Chapter Nine

Larimar's words ring in my head.

Touch me.

Touch me there.

And there is no mistaking what she means.

Her supple, surprisingly strong legs are wrapped around my waist, her heels touching at the small of my back, and directly in front of my hardened cock is her cunt. Small, wet, so perfectly pink.

I think I might burst into flames. Damnation is coming for me in one fell swoop.

Part of me is sounding the alarm, telling me to get out of there. The spell worked, and she's a human. I gave her what she wanted; she doesn't deserve anything else.

But I want to touch her.

I think I might die if I don't.

Not for her, but for me.

Because I barely remember what it was like to explore a woman's body.

Because it's been centuries since I took my vows.

Because I want, crave, need to feel her from the inside. I want to touch, suck, taste this ripe new cunt.

Aragon, you're becoming an animal, the tiny voice in my head says. Tread carefully, or you might stay an animal.

But why should I deny myself what I truly am?

Oh, I am truly bargaining with myself now.

"Please," she says again on another ragged, whispered moan. With the spell, I took away her ability to scream or raise her voice, so she'll always be stuck whispering, but these breathless sounds are like a lightning bolt to my cock.

Fuck it.

With a grunt, I run my hand down the downy softness of her inner thigh, so pale, so perfect, until my fingertips brush against her bare cunt, warm and smooth as velvet.

Christ, I swear, though he can't help me now.

No one can.

She sucks in her breath and stares at me in such a way that I feel like I'm falling down a rabbit hole. And I thought bloodsuckers were the only ones who could compel. Then again, she is a Syren. It's what they're known for.

And in this moment, I don't care.

I slide my hand up until my fingers meet her where she's hot and wet, so damn wet, and I fear my cock might break through my trousers.

She groans, her head rolling back, her mouth open, and I feel like a starving man at a banquet, ravenous and wild and unsure where to start. I want to lick the blood that still trickles from the puncture wounds I left in her neck. I want to kiss that hot, wet mouth. I want to take my cock out and thrust it inside her until the breath is knocked out of her lungs, another way of nailing her to this cross.

Your vows, I remind myself. Remember your vows, Father.

I grunt in frustration and then drive two fingers inside her instead.

She gasps, staring at me with wide eyes as I start pumping my hand, letting her coat me. My thumb slides to her clit, swollen already with need, and I can't help but moan myself, the feeling of her satiny smooth, slick skin enough to make me lose my mind.

"Can you feel this?" I murmur, leaning in to lick up the side of her neck, tasting her sweat and blood.

"Yes," she cries out softly. "Don't stop, please."

The word please sets me off. The soft begging. My God, all I want is for her to beg me for the rest of my life.

"You want me to make you come?" I ask, my voice ragged and raw as I suck at the soft skin beneath her ear as I continue to work my fingers in and out of her, adding another, feeling her drip down my hand. "Do you want to know what that feels like with this new cunt of yours?"

She lets out a whimpering noise, and I slide my thumb harder around her clit.

God, she's perfect.

She's so perfect.

"Oh!" She gasps, and I can feel her body tighten like a knot, smell her desire reach the threshold.

Then, her legs tighten around me, her breath caught in her throat, and she goes off like cannon fire. Her eyes roll back in her head, chest brushing against mine, back arched as if a woman possessed. She squeezes my fingers as she comes, bucking against my hand like a wild horse, her torso clenching with each gyration.

I don't think I've ever seen something so heavenly before.

She's an angel.

She's a devil.

She'll be my downfall.

While her breathy moans fill the air, I lean in and suck at her neck, lapping up the trickles of blood I left earlier. To my delight, the fresh blood that comes out of her tastes the same as before, creating an electrical storm inside my ribs.

She hasn't lost her power; she still has the blood of a Syren.

I pull back, licking my lips, and brush her hair off her shoulder. There are faint lines from where her gills used to be, three pinkish scars.

She's human now, and she can still give me everything I need.

For now.

For eternity.

Bound by magic, bound by blood.

I straighten up, removing my fingers from between her legs. While she looks at me with dazed, sated eyes, I slide my fingers over my tongue, making sure she can see how much I enjoy every inch of her. She's delectable inside and out, and my cock throbs angrily, begging to finally come, but now that she's panting, her legs growing limp against me, I have a moment to think, to gain clarity.

She wants me to lose focus. If I fuck her, not only am I throwing away my vows, but I'm one step closer to losing control of both the monster and the man. I have to hold on to something.

"How do I taste?" she whispers, her gaze focused on my mouth.

I raise my brow at her boldness. Then again, I shouldn't be so surprised. She may have a human cunt, but she's still a Syren underneath.

"Like the seas," I tell her, sucking the rest of her off my fingers. "Like uncharted waters."

And I'm the first to discover them.

The sound of blood sprinkling into the chalice draws my eye. Her blood from the cross has slowed, but the cups are full, and I can't afford to let her bleed anymore.

I unhook her legs from around me and go to my desk, my cock aching as I grab the sage bundle. I light it briefly on a flame before blowing it out. I proceed to yank the spikes out of her bloodied wrists, one at a time, the pain causing her voice to catch in her throat, and I quickly press the burning herbs against the open wounds. I murmur my spell over and over until the wounds begin to heal.

She looks to me with big eyes. "Might you let me down too?"

I see what's happening. She thinks because I made her come, I'm about to get sweet on her.

I smirk. "I already gave you ecstasy with my fingers. Don't get greedy, little fish."

Then, I turn and walk to the door, leaving her naked on the cross.

I don't plan to be gone for long. I know she can stand on her toes to support herself, but soon, she'll be too exhausted. She has to know that she is at my mercy, that I am not at hers, and yet I don't want to go out of my way to be cruel.

Not unless she deserves it.

So, I steal into the night and head north. It's cold, the smell of frost in the air, and the wind is just a whisper. I hear sounds in the bush, animals scurrying away as I run through the stunted forest. I move fast, a blur to the naked eye, heading toward the town of Ciudad del Rey Don Felipe. The general and his wife live there, and she wears fine gowns that look as if they would fit Larimar.

Tonight, I am a thief.

The town is quiet, with only a few babbling voices coming from a pub at the end of the muddy road. I've done a house call at the general's when his aging mother was on her deathbed, so I know my way around the house.

I climb the side of it and look through the window. The general and his wife are asleep in bed, and though their house is still tiny in comparison to one they would have had in Spain, I know she has a dressing room for her gowns.

Truth is, I'm not stealing clothes so Larimar can feel more comfortable. It's so I can be more comfortable. Her breasts were always on display, but now that I'll see that pink cunt of hers every time I come into the back room, I fear I won't be able to function. If I end up letting her down from the cross, that will make matters even worse.

I climb through the window of the next room over and find her wardrobe. I do my best to take what a woman would wear: linen shifts for sleeping and under clothes, whalebone stays, a petticoat, three stomachers with matching gowns, plus a pair of stockings and boots. I grab a woolen cape with a hood, hanging it off the top of my head before I head back down the window and into the darkness again.

If anyone sees me running through the town and back into the woods with a pile of women's garments in my hands, it must be quite the sight.

When I get back to the church, only a few hours have passed, but Larimar looks as petulant as when I left her, though there is a strange smugness in her eyes. Not that I stare at her eyes for long—it's hard to keep them focused when she's so terribly, beautifully nude.

I place the pile of clothes on the table and walk toward her, stopping when I realize the cause of that haughty look.

She's knocked over both chalices, her blood spilled in either direction.

Serves me right for not removing them right away.

"I suppose you're proud of yourself," I comment, swiping up a cup from the floor. If I were any more of an animal, I'd get on my hands and knees and lick the blood up, but I'm not about to supplicate myself in front of her like that.

I grumble to myself and go to the other chalice when she suddenly kicks me in the face, my teeth clanking together.

"Fuck!" I holler, holding my jaw. That actually hurt. If I was human, that would leave a bruise.

I glare at her, willing the anger inside me to rise so I can lash out at her.

Yet I can't help but be impressed, perhaps a little turned on. Doesn't help that she's still so incredibly naked.

"Do you feel better now?" I ask her mildly, wriggling my jaw. She has quite the kick.

"A little," she says. "I was waiting to see your face when you saw I spilled all your blood, and I wasn't disappointed."

"Careful," I warn, putting the chalices away. "The more you spill, the more I'll have to take." Thankfully, I got my fill anyway, and now that I know she still has Syren blood, I don't have to stockpile.

"How come I can barely talk?" she asks as I start rifling through her stolen clothes.

"Because I took away your ability to yell or scream," I explain. Women have always worn so many layers it's hard to know where to start.

She lets out a small cry of despair, and I pick up one of the gowns, this one a dusky blue gray, and move over to her, holding it up to her shoulders to see if it will, in fact, fit.

"You took away my voice?" she whispers.

"The strength of it," I tell her. The gown does make her eyes seem punchier and more vibrant. "I'm not about to let you holler for help now that you can pass for human. Better than the chain in your mouth, wouldn't you agree?"

She makes a disgruntled noise. "What are the clothes for?"

I give her a steady look. "For you to wear, quite obviously."

"Why?"

"For modesty."

She snorts. "I've been naked this whole time. Why start now?"

I clear my throat and head back to the table to gather the rest of the items that go with it. "Things are different now. You were an animal. Now, you are a human."

"And you just had your fingers inside me," she points out.

My cock twitches, and I growl lightly in response.

A moment passes.

"Are you ashamed of my body?" she asks, quieter now.

I glance at her over my shoulder, puzzled. "Why would you say that?"

Her expression turns vulnerable, her eyes soft, lips practically pouting. It's like a stab to the chest.

"I don't know," she says, looking down at her legs. "I don't know if mine is normal or not. It seems normal, but…you brought those clothes to cover me up, like you don't want to look at me."

God help me.

I stride over to her and put my hand at her face, making her look at me. Her cheeks seem so small and warm against my palm.

"I am a man of the cloth," I say, lowering my voice now that my face is so close to hers. "I know I'm not a particularly good one, but I am trying my best. I might do things that seem blasphemous, and maybe they are, but I'm not about to throw away my vows for you. Your body, this beautiful, perfect body, is a distraction. It's a road to Hell, straighter than any other I've been on."

"But you…" She trails off.

"Yes. I am a blood-drinker. I do bad things, things that would make your skin crawl. I am a man, and I'll never be rid of my monster. But I'm trying to leave my past behind me, and I still need to drink blood to survive. I do what I can to make peace with that. But this…you…"

"Touch me again," she whispers, batting her long lashes. "If I am beautiful, then touch me again."

I shake my head. If I touch her again where she wants to be touched, I'm going to end up fucking her on this cross, plain and simple.

"I'm taking you down, and then I'm getting you dressed," I tell her, reaching for the ropes. "That's the most I can do."

"But you've already broken your vows by making me orgasm, haven't you?" she asks.

I give her a wry smile. "Not quite. The devil is in the details."

I suddenly pull the rope loose from around the wood, and she cries out, half of her slumping forward. I quickly reach under her free arm to prop her up before I undo the other rope until both arms are free.

She lets out a deep moan, and I know that if I hadn't taken away her voice, she would be screaming.

She collapses right into my arms, and I wrap them around her, holding her firmly but not tight enough to cause her more pain. I can smell her hair, that sugared lemon and saltwater scent doing something foolish to my heart, and the fact that I'm actually holding her—naked—is dizzying.

"Your shoulders are dislocated," I tell her. "They will take time to heal."

I attempt to pull her forward away from the cross, but she stumbles to her knees, whimpering in agony. "It will take you time to learn how to walk too," I say, bending down to scoop her up in my arms. I'm reminded of a few weeks ago, when I first brought her out of the ocean and carried her into the church. It feels like so much has changed since then, and yet I can't forget why she's here in the first place.

She's my sustenance.

She's my meal.

And if I was back in that ocean with her, I have no doubt I would be hers.

I place her in the chair by the desk, positioning her so she's upright. Her arms hang helplessly at her sides; she won't be able to use them for some time.

"Normally, I would suggest bathing before getting dressed," I tell her. "Cleanliness is godliness, after all. But I've given you so many baths already, I think you'll be fine."

She doesn't say anything to that, just sits there looking miserable.

I grab one of the linen shifts. "One of these is to wear at night when you go to sleep, the other underneath your gown." I lift her limp arms and manage to get the shift on her, pulling it down over her breasts. The fabric is thin enough that I can still see the faint outline of her nipples as they poke through.

I grunt at the sight and then quickly grab her stays to cover her up further.

"Why are you giving me more clothes?" she asks, a pitiful sound to her voice as she tries to twist away from me. "Isn't this enough? It's not as if I'm ever leaving this room."

I pause, considering that. I'm so used to never sleeping that it didn't cross my mind that she might be tired, so getting all these layers on her might not be necessary.

I put the stays back with the rest of the garments and lean against the desk, studying her. "Perhaps one day, you'll be allowed to go out into the world with me at your side. Perhaps one day, you won't want to leave here."

Her gaze hardens. "I would die before I would ever want that."

My smile is bitter in return. "I know you would." I straighten up. "I should make you a bed. I think if I pull out two of the back pews and?—"

"The floor is fine," she says sharply. "Just go. I'd like to be alone."

I consider that for a moment. "Alright," I say, grabbing the gowns and petticoats and tossing them onto the floor beside her. "That can be your bed, then, since you don't wish to wear them."

She rolls her eyes. "You're acting like a child, upset that I'm not appreciating your gesture."

"I told you, the clothes are for my benefit, not yours," I tell her. Then I reach down and grab her by the waist, hauling her straight out of the chair and placing her roughly on the pile. "There."

I stare down at her, looking so helpless in that shift, with her lifeless arms and untrained legs, but I'm learning not to take anything at face value when it comes to her. I have no doubt she is in pain, that she really is powerless for the time being, but she's still an opportunist through and through.

I can't take any chances.

I grab the ropes off the cross and stride back over to her.

"What are you doing?" she whispers, panic in her voice.

I grab her ankles and quickly tie them together, then grab her arms and pull them behind her back, forcing her on her stomach on the mound of clothes.

"You still have Syren blood," I tell her, securing the rope around her wrists. "That might mean you still have a Syren's strength. I can't afford to lose you at this stage of the game."

I get up and peer down at her. Her shift has lifted, exposing part of her full, round bottom. It takes all my conviction not to bend over and sink my teeth into it.

"If the pain gets to be too much, feel free to have some of the wine. Enjoy your time alone," I add, though I wince at the sound of my voice. In all my long, storied life, I have never heard such petulance in it.

I really am acting like a child.

Which means she really is getting under my skin.