a creature of the ocean but one of land. I'm able to blend in and immerse myself in the human world, giving no indication of the monster within.
There’s a catch to this ability though, we can become human for only twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours to live a different life before I must return to the ocean. And the price I pay every time is the need for another soul faster than usual. The more time spent on land, the quicker my body deteriorates. The ability to shift appears to be tied to the human souls we consume, the time spent in a human body running our battery until it goes flat. The hunger is worth it though, the fatigue, the pain. All worth it so that I can be amongst the humans.
At the time of our creation, we were given the ability to shift our appearance to further our species. Sirens are only born female and cannot reproduce with each other. We require human males for this. The allowance of a human body for a brief time provides us the opportunity to use our song to seduce and fuck a human to get pregnant. We then return to the ocean to continue the gestation period at home before giving birth to our young. Coming to land isn't supposed to be a regular thing and it isn't supposed to be enjoyed, a tolerated necessity. But I feel very different.
I pull on some simple clothing that we keep hidden for times such as these and begin to walk on unsteady legs up the beach and into town. The sensations I experience on land differ to what I am used to. I relish the feeling of the sun on my skin, the noises of people and cars busying the streets. And the smell. Oh, the smell of human food. It has me drooling in seconds. I love all the food I’ve had the opportunity to taste on land but I am partial to anything deep fried—especially cheeseburgers. Nothing compares to the smell and taste of human food. Not even human flesh. In fact, we can’t smell much at all in the ocean, and noises are muted when we aren’t hunting. The vast differences in my perceptions of the world make land even more enjoyable for me.
Sometimes, like today when I venture to land, I have no purpose in mind. I know we are supposed to be mating but because I haven't reached the age of fertility this isn’t of great importance and therefore sex is purely for enjoyment. Most of the time I need to break up the monotony of my life in the ocean. I love to observe humans as they go about their lives and learn about their world. There are so many experiences here that we cannot have. I'm envious of their freedom. Their choices. I’m eager to learn what it is like to be a human and every time I come to land, I try to absorb as much information as possible.
I often fantasize about what my life would be like if I were a human. I’ve watched and interacted with humans often enough that I feel like I can pass as one quite easily, but I can never be one of them. I crave the total autonomy they seem to have in their lives. They can do anything they want. Be anything they want. Restrictions and a primal need for survival don't bind them. They have the luxury to live the way they want. But most of all it's the way that they love that captures my interest so thoroughly. They love each other so wholly and completely and not just in the familial way that I am the most familiar with. From my time spent watching humans, it seems like the bonds that they form with each other can be more intense and passionate than anything I've ever experienced. What would it be like to be loved in that way?
Finding a place to sit in the town's center, I watch people pass and contemplate what my life would be like if I were like these people I watch and envy. What would I do? Where would I go? When I'm on land my emotions and thoughts are conflicted. I love the ocean, and I love my sisters—most of the time—but something is missing: a purpose. I want to have something to live for that’s not just about survival. I want to experience the kind of love I've only ever seen from afar.
A movement catches my attention in my peripheral vision. A man watches me with interest. His blond hair is damp and salty from the ocean and his eyes are a deep brown. I smile.
Oh, he will do nicely.
I peer at him from under my eyelashes and push my long red hair behind my ear. I bite my lip and then slowly run my fingers down my neck and over the curves of the top of my breasts. He moves forward, quickly walking towards me.
Got you.
“Um hi… er how are you? I'm Sammy… er, Sam. I'm Sam. Can I buy you lunch?” he stammers nervously.
I smile and begin to hum. So softly that no one other than Sam can hear. The only people who can be affected by my song are the ones I directly target. If anyone were to get close to us right now, they might hear me but would not be entranced in the same way.
I hum the tune of a seductress, enthralling him and pulling him under my spell. In moments, his eyes glaze over. I could ask him to do anything, and he would obey. I could ask him to walk into oncoming traffic. Or I could ask him to cut off a limb. Fortunately for Sammy boy, that’s not who I am, and all I want today is a good fuck. So, I reduce the intensity of my song, just enough to keep him interested but still allow him his free will. If he wants to leave badly enough, he can. This helps me move things along quicker. After all, I only have twenty-four hours.
“Oh, that would be so amazing. I'm starving!” I respond with a flirtatious giggle. His eyes brighten with excitement and lust.
“What’s your name beautiful?”
“Kairi,” I respond, giving him my real name. It’s not like he will remember it after today, anyway.
He takes my hand and leads me to a nearby diner, talking about the surf this morning the whole way, having been out there early this morning. I knew he was a surfer boy.
“Do you like the ocean?” he enquires.
“You could say that. I practically live there,” I reply with a smirk.
After finding a place to sit in the busy diner and perusing the menu I excitedly order a burger and fries. Apart from the sex, food is the best part of being human.
We wait for our meals while Sam tells me more about himself. I'm not at all interested, but I’m great at playing pretend. As long as I laugh here and there, look at him from beneath my eyelashes, and make sure to touch him at every opportunity—just a brush of arms or legs—he will remain interested.
My disinterest is a way of protecting myself and my heart. I want to experience love more than I think I have ever wanted anything. When I first started coming to land, I sought out connections trying to fill the void that was starting to grow within me. I tried to get to know the men I inevitably went home with. I engaged fully in the conversations I had with others, desperate to learn anything and everything about them. I love talking to people and am generally very sociable. However, conversing with humans on a more personal level caused me to return to the ocean feeling despondent and alone. A connection, however fleeting, reminds me of what I don’t have, what I can't have. Human men are for breeding and nothing else. Any relationship with a human is forbidden and has the potential to be a threat to our species, and that is why I now just use humans for my satisfaction.
When our food arrives, I dive in, moaning at the deliciousness of the burger that coats my mouth. I glance up at Sam, having momentarily forgotten where I am and my purpose. “Sorry," I mumble. Feeling a little embarrassed by the way I shoveled the food into my face.
“Don't be sorry," he laughs, and his cheeks redden as I notice him reach down to adjust his cock in his pants. I pretend to act coy but am pleased that he seems to be an easy catch. If the simple act of moaning can get him hard, then this is not going to require much effort. After Sam pays for our meals— because I have no money—we walk around, enjoying the sunshine.
“So, do you think you might want to come back to my place for a bit?” he asks nervously. Goddess, he's sweet. A bit boring, but sweet.
“Where do you live, gorgeous?” I ask, grabbing hold of his hand.
“Not far from here," he responds in a voice filled with excitement. He was surprised that I agreed so readily. He has no idea that I have him wrapped around my little finger.
“Let’s go," I say, with a touch more demand in my tone than I've used with him so far. Now that I've had one of the best meals of all time, I'm becoming impatient. I don't want to engage in small talk anymore, but I try to regain my sweet and flirty faux personality.
Some men are so easy to get into bed, no strings attached. But some try to at least pretend to be interested in something other than sex. They want to get to know me and build some emotional connection before “making love” or whatever they tell themselves it is. It’s kind, and I do admire the attempts, but it’s not what I’m interested in. I'm grateful that today I seemed to pick someone that is all too willing to get me home.
We walk side by side and hand in hand, the silence only broken by an occasional hum of my song to keep any second thoughts he may have at bay. Our songs play on emotions. We can enhance or remove them. In this case, I'm enhancing the desire that already exists and quieting any worries about coming on too strong.
We reach an apartment building, and my impatience makes me fidgety as we take the elevator to the third floor, and he leads me through the front door.
“Bedroom,” I order, and he immediately leads me there.
Fucking finally.
I push him onto the bed, straddling his waist as I work on undressing him. He laughs as I lift his shirt to expose his torso and can't help but run my tongue over his abs, breathing in his scent as I do so.
Delicious. I wish I could take a bite.
“Woah, easy tiger. Someone is eager," he says, grinning wide. I ignore him, focusing on getting him out of his clothes as quickly as possible.
I undo his pants, sliding them down his toned thighs along with his boxer briefs, and quickly rid myself of my clothes. Sam lays on the bed, hands under his head, gazing at me with lust-filled eyes as his cock stands, beautifully erect. Heat develops between my legs, and I waste no time climbing back up to resituate myself on top of him. His breathing quickens with arousal as I wrap my hands around his length, giving it a couple of firm strokes. I rub a bead of precum into the head and as more forms, slicken his shaft with it.
“Fuuuck," he moans, lifting his hips to thrust into my hand. “I want to feel you. I need to be inside you. You're so beautiful,” he rambles.
He reaches to his side and grabs a condom from his nightstand, quickly rolling it down his cock. When it’s on, I position him to my entrance. I want hard and fast. I don’t even take the time to make sure that I’m ready for him. I lower onto him, letting out a sigh as he enters me. There’s a sharp bite of pain as he fills me that quickly morphs into a sensation of fullness that warms my core. I take what I want in these transactions, giving very little in return. I like to be in power.
I need to be .
I rock myself back and forth upon him, slowly at first. He grips my hips and his fingers dig in. He moves me in a way that speeds up the pace, thrusting into me from below as I chase my release. I rest one hand behind me to balance on his leg. The other hand grabs my breast, rolling the nipple between my fingers. I throw my head back with a groan and continue the pace he sets for us. The only sounds are our moans and skin slapping together in a primal way. I careen toward the chasm of my climax and use the fingers playing with my nipple to reach down and circle my clit instead. A few quick movements, just the way I like it, and like a wave, my orgasm crashes over me. As I'm coming down, Sammy lets out a low, long moan, shuddering under me as he fills the condom. There's no chance of pregnancy for me right now but that isn’t going to stop me being careful. Sirens reach fertile age at around twenty-five, and I’m getting close, so I’m not going to risk someone taking me bare as I am not at all ready to have a child.
As our breaths slow, I roll onto my side next to him. He looks back at me in contentment. I let him wrap his arms around me, and for a single moment, I allow myself to enjoy the feeling of being close to someone. I begin to hum, and in seconds, he falls asleep. I dress myself and let myself out of his apartment, not even bothering to give ourselves time to clean up. He won't remember much other than a vague understanding that he brought someone home to sleep with. It's better this way.
With the day drawing to a close, my body starts to feel pulled back to the ocean and I have no choice but to comply. The call of the ocean is relentless, it won’t give me up. I technically still have plenty of time left but already I feel the need to return. The prickling sensations that feel like tiny needles start at my feet and begin to work their way upward. I know that if I stay on land, this pain will intensify. There have been two occasions in the past where my curiosity got the better of me and I tested what would happen if I pushed the twenty-four-hour rule. When I was close to my time being up, I felt like I was dying. The pain was excruciating. I had no choice but to return, dragging and crawling my pain-ridden body to the shore until I could experience the instant relief of the cool water. Faced with the decision of returning to the ocean or death, it’s an easy choice isn’t it?