Chapter Eight
Istare at the priest.
He needs to know my name.
I suppose it's only fair since I know his.
"It's Larimar," I tell him.
His eyes flash appreciatively. "Larimar. That's unusual. What does it mean?"
"It means soul of the sea in Limonos," I tell him, feeling a surge of pride. My mother said the name came to her in a dream right before I was born. "What does Aragon mean?"
"Nothing as poetic as yours. It's an area in Spain, where I'm from."
"You were named after where you were born?"
Darkness comes over his gaze. "Not exactly. I was given the name because that's where they found me. I was born with a different name, but…I don't remember it anymore."
"Where who found you?" I ask, intrigued.
"It's not important," he says with a tired sigh.
I shouldn't want to know more about him, but I do.
"Then I shall call you Priest," I tell him. "Father Aragon is a mouthful, even if you are a father."
"I'm not a father," he says quickly before he swallows, the sound audible. "I'm not a father to anyone, not anymore." He looks pained, and then the look passes. "It's just a term of the church, a measure of respect given to a spiritual leader."
"And you are none of those things to me," I tell him. "Not a spiritual leader and not a man of respect. But a priest, that is simple enough."
"Very well," he says. "Priest it is. Now, if you'll excuse me, Larimar, I'll go fetch you more water."
He takes the bucket and leaves the room, locking it behind him.
It's only then that I exhale.
He's going to try to give me legs. He's going to try and make me human, or at least able to pass for one. I know it will all come down to his magic and if the spell is successful, and I shouldn't get my hopes up, but I can't help myself.
For the last eleven years, all I wanted was to follow in my sister's literal footsteps. All I wanted was to be able to walk amongst humans and find her. I knew searching the seas was futile, dangerous. I had told Asherah as much. She learned the hard way when those pirates pulled her up from the depths. I learned it when I stumbled upon Syrens I shouldn't have.
And yet, even after losing both my sisters, I didn't give up. I knew that this drive, this obsession with finding Maren, would eventually put me on the right path. I would get where I needed to go.
Maren traded in her fins for legs so she could become human. Some said she even married a prince from some far-off land. I knew she wouldn't be found in the ocean, but until I had legs, that's the only place I could look.
I also know that if Priest is successful in my transformation, I'll have other problems I'll need to deal with. If I even make it out of here alive, it's the question of finding Maren in this big, dry, foreign world. It can't be easy, but nothing about this can be.
So now, I have to figure out what I'm supposed to offer him in exchange for this. He doesn't know my plans. He doesn't know about Maren. I have to give him exactly what he wants and then some, then wait for the right moment to escape.
That's all I have. A moment. I'm a fighter. I've survived this long, and I know that if I play my cards right, I can find my freedom at the first opportunity.
Syrens are sexual beings by nature. I know of our reputation when it comes to the world and will of men. We are known to seduce and destroy. It's how we charm so many men into the water, how we kill so well.
This priest isn't like most men, that much I know. He talks about being a blood-drinker and a monster, and clearly, he is both.
But I see desire in him.
That's what I'm good at.
Seeing desire and exploiting it.
He doesn't want to give in to it because it scares him. That's why, whenever our encounters sway towards something intimate, he panics. I see it in his eyes, torn apart between his lust and his need for control. It's as if he can hurt me all he wants, but the moment he actually craves me, that's when he thinks it's a step too far.
It's his weak spot and exactly what I need to manipulate to my advantage.
Seduce, destroy, escape.
Unfortunately for me, the priest takes his time to work on his magic. It's hard to know what day it is here when there is no glimpse of the outside world. Minutes, hours, days? A good internal clock is necessary when you're living in the deepest depths of the ocean, where sun and light can't penetrate, but here, everything blends together. I only know time is ticking away by how dry my tail is getting and how parched I feel from the inside out, like no amount of water could ever quench me.
Priest comes and goes, ever so serious, always with that permanent line between his dark brows that arch over his eyes. Sometimes, he just throws a bucket of water at me, brimming with some simmering anger. Other times, he takes his time, soaking each inch of my tail with a wet cloth.
When he works this way, I can't help but hold my breath and watch him. His touch is so methodical, thoughtful, even tender. I feel as if I'm getting a glimpse of his humanity, of the man beneath the monster. It's in these moments that I want to ask him questions about who he was before. He had said he had another name he doesn't remember, a previous life when he was a mortal man. I want to know more about him.
But I've learned that asking him questions works the same way as him asking me questions. It makes him clam up, so I keep my mouth shut and let him touch me. When I feel like putting part of my plan into action, I sink against his hands, or I might moan a little, as if I'm getting some perversion out of it.
He always stops after that, but I want to make sure I have that power over him.
I want him scared of me, feeling desire and lust for me.
Because, eventually, he will have to snap.
I know enough about holy men to know that they take vows, and I will do all I can to make him shred his vows to pieces.
It's my only means of escape.
"Larimar?" I hear his rich voice ask in the darkness.
I raise my head and open my eyes to see the faint outline of his figure in the black. I didn't even hear him come in.
He puts a jar down on the table and starts lighting candles, the flickering glow illuminating his face. Darkness pools beneath his heavy brows and slashes under his high cheekbones, making him look more dangerous and otherworldly than usual. His black clothes only add to the effect of a man comprised of shadows.
A man of the night.
It's always night here.
He picks up the spikes that had been in the cross and comes over to me, sliding them into his pockets.
"In the event that something goes wrong tonight," he says solemnly, "I'll need to take as much blood as I can."
I gulp. "Are you planning on something going wrong?"
He gives his head a small shake, but the hesitation in his eyes doesn't inspire confidence. "Magic can be tricky. Sometimes, it uses you as much as you use it." He pauses. "There's a chance you could die in the process. Do you still want me to do this?"
My brows rise. "A chance I could die?" I repeat.
"I told you," he says patiently, "I haven't done a spell of this magnitude before. Certainly not since I turned. I can't offer you any guarantees. Do you still want to proceed?"
I want him to talk about what turning means, but I suppose I'll have to save that for after the spell.
IfI survive.
I stare into the swirling ocean blue of his eyes, but I can't see my future there. I know he doesn't want me to die; if I do, he also loses. But in the end, my life isn't much to him. He'll consume my blood until I have none to give and move on.
I nod. I've come this far. I can't give up now. I owe it to my sisters.
"Then have you thought about what you will offer me for my services?" he asks, turning his back to me as he goes to the jar on the table and picks it up.
"I figured whatever I thought of, you would have a better idea."
"You're probably right about that," he says, peering at the jar in his hands. The bottom quarter is filled with some clear liquid, and there are some things floating in it, most likely my scales and strands of hair he unceremoniously plucked from my head the other day, along with some green herbs. Then, he picks up the two silver chalices he used to collect and drink my blood on the first night, placing them on the floor directly under my wrists.
I know where this is going.
"Can you not just bite me?" I ask, trying to keep the fear from my voice.
The corner of his mouth lifts. "Oh, I will. Don't worry."
He sets the jar under one arm as he places a spike against my left wrist and pulls out a rusty hammer from his pocket, the kind I used to see at Jorge's shipyard.
I don't even have time to brace myself.
He pounds the spike directly into my wrist with an explosion of pain that brings acid up my throat, causing me to scream in pure agony. Gray fuzz forms at the corners of my vision, and I feel myself starting to slip away.
"I thought you would be used to pain by now," he comments quietly as the blood pours from my wrist into the chalice. "Perhaps you're becoming more human by the second."
He crosses in front of me and does the same to the other wrist.
This time, I bite down on my tongue until it bleeds. I'm reminded of Maren, how the sea witch cut out her tongue. Maybe it's part of the bargain.
The blood spills from my wrists, and he places the jar underneath, letting a few drops splash into the contents. Satisfied, he takes the jar away and holds it out in front of me.
"I need you to drink this," he says simply.
"Fuck you." I scowl through the pain, unable to keep from whimpering. The sound of my blood hitting the chalices echoes.
He stares at me thoughtfully, and I'm tempted to spit on him again, but he would only like that, especially with the taste of blood in my mouth.
"Before you drink it," he says, his voice measured, "I need you to agree to the terms of the bargain. I will do my best to grant you legs. In the process, I will do what I can to keep your Syren blood intact. This might mean you'll have your teeth and your claws and your gills. It might not. It is a risk I am willing to take, but you must give me something more than just your blood."
"What?" I ask through gritted teeth. I feel as if I'm growing weaker by the second.
"You must promise to belong to me forever, body and soul."
I blink at him, the pain fading for a moment while I try to understand his meaning.
"Body and soul?"
His eyes darken. "You will always be mine, Larimar. You will always be bound to me."
That's all I have to do? I can tell him I will always be his, and he'll just give me what I want? "Alright," I say warily.
He gives me a cruel little smile and takes a step forward, still holding out the jar. "I'm no fool, little fish. You may think you can tell me what I want to hear, but this spell will bind you to it. No matter where you go, I will find you. I will take you back, take what's mine. I know you mean to escape any way you can, but even if you're successful one day, I will stop at nothing to hunt you down. This magic will ensure I find you, no matter how long it takes. And believe me, you won't want me to find you."
I don't say anything to that, just continue to breathe through the pain, which is slowly abating. Why does he want me so much? Is it just because of my magic blood? Or does he actually want me? My body? My company?
"In addition," he goes on in a clipped voice, "this spell will remain entirely at my bidding. If I ever need to turn you back into a Syren, tail and all, all I need to do is immerse you in the ocean. The salt water will reverse the magic. I can take it all away as easily as I can give it." He waits a beat, long lashes flicking as his eyes scan my features. "Well? Do you accept this bargain?"
"Do I have a choice?"
His eyes dance at that. "Don't sell yourself short, little fish. You know you always have a choice, even if it feels like you don't."
I exhale as heavily as I can. Even though I've gotten used to being tied to the cross with my tail supporting me from the bottom, it's still challenging to get a proper breath into my lungs.
Though I suppose I won't have to worry about my tail much longer. I only hope my feet touch the ground.
Feet. At the thought of having feet, my heart starts to race. I'd be lying if I said that seeking out Maren was my only reason for wanting legs. The truth is, I want to know what it's like to live in this world. Maren was fascinated with the land of humans from a young age, but I kept my curiosity to myself. I pretended it held no interest to me, though, secretly, I wished I could be something other than a Syren.
And now, under the worst circumstances possible, my wish is about to come true.
"I accept," I tell him.
"Good girl," he says, his face impassive as he brings the rim of the jar to my lips. "Now, drink up."
I open my mouth, and he pours the vile concoction inside.
"Caudam capio et tibi pedes dabo," he chants in a low voice, in a language I don't understand. Chills run through my body as he continues. "Vocem capio et servitutem tibi trado."
But as I start swallowing it down, he grabs the top of my hair, making a fist, and then sinks his teeth into my jugular.
I try to scream, but I choke on the liquid, forcing me to swallow the rest.
Priest keeps sucking, drawing my blood into his mouth in greedy gulps, and that dizzying sensation from earlier is back. I'm bleeding from both my wrists, and he's feeding from my neck—I'm losing too much blood at once.
"Priest!" I try to yell, but I can't. The word only comes out as a whisper. I try to scream instead, that horrible sound that only Syrens can produce to stun their prey, but though I feel my throat vibrate with the effort, only a harsh whisper emerges.
What have you done to me?
But then I feel a tightness around my body, squeezing me all over like a rope but from the inside out, and I realize that it's only just beginning.
A loud crack suddenly fills the room, a burst of bright light, and it's as if lightning has burst through and struck me right in my core.
I scream and scream, more ragged whispers, and it feels like my tail is being split in two, burned down the middle and split apart. I can feel my bones break, my muscles sever, before fusing back together. My scales quiver and then sink into my body like a million needles. My blood feels like it's boiling inside my veins.
At some point, Priest lets go of my hair, unhooks his fangs, and steps back. I writhe on the cross, crying out, moaning, trying to escape the pain of my lower body, and then…
I hear Priest suck in his breath.
I manage to open my eyes, too afraid to see what's happened to me.
He meets my gaze.
I expect to see violence and excitement in them.
Instead, there's lust.
His pupils are dark pools of desire.
I glance down at my body and gasp.
My tail is gone. Below the waist, I have a pair of legs—pale, like the rest of my body, hairless, knees, ankles, feet, toes. They all burn like they're on fire, but at least the pain is smoldering.
"It worked," Priest says thickly, his gaze between my legs, right at my new womanhood. This is what is driving the lust in him, a woman bare in front of him.
I use this to my advantage.
I'm standing on my tiptoes—toes!—with just enough leverage to keep the pressure off my shoulders and arms, but I decide the pain is worth the gamble. I slowly lift both legs, stretching them out. My shoulders pull forward, and my lungs are squeezed from the pressure, but I watch Priest's eyes as I open my new thighs for him, as I show off my most sinful parts.
He's practically licking his lips.
"Touch me," I whisper to him.
He blinks and takes a step back, finally meeting my eyes. "Pardon?"
"I want to know if I can feel. I want to know what my skin feels like. Touch me."
I reach out with one leg, pointing my toes at him teasingly, rubbing them up the hard muscle of his thigh, up, up, up. Despite his black clothing, I can already see that he's hard.
He swallows, and I see him trying to think, trying to use logic.
"Grab my foot," I tell him, giving him a starting point.
He slowly reaches down and takes my foot in his hand just before I can rub against his erection pushing against the front of his trousers. His fingers are strong and hard, his palm surprisingly warm. I didn't realize how good it felt to have your feet held. Our tails are so tough and scaley we don't feel much of anything.
Carefully, he grabs my calf with his other hand and gives it a soft squeeze, supporting it and alleviating some of the pressure on my shoulders. Then, while his eyes are locked to mine, he raises my foot up to his mouth, my knee bending.
My breath hitches, wondering what he's about to do.
He presses my largest toe against his lips.
Please don't tell me he's about to eat my toes before I have a chance to enjoy them.
But when he opens his mouth, he gently sucks my toe. His teeth don't make an appearance.
My eyes flutter closed, head back against the wood, because I've never felt anything like this before. Is this normal for humans? Toe-sucking? Or is it because every part of me is brand new?
"Does that feel good?" he murmurs as he pulls my toe out of his mouth, caressing it with his tongue as he keeps staring at me intently.
I nod, letting out a breathless moan. It does feel good, especially as I start imagining what that tongue might feel like on other parts of me. Still, I am exaggerating, because I know the more aroused I seem, the more he's going to want to explore the rest of me.
And the more I can exploit his weaknesses.
His gaze drops to my mouth, then to my breasts, my nipples hardening from the graze of his tongue, then to my belly and the shadows between my thighs. His nostrils flare, and I realize he's sniffing me. A muscle feathers on his jaw, his pupils expanding until his eyes seem black.
He starts running his tongue over the top of my foot now, his hands working their way down my calf, the surprisingly sensitive spot under my knee, down my thighs.
Then he lowers my leg back down, seeming to hesitate, but I take the opportunity to wrap my legs around his waist. It's keeping me supported and him enclosed.
A trap.
His gaze falls between my legs, and he inhales sharply again.
"Please," I whisper to him. "Touch me there. I need to know if I can feel."
He frowns, but it's a look of utter helplessness.
I bite my lip, but I'm really biting back my smile.
I might be the one nailed to a cross, but I'm finally in control.