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Chapter Text

The sea had always been Liam’s kingdom. A black crown of storms and saltwater, of wrecked ships and drowned men, of blood spilled under the indifferent moon. He had ruled it for decades — or at least, long enough to be feared by every vessel foolish enough to cross his path.

Vampirate.

That’s what the stories whispered. That’s what his enemies wrote in their journals before the ink ran red with their own blood. Liam had lived through cannon fire that would have torn mortal men in half, through betrayals that would have shattered even the strongest of hearts. And yet, he sailed on, untouched, undefeated.

But tonight was different.

The wind carried a melody across the deck of The Nightingale, soft as smoke, curling around his senses like a lover’s fingers. Liam paused mid-step, boots scraping against the wet wood, heart — yes, even a vampire’s heart — stuttering. It wasn’t fear that knotted in his chest. It was recognition.

He had heard songs before. He had seen their kind. Scaled, shimmering creatures with eyes that swallowed the horizon and teeth sharp as knives. Voices that could lure the strongest of men into drowning themselves. But he had never — never — heard one that tugged at something buried so deep inside him that it almost hurt to breathe.

The siren appeared like a shadow caught in the moonlight, perched on a jagged rock jutting from the ocean like a spear. His hair was dark and wet, clinging to a body that was impossible in its grace, impossibly human and impossibly wrong all at once. Liam’s sailors, a dozen drunken, bloodthirsty men, were staring at him as if hypnotized, their eyes glazed over, footsteps faltering toward the edge of the ship. The siren’s song licked the air, curling into the minds of men, uncoiling desire and dread in equal measure.

And yet, Liam didn’t move. Didn’t falter. Didn’t fall.

He felt the pull, of course — he was a predator, and predators loved the thrill of being prey — but it was strange, intoxicating in a different way. Resistance prickled like electricity across his skin, sharp and thrilling, and when he opened his mouth to call his crew back, the siren’s eyes — liquid, infinite, a trap he wanted to swim into anyway — met his.

That’s when Liam knew something had changed.

Theo’s song faltered, subtle as a shiver. His gaze flicked, almost imperceptibly, and Liam caught the hesitation. The siren should have known his kind. Should have seen him for the monster he was. And yet, he didn’t strike. He didn’t pull Liam under the waves.

He just stared.

The moonlight glinted off the siren’s wet skin like liquid silver, tracing the sharp planes of his collarbone, the curve of his ribs. His eyes locked with Liam’s, and Liam felt the first prickle of something that had nothing to do with hunger for blood.

But then the music returned. Not the gentle, coaxing pull that had first reached Liam, but a sharper, sweeter note, coiling and curling into the minds of his men, into his mind.

“Sir—Cap’n,” muttered one of them, his voice thick with intoxication, his knuckles white on the railing as he peered toward the jagged rocks. “They—they’re calling—”

Liam didn’t look away. He didn’t intervene. The way the siren’s song snaked around the ship, wrapping itself into his sailors’ minds, was almost beautiful. He watched as the first man — a grizzled, seasoned deckhand named Marlowe — faltered, eyes glazing over, lips parting, and then, as if he had no will left in him at all, stepped toward the edge.

The others followed. One by one. Like lambs to a slaughter they didn’t even understand. Liam’s teeth ached, not from thirst, but from the feral desire blooming in his chest. He wanted to tear the siren’s throat open, cut that voice out and claim it. He wanted it, feared it, needed it. He wanted the power that had brought even his crew to heel with nothing more than a melody.

Yet he did nothing.

The first sailor hit the water with a soft, pitiful splash.

Liam’s lips curled, sharp and cruel, watching the struggle above the waves. The siren dove down, a fluid, lethal shadow, teeth glinting like shards of broken glass. Marlowe’s screams were muffled, twisted, and then gone, swallowed by the darkness beneath the surface. The next sailor stumbled forward, compelled by a siren song, only to meet the same fate.

And still, Liam stayed.

Because those eyes had never left him.

There was a tremor there now, a flicker of frustration, of disbelief. Liam could see it if he squinted just right. He felt it in the shift of the melody, in the almost imperceptible tension in the siren’s body. The siren was used to prey succumbing immediately. Used to fear, or panic, or desire bending them beneath him. But Liam didn’t bend. Liam didn’t waver. Liam watched.

And that — oh, that — was everything.

He could feel the stirrings now, a faint pulse beneath his ribs, not hunger for flesh but something darker, something sharper, almost violent. He wanted the siren’s song to hurt him. He wanted it to break him. He wanted to carve it out, hold it in his hands, cage it like a bird he could feed from only when he chose. He wanted it and feared it and hungered for it all at once.

The final sailor on deck, pale and trembling, staggered toward the railing. Liam could have called him back. He could have snapped the man out of it in a second. But he didn’t. Because he wanted to see how far Theo would go. Wanted to see the siren falter.

And then the siren’s hand tensed, claws curling into fists. The song cut off, sharp, violent silence snapping into the night.

Liam inhaled, the sudden absence of the melody like a physical blow. His body ached with want, a hunger he couldn’t feed. Hunger for blood was simple. Hunger for flesh was simple. Hunger for this — this dangerous, impossible thing — was violence wrapped in silk, and it was intoxicating.

The siren’s chest rose and fell fast, dark hair plastered to his skin. The siren’s eyes, liquid and unreadable, bore into Liam, and Liam felt the pull, the dangerous gravity, even without the song. He wanted it to return. He wanted to collapse into the melody and let it tear him apart.

“You…” His voice was a rasp, harsh against the quiet of the night. “You dare — you dare to—”

Liam tilted his head, shadows dancing across his cheekbones in the moonlight. He wanted to finish the sentence for him. He wanted to whisper it across the siren’s skin. I dare because I can survive it.

And rhen he was gone.

The siren vanished as suddenly as he had appeared, a shadow folding into the inky blackness of the sea. One moment, the siren had been there, impossibly close, teeth and claws and lethal grace; the next, nothing but the whisper of waves against the hull and the faint shimmer of moonlight on water where he was.

The deck was quiet except for the lapping of water, the groan of timber underfoot, and the occasional cough or whimper from the remaining crew, their eyes wide, trembling. Liam could smell their fear. Could taste it, like copper and salt on the air, and part of him wanted to kneel among them and drink it all down. But that wasn’t what he wanted — not yet.

No, what throbbed beneath his ribs was the absence of the siren’s song. The silence pressed in, a physical weight, and Liam found himself unclenching fists he hadn’t realized he’d tightened. The pull, subtle but irresistible, lingered, a magnet buried deep in his chest, and he wanted it to return. He wanted the melody, wanted the danger, wanted the impossible hunger that made centuries of bloodlust feel…pedestrian.

A shadow moved on the stairs from below deck. Liam didn’t even turn.

“Cap’n?”

The voice was hesitant, but familiar. Mason Hewitt emerged from the gloom, eyes wide and unsure as he took in the aftermath of what had just occurred. Liam could see him thinking, trying to process what had just happened, and failing.

“What happened?” Mason asked again, voice firmer this time, though there was an edge of fear in it. “Some of the men—” He paused, glancing toward the water. “Cap’n, they…they’re gone. What—”

Liam finally let his head tilt, letting the moonlight catch the sharp planes of his face.

“They were weak,” he said, voice smooth, dangerous. “They didn’t survive the night.”

Mason blinked, hesitant. “The…the siren? It came back?”

Liam’s lips quirked, a slow, sharp smile. “It did,” he admitted, almost lazily. And yet, there was nothing lazy in his posture.

Mason frowned, stepping closer. “Cap’n, that’s—”

Liam cut him off with a flick of his hand. “Don’t speak of it again,” he said softly, almost intimate in tone, but underneath lay steel. “Not to anyone. Not to the rest of crew. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Cap’n,” Mason murmured. His brow furrowed. There was doubt there, but also loyalty. Always loyalty. Liam knew it; trusted it more than any blade.

“Good,” Liam said. He turned, pacing the slick deck, boots dragging lightly through water and salt. “Now get me someone to feed off of.”

Mason froze, blinking. “Cap’n…”

“I said,” Liam continued, voice low and dangerous, “I need blood. Fresh. Warm. And willing, if you please.” He didn’t look at Mason, didn’t need to. The air itself carried his authority, a command that made hesitation an impossibility. “Do this quickly. There’s no time for excuses.”

Mason nodded quickly, stumbling back down the stairs to the hold, and Liam let the night envelope him again. His senses were alive—alive in a way they hadn’t been in decades, pulsing with a hunger far sharper than bloodlust. The hunger wasn’t just the thirst for survival anymore. It wasn’t the satisfaction of spilling another’s life into the sea. No. This was…different.

The siren’s song had left an imprint on him. A scratch in the marrow of his bones, a thrum in his chest that wouldn’t subside. Liam wanted to scream and laugh and kill all at once. Wanted to find him and force that voice into submission, into obedience, into worship. The urge clawed at him like fire under skin, and he clenched his teeth to keep from tearing something — anything — apart.

He let his gaze sweep the horizon. Dark waves stretched endlessly, indifferent and infinite. Somewhere out there, the siren waited. He didn’t need to see him to know it.

The hold creaked beneath the ship. Mason’s footsteps returned, followed by a man — one of the crew who hadn’t been hypnotized by the siren. Liam smelled the warmth of blood, the fear tangled in the air, and it made the hunger pulse stronger.

The man knelt, head bowed, offering himself like prey laying at the feet of the alpha. Liam’s eyes flicked over him, noting the fear, the quickened heartbeat, the slight tremble in his hands. Good. Useful. Necessary. A distraction, a sustenance, a conduit for the ache that the siren’s absence had left in him.

He approached with deliberate slowness, savoring each heartbeat of anticipation, the way the man’s pulse thudded under his skin. Liam’s fingers brushed the man’s hair, cool as marble, and he bent down just slightly, inhaling the sharp metallic scent of blood mixed with salt and sweat. It was enough to satiate him for a moment, but not entirely.

Liam sank his fangs into the offered neck, drinking, letting the man shiver and whimper beneath him. And yet, even as he drew blood, the ache in his chest didn’t fade. It only pulsed stronger, a reminder of what he truly craved.

The real hunger, the dark, gnawing ache, was the siren. That melody. That impossible presence that had shattered centuries of carefully maintained control.

When he finally pulled away, crimson dripping from lips and chin, he let out a slow breath. He didn’t clean the blood off his lips. Didn’t move. He simply let the night settle over him, thick and heavy, while the waves whispered against the hull.

Liam closed his eyes for a moment. Let the darkness wrap around him, let the sea’s cold press against his skin, and let the hunger build. The craving for the siren’s voice, the pull of that impossible melody, was dangerous, intoxicating, and it tasted sweeter than anything he had known.

And Liam knew, with that slow, inevitable certainty, that he would follow it. Follow it across oceans, storms, and death itself. He would track him until the siren sang for him willingly — or until Liam carved the voice out by force.

Either way, the hunger would not be denied.

He leaned a little closer, letting the man’s pulse hammer against his jaw, a frantic rhythm that was as sharp and raw as the ache in his chest. Liam had drunk many times before, had taken the warmth of living flesh into his veins countless times over centuries, but tonight it was different. Tonight, the blood was secondary — a placeholder, a brief, temporary satisfaction meant to dull the edge of a hunger that nothing mortal could touch.

The man beneath him shivered again, pressing upward instinctively, seeking relief, seeking some kind of connection, some comfort, unaware that comfort was the last thing Liam would provide. Liam’s hands rested lightly on the man’s shoulders, the cool touch of his fingers against trembling skin grounding him, centering him — but only just. The rest of his mind, the rest of the dark, gnawing ache that made his fangs itch and his blood hum, belonged to the other.

To the siren.

He didn’t know his name. He didn’t know how he would ask for it. Names were dangerous things — they carried ownership, intimacy, promises. Liam was centuries removed from such trivialities, and yet, the thought of learning the siren’s name, the way it might roll off his tongue, the way it might curl into his chest like another heartbeat, made him ache with an unfamiliar anticipation.

He tilted the man’s head back slightly, fangs sinking deeper into the warm pulse of life beneath his teeth, and closed his eyes. The warmth filled him, sweet and rich, but it could not still the hunger. Could not chase the echo of that impossible melody from his ears.

The man beneath him gasped, pulling instinctively against his grip, and Liam drew the fangs back for a fraction of a second, just enough to let the rush of life flood his senses in a wave of copper and warmth. Even so, he could not shake the memory of the song. The notes, the rise and fall of it, had pressed into his mind, leaving marks that throbbed with every heartbeat. Every pulse of the man’s blood reminded him of what he truly wanted — and what he had not yet touched, could not yet touch.

He sank his fangs in again, slower this time, more deliberate, drawing the life from the man almost lazily, savoring each drop as if it were a seasoning for the hunger that burned hotter still. His hands roamed with the faintest pressure across the man’s shoulders and chest, brushing cool fingers across trembling skin, grounding himself in the present while his mind spiraled toward the memory of the siren.

He imagined the sharp planes of the siren’s chest, the glint of water across wet hair, the tension in hands that could kill or hold him equally well. He imagined the way that impossible melody had wrapped itself around him, drawing him in, and the thought made his jaw ache as if it had been clenched for decades.

The man below finally stilled, chest heaving, eyes rolling back slightly as the last warmth was drawn from him. Liam pulled away slowly, letting the final drops fall from his lips and chin, crimson against pale skin. He leaned back, savoring the fullness, the way the blood had filled his veins, and then let it go. It was never enough. It would never be enough.

His mind, once more, returned to the siren’s song.

He wanted it, wanted it to bend around him, wanted it to wound him, to cage him, to break him and remake him.

He wanted to die by it.

He let the man collapse to the deck, unconscious, drained, and Liam’s gaze swept across the horizon. Somewhere out there, hidden beneath the waves, he waited. He didn’t know why the siren hadn’t killed him. He didn’t know why the melody hadn’t claimed him like it had his crew. But he knew, with the slow, precise certainty of the predator he was, that he would find out.

He would track him. Across storms, across oceans, across the bones of the dead if necessary. He would find the siren and hear the song again. He would feel it curl around his chest, twist into his veins, and he would endure it. And if he refused — if the siren’s pride or arrogance or whatever wild, dangerous thing made him hold back — then Liam would take it. Force it. Carve it out, drag it from him, make it his own.

The thought sent a shiver through him, sharp and primal, and he licked his lips, tasting the faint copper that lingered from the man he had drained.

He would not rest.

He would not falter.

He would have that song. One way or another.

Chapter Text

The ocean was quiet now.

Not the true silence of absence — there was never such a thing beneath the waves — but the hush that came after violence, when the water was still thick with blood and the memory of death. The ocean held it all. The pulse of the hunt. The warmth of flesh dissolving into salt. The final vibrations of a scream swallowed whole

Theo lingered in it. He always lingered.

His tail lashed lazily through the dark water, iridescent scales flashing green and silver whenever a ribbon of moonlight pierced down from the surface. Along his spine, the jagged ridges flexed and shifted, sharp as reefstone, faintly glowing with the phosphorescence that clung to him like an aura. The water bent around him, obeying. He was born from this kingdom, shaped by it, made to thrive where others only drowned.

And yet, he had faltered.

Theo’s claws flexed, the membrane of his webbed fingers stretched taut, and he glanced down at the ruin drifting near him. What had been a sailor — broad, brutish, full of salt and bravado — was now only pieces. Pale flesh, torn and spilling. The ocean was already reclaiming him, fish darting in, sharp-mouthed, bold in their hunger. But Theo had taken the heart for himself.

He bit into it now, the thick organ yielding beneath teeth honed on bone. Warmth spilled across his tongue, richer than wine, salted through with terror. He chewed lazily, savoring the texture, the faint iron tang, the way the muscle burst and collapsed between his teeth. He hummed low, satisfaction vibrating in his chest, and blood clouded the water around him in threads of red that swayed like seaweed.

And still. Still, the satisfaction didn’t reach deep enough.

Theo’s jaw tightened as he tore another bite from the heart, sharp teeth slicing, lips stained crimson. He licked them clean, savoring the taste, and let the remains drift from his hand, tumbling in the dark until the scavengers claimed it. He should have been pleased. He should have been sated. This was what he did, what he was. He sang, and men died. Their screams fed him as surely as their flesh. Their terror was the tide he had always ruled.

But tonight — tonight had not gone as it should have.

Theo tilted his head, gills flaring against his neck as he inhaled the thick, briny water, the copper bite of blood still sharp. His mind flicked back — unbidden, unwanted — to the man who had not bent.

The vampire.

Theo had seen them before. Dead things walking, thirst written in their bones, hunger gnawing holes in them so wide they swallowed everything in reach. They were predators, yes — but so was he. His song had unraveled kings and killers alike. He had watched monsters sink beneath the weight of his voice, clawing at their ears as they drowned. But this one — this one had only watched.

Theo’s claws twitched, scraping against the hard edge of a stone shelf as he drifted lower. His spines rattled faintly with the movement, and he stilled them, forcing calm back into his body. The thought of that gaze — the way the vampire’s blue eyes had caught the moonlight, sharp and unblinking — made something coil in his gut. Not fear. He didn’t feel fear. But recognition, maybe. An irritation, like a thorn lodged too deep beneath the skin.

He hated it.

He wanted to dig that gaze out, wanted to tear into the vampire’s chest and feel the ribcage give under his claws. He wanted to see if the stories of their unbeating hearts were true, wanted to press his teeth into cold flesh and hear it crack. He wanted to shred the silence out of him.

Theo’s teeth ached with the urge.

It sat behind his jaw, a gnawing, restless hunger that no organ could soothe, no heart could silence. He imagined it over and over again — the vampire’s body, dragged down into the dark where no moonlight could follow. He pictured pale skin paling further, lungs convulsing, limbs thrashing against him in useless desperation. He would twine his claws around the creature’s throat, hold him steady, sing just for him. A lullaby turned weapon, a song that would splinter bone from marrow.

He could almost feel it: the give of ribs beneath his grip, the cold flesh splitting beneath his bite. Would the vampire bleed like the rest? Would his unbeating heart resist his teeth, or would it crack like driftwood, splintering, spilling something darker than blood into the ocean?

Theo’s spines flared, the ridge along his back twitching in agitation. His tail lashed against the stone shelf, scattering silt into the water like a storm cloud. He hated that the vampire had survived. Hated that silence had lingered between them when there should have been screaming.

“You’re brooding.”

The voice slid into the water like sunlight. Too warm. Too soft. Theo’s lip curled before he turned, baring crimson teeth in the half-light.

She hovered a few feet away, pale arms folded across her chest, long hair drifting in the current like strands of kelp. Her tail was shorter than his, not built for speed but for grace, scales muted to a soft gray-green that shimmered only faintly. And along her throat — human skin. Too much of it. The gills there were shallow, delicate things, not the jagged slits carved into his own flesh. She wasn’t pureblood — she was like him. Half coming from land, from weakness, from everything he despised.

And yet — she smiled at him. Soft, foolish. It curved her lips the way sunlight curved the surface of the sea — harmless, fleeting, too warm for this deep.

Theo didn’t answer at first. Instead, he bit down harder on the last shred of heart still caught in his teeth, crushing it until it burst bitter across his tongue. The water carried the threads of blood away, curling toward Toska’s pale skin, but she didn’t flinch. She never did.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on me, Toska,” Theo said at last. His claws flexed, the spines along his back rising and falling in a slow ripple, restless. “I might mistake you for food.”

Toska tilted her head, the faintest laugh slipping past her lips, muffled by the water. “You wouldn’t.”

It was said with a confidence that grated, because she was right. Theo snarled softly, a sound more animal than words, but she only drifted closer, folding her arms over her chest again, gaze fixed on the cloud of crimson he’d stirred.

“You’re brooding,” she repeated, softer this time. “That look you get when the ocean doesn’t give you what you want.”

Theo’s spines flared again, agitation twitching sharp along his back. “The ocean gave me plenty tonight.” He gestured lazily at the drifting ruin of what had been men. Bones, hair, shreds of flesh. His kill. His art. “I fed. I sang. They died. What more do you think I need?”

Toska’s eyes flicked to his mouth, to the blood still streaking his lips, and then back to his eyes. She wasn’t smiling now, but there was no fear either. Only patience. Infuriating patience.

“You’re thinking about someone.”

Theo’s tail lashed, hard enough to rattle the rocks beneath him. The force of it sent a startled school of fish scattering into the dark.

Toska’s voice stayed even, not scolding, not sharp — just matter-of-fact, the way she always was when she decided to speak truths no one else dared. “You let someone live.”

Theo’s teeth ached again. He wanted to deny it. Wanted to tell her she was wrong, that he’d meant to. That the vampire’s survival was incidental, not deliberate. But the words wouldn’t come, and silence stretched too long between them.

Toska tilted closer, hair tangling in the current like sea grass, her expression too soft for this depth. “Why, Theo?”

Theo’s claws scraped against the stone again, carving pale gouges into it. His gills flared, and for a moment, the water between them churned with the violence he held back. Finally, he exhaled, the sound carrying more like a growl than a sigh.

“Because he didn’t break.”

The words tasted wrong on his tongue, but he couldn’t stop once he started. His gaze flicked upward again, toward where the ship still floated on the silver surface. “My song should have drowned him. Should have dragged him down screaming. But he stood there. He looked at me. He…watched.”

He spat the word like a curse.

Toska’s expression didn’t shift. Not surprise, not judgment. Just quiet attention, like she’d already expected the confession. “And that bothers you.”

Theo’s spines rattled faintly, agitation rolling through his body. “It infuriates me. I want to tear his throat out. I want to crack his chest open and see what a vampire’s heart looks like when it breaks. I want to drown the defiance out of him until nothing’s left.” His claws flexed, curling against his palms until the tips cut skin. Blood seeped out in slow rivulets, staining the water.

Toska hummed. “But you didn’t go back for him.”

Theo bared his teeth, a flash of red-stained white, but Toska only held his gaze. Her calm was unbearable sometimes, the way she never flinched even when he wanted her to.

Theo surged forward suddenly, closing the space between them in a burst of motion, claws catching the water, spines cutting a trail of light. He stopped just short of her, close enough that the blood from his lips could drift onto her skin.

“I will,” he whispered, low and vicious. “I’ll break him. I’ll drag him under until he begs for the end.”

Toska’s eyes glittered faintly in the dim water, soft green scales catching the light from above. “Then I’ll help you,” she said, voice smooth as the current, teasing even. Her grin tugged at the corners of her mouth, mischievous, the kind of smile that made Theo want to snap at her and laugh at her all at once.

Theo’s tail twitched sharply. “Help me?” His voice was low, growling with disbelief. “This isn’t—”

“This isn’t playtime?” she interrupted, hovering closer, hair drifting around her like a halo. “No. You’re right. It’s far too dangerous for playtime. But we can make it…a game.”

Theo froze, spines flaring, claws flexing, the tip of his tail thrashing the water. He narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge whether she was serious. She always teased him, always danced around danger like it was a sunbeam, but she rarely spoke like this, rarely suggested action with such certainty.

“A game?” he asked slowly, voice still low enough that only she could hear.

“Yes,” she said, her smile widening. “A hunt. You get to chase him, find out if he really is as unbreakable as you think. And I…I’ve always wanted to see a vampire up close. To watch one squirm beneath our song.” She leaned in just enough that he could taste the faint tang of salt on her skin. “Think of it as…practice. For both of us.”

The idea was infuriating. Outrageous. Yet a thread of something dangerous and thrilling wove through him at her words. She wasn’t just saying it for fun. She was saying it because she wanted it. Because she wanted to see him in his element. And the thought of letting her see that side of him, the predator beneath the calm, made something coil in his gut.

“You’re insane,” he growled, though there was no bite in the words. He was still simmering, still keyed into the ache that the vampire had left in him.

Toska only laughed, the sound bubbling around them like little pockets of air. It was soft, disarming, a melody that could’ve belonged to the ocean itself. “Insane enough to survive you, Theo. Don’t forget that.”

He wanted to snap at her, to remind her that this was his hunt, that the vampire had survived because of him, not because of her clever games. And yet…he needed her.

She was dangerous in her own way, softer but just as sharp. Her sweetness didn’t soothe; it prodded, it lured, it tested the edges of him. She wouldn’t flinch when he bared his teeth. She wouldn’t scream when he sank his claws into prey. She wouldn’t judge when he fantasized about dragging that blue-eyed vampire down into the dark.

“Fine,” he said finally, voice low and deliberate. “A game. But we do it my way.”

Toska’s eyes sparkled, delighted, and she tilted her head. “Of course, Theo. Always your way.” Her tail flicked once, small but precise, stirring the water in a lazy swirl. “But games are more fun when you let someone else move the pieces too.”

Theo’s spines rattled, a low hum of irritation and something else he couldn’t name. Her audacity infuriated him. She had no fear of him, no respect for the danger he carried like armor, yet somehow, the thought that she trusted him to control the hunt — trusted him to set the rules and lead the way — made the ache in his chest flare. He hated that he felt it at all.

“You’ll stay close,” he said, voice sharp, teeth glinting red in the dim. “One wrong move, and you risk more than you’re ready to pay for.”

Toska only nodded, calm as the tide. “I’ll risk it. You think I don’t know what I’m made of?”

Theo exhaled through his gills, letting the water carry the hiss away. He allowed himself one slow, deliberate glance back toward the surface, toward the silver-black silhouette of the ship, where the vampire waited somewhere above.

Toska drifted back slightly, letting the currents tug at her like a ribbon. Her playful energy returned, the sharp edge of the hunt receding behind her mischievous smile. The water around her swirled lazily, sunken light catching faintly on her scales, turning them into dappled green and gray that seemed to shimmer with laughter. She twirled once, a subtle flick of her tail sending a ripple of bubbles toward Theo, teasing him even without touching him.

“What does he look like?” she asked suddenly, eyes gleaming like polished stones. “The vampire, I mean. The one who made you…brood.” Her voice carried the lightness of a child asking an innocent question, but Theo knew better. Toska was never innocent. She never asked questions without thinking about the answers — or the fun she could extract from them.

Theo’s tail lashed, slicing through the water, stirring a cloud of silt and blood remnants from the sailors below. “What difference does it make?” His voice was low, but there was a sharp edge to it, a warning embedded beneath the calm tone.

Toska’s grin widened, bright and unrestrained. “Because I want to know. If he’s hot — if he’s the kind of predator that thinks he’s too clever — oh, Theo, those ones taste so much sweeter when you eat them.” She wiggled her fingers playfully through the water, sending tiny ripples toward him. “I’ve always wanted to try something that wasn’t human.”

Theo’s spines rattled, irritation surging along his back. She had this way of speaking — soft, almost innocent, but layered with cruelty — that made his blood stir hotter than the hunt itself. “You don’t eat him,” he said sharply, shaking his head. “You don’t touch him. Not yet.”

Toska tilted her head, lips curving in a teasing smirk. “Yet?” Her tone was mock surprise, the kind that made him want to bite her silent. “Do I sense hesitation? Afraid he’ll ruin you before we even start?”

“I’m not afraid,” Theo snapped, though the word lacked conviction. His claws flexed, sending bubbles scattering upward as he clenched and unclenched them. He hated the twitch in his chest, the thing that pulled at him like a current he couldn’t escape. “It’s too soon to hunt him again. He’s alive. Too alive. Too aware. Too watchful.”

Toska floated closer, gentle despite her impish grin, letting her hand hover just above the ridge of his spines without touching. “So you’re thinking…let him stew a bit? Let him taste the fear he can’t yet understand?”

Theo growled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through his chest. Her understanding of him, of this obsession, was both infuriating and oddly comforting. “Exactly. He’s dangerous — not like the others. He didn’t just survive my song. He…he resisted me.”

Toska’s eyes widened faintly, a flicker of admiration hidden in the playful light. “He did, huh? That does make him interesting.” She twirled slightly in the current, playful again, like the ocean itself was carrying her on a merry chase. “I love interesting prey. They’re always worth the wait.”

Theo’s spines twitched sharply as she circled him, playful, teasing, the water catching on her scales and scattering light in shards across the darkness. He tried to focus, tried to center himself, but every flicker of her movement, every teasing tilt of her head, was a distraction he both hated and craved.

“So you’ll wait,” she said softly, voice carrying like a current brushing over the rocks. “You’ll watch. You’ll think. You’ll plot.”

He didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t need to. The mere fact that she had phrased it as a choice when, in truth, he would have obeyed her suggestion regardless, was enough to knot his insides. Her presence always did that. She had this uncanny ability to navigate his obsessions without fear, without flinching, without trying to temper him. And that made her the only one who could exist in the same depths as him without becoming prey herself.

Toska drifted closer again, close enough that the tip of her tail brushed the webbing between his claws. “So…tell me,” she said lightly, her grin infectious, “what does he look like? I need the details.”

Theo exhaled through his gills slowly, letting the water carry the hiss away. He fought the pull in his chest, the ache that had started the moment he’d glimpsed the vampire on the deck above.

“He’s…blue eyes,” Theo murmured, voice low and rough, claws flexing involuntarily. “Hair…dirty blonde, like sunlight caught in storm clouds. Skin pale…perfect. Untouched.” His gaze flicked toward the surface again, toward the silver-black silhouette of the ship floating against the moonlight. The water between them thickened with the tension coiling tighter around his ribs. “Clever. Defiant. Dangerous.”

“You sound…obsessed,” Toska said, drifting closer, eyes gleaming like polished stones. Her tail flicked lazily, sending a trail of bubbles that caught the faint silver of the moonlight. “I thought I was the dangerous one in your life, Theo. Yet here you are, talking about a vampire like he’s already wrapped around your claws.”

Theo’s spines rattled faintly along his back, irritation curling beneath his skin. He hated the word obsessed. It was softness, weakness, childish. He was no one’s fool, and he had no attachment — no weakness. Not to prey, not to anything mortal or cursed.

“He’s prey,” Theo said, voice low, controlled, claws flexing and flexing until the pale tips gleamed faintly. “He’s prey that didn’t die. That’s all.”

Toska tilted her head, eyes narrowing mischievously. “That’s what you say now. Why don’t you tell me the truth, Theo? C’mon, I wanna know.”

“Enough,” he said finally, sharp and low, a growl beneath the words. “I’m hunting prey that survived. It’s not…obsession. Not what you think.”

Toska hummed softly, floating closer until her face was level with his, eyes gleaming with amusement and unspoken challenge. “Right. Hunting prey. Totally not obsession. That’s why you talk about him like he’s already yours. Totally normal predator behavior, Theo. Really believable.”

He exhaled through his gills, letting the hiss ripple through the water. She always did this — teased him, pushed him, saw everything he tried to hide, and yet…he felt comfortable. Safe. Even if she drove him insane with her playful, teasing energy. She didn’t challenge him to prove anything, and she didn’t flinch at his claws, at his blood, at the predator lurking beneath the calm. That…that was why he allowed her near. That was why he didn’t strike her, didn’t push her away.

“I said, enough,” he repeated, tone firmer now. His claws dug into the rocky outcrop beneath him, spines rising slightly as he asserted himself. “I control the hunt. I decide the time, the method, the song. I’m not…carried away.”

Toska tilted her head, her grin softening just a fraction, eyes twinkling with something unreadable. “Hmm…your control is impressive, Theo. Almost convincing.” She floated back a little, letting him reclaim the calm in the water, though her tail still brushed against his arm once, a reminder that she was never far. “But don’t pretend you don’t enjoy thinking about it. The thrill of a prey that refuses to die. The tension in your spines. The pull in your chest. I know you, Theo. You like it. Admit it.”

Theo’s jaw tightened. He flexed his claws once more, blood-red tips catching the faint light like sparks. “I don’t need your approval,” he said, voice low, rumbling with barely-contained frustration. “I don’t need anyone’s approval.”

Toska’s laughter bubbled through the water, soft and teasing, but there was no malice in it. “No, no, you don’t. But it’s fun to watch you squirm anyway.” She drifted lazily around him, tail curling and uncurling, scales shimmering faintly in the muted silver of moonlight filtering from above. “Besides, it’s not like I can’t handle it. I’ve always known you better than anyone, Theo. That’s why I get to tease you.”

Theo exhaled slowly through his gills, letting the tension ease just slightly. She wasn’t a threat, not really. She didn’t need to be controlled. She understood him in a way no one else could, and while her tricks and teasing frustrated him, he…relied on it. It grounded him.

He titled his head, watching the silver-black silhouette of the ship above, his mind coiling around the memory of blue eyes, the pull of a song unanswered, a prey that hadn’t died.

He would wait. He would hunt. He would control.

Chapter Text

The ocean was too quiet.

Liam hated when it went quiet. No gulls, no distant shouts from the crew on the deck, no slosh of waves against the hull — just silence, as if the ocean were holding its breath. It made him feel like he wasn’t sailing on it but through it, as if the black water pressed in from all sides, waiting for him to falter.

He stood at the prow of the ship, hands gripping the rail hard enough to dent the wood. His knuckles had gone white — not from the effort of gripping the rail, but from the steady, gnawing hunger crawling through him. Hunger for blood, for battle, for something he couldn’t name.

No. Not something. Someone.

That memory hadn’t left him. It replayed every time he shut his eyes: the tilt of the creature’s head, the curve of his mouth, the way his song had swelled through the air and crashed against Liam’s chest like a wave. He should’ve drowned. His men had. But Liam had just stood there, locked in the siren’s gaze.

And then — the siren hadn’t struck. He had left Liam breathing.

That was worse than drowning.

“You’re doing it again.”

Mason leaned against the mast, arms crossed, expression too tired for a human his age. His hair had gotten longer, curls tanged from this salt in the air, his shirt half-unbuttoned from work on the rigging, but his eye were watchful as they locked on Liam.

“Doing what?” Liam asked, eyes fixed on the horizon.

“Brooding. Obsessing over something no sane man would obsess over.” Mason’s jaw clenched as he pushed off the mast, moving closer. “You’re hunting a myth, Liam.”

Liam’s grin didn’t soften, but it sharpened, all teeth and hunger. “A myth doesn’t kill twenty men in one night, Mason. And if you didn’t notice—” he tilted his head, letting the moonlight catch on the curve of his fangs, “—I’m a myth.”

Mason shook his head, slow and deliberate, curls falling into his eyes. “That’s different.”

Liam’s brows lifted, sharp as blades. “Different?”

“You exist,” Mason said simply. “I’ve bled for you, patched you up, seen you rip a man’s throat out with your teeth. I don’t care what the world calls you—vampire, monster, ghost—you’re flesh and bone to me. I know you’re real.” He gestured out at the water, vast and endless. “Them? Sirens? They’re shadows. Half-stories told in the dark by men too drunk to know their own words. You chase them long enough, you’ll lose yourself.”

“Give it up, Liam,” Mason pressed, softer now. He stepped closer, close enough that Liam could smell the sweat and salt clinging to him. “We have a job. A port waiting. Cargo to claim. Coin that doesn’t spend itself. You’re captain of this ship, not some… lovesick man chasing songs in the dark.”

Liam turned then, slow, deliberate. His gaze cut sharp into Mason’s, and there was nothing human in the curve of his mouth.

“You think this is love?” he asked quietly. The words crawled low, dangerous, threaded with something like laughter but not quite. “You think I’d risk ship and crew, coin and blood, for love?”

Mason didn’t answer. His silence filled the air between them until Liam’s jaw ached from clenching it. He hated silence.

“You think this is love?” he repeated, softer now, as if testing the word on his tongue and finding it rotten. “I don’t believe in love. Not for me. Not for men like me.” His lips peeled back. “I don’t want him. I want to kill him. To claim his song, rip it out of his throat and wear it like a trophy. That’s not love, Mason.“

“You can lie to yourself all you want,” Mason said. “Dress it up in blood and trophies, call it whatever you like. But I know what obsession looks like. And I’ve seen what it does. It’ll ruin you. Ruin the crew.“ He pauses, running a hand over his face, before glaring at Liam. “Not just you. Sadie. Holt. Corey. The others. You pull them into this and you’ll lose more than men—you’ll lose what’s left of whatever we built. They follow you because they trust you. They follow you because they think you keep them alive. Start hunting ghosts and you’ll get them killed. Or you’ll get them broken.”

He named them like a prayer, as if saying their names might make the danger more real. “Sadie’s barely slept since we left port—she steadies the lines and hums to herself to keep the shakes away. Holt’s been patching leaks and arguing with the merchant rats so we can eat. They’re tired, Liam. They’re thin. If you drag this ship into a stretch of water where nothing is sane anymore because you want to prove something to a thing that smiled at you? You’ll watch them die slowly. Or you’ll watch them go hollow. You’ll be the reason Holt doesn’t laugh again, or Sadie can’t sing when she mends the sail.“

Mason’s words hung in the air like a net, ready to snag whatever stray good sense might still be left in Liam. The moon pooled silver across the deck; the ship creaked underfoot as if listening. Liam felt the eyes of his crew on him, felt the way they waited for his next move the same way they waited for wind in the sails — because he had been the wind for them for so long.

“Sadie,” Mason said, voice lower. “Holt. Corey—those three more than anyone know what you are. They’ve stuck with you through storms and betrayals because they know you don’t throw men away for pride. You think they’ll stand when you pull them toward something that is just old wives tales?”

Liam’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t blind to the faces in the dim: Sadie, small and quick, hands that moved like second nature over ropes; Holt, broad-shouldered and tired, who could fix a leak in a quick second; Corey, the newest hand, still learning the angles of the deck, eager enough to fight, loyal to a fault. They were more than crew. They were family in the only way a man like him could have it.

He tilted his head, letting the moonlight pick out the hard planes of his face. “They can die for coin,” he said, voice flat, even. “They can die for me. They can die for any reason that puts a few more coins in our hold and our names a little safer on a map. That’s the world we live in, Mason. I didn’t drag them into it.”

Mason’s jaw worked. He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “They follow because you keep them alive. Because when cannon fire rains or a mutineer turns a blade, you are the one who stands between them and the dark. Don’t be the thing that takes that from them.”

Liam’s laugh was a small thing, humorless. “You make me sound noble.”

“You have a choice,” Mason insisted, stubborn as a tether. “You can steer us to port. You can leave the dead and the songs to rot where they are. Get us our cargo, collect what’s owed, and put this behind you. Please.”

Liam thought of the siren’s face — sea green eyes, dark hair, skin like moonlight. He could see the angle of that mouth as it had smiled at him, a thing of promise and danger. He could still feel the ghost of the melody in the hollows of his ribs. He could still taste the night on his tongue.

He also felt Holt’s steady hands, Sadie’s small laugh in the galley, Corey’s earnest apology for spilling a crate of hardtack. They weighed him down the way a chain weighs an anchor. He loved them. In his own way, hard and jagged and not built for softness, he loved them

But love doesn’t make you give up a hunt.

“Give it up?” Liam echoed. The words tasted like rust, heavy on his tongue. “You think I can turn my back on something that looked me in the face and left me there alive? That’s not a thing I do.”

Mason closed his eyes for a beat, then opened them, resolve hardening his features. “Then don’t take them with you. Leave them at the next port. Let them find honest work. I’ll—” He swallowed, flinching at his own words. “I’ll go too.”

Anger flared bright and hot through his chest. His hand closed on the rail until the knuckles whitened again. “You’d abandon me because I won’t abandon an itch?”

“It’s not an itch, Liam. It’s a rot. And it’s going to eat you from the inside out.”

Silence again, longer this time. The rest of the crew on the deck shifted — murmurs low, looked-away glances. Liam knew all of them by sound: Sadie humming a lullaby to quiet her hands, Holt muttering about patched sails, Corey practicing knots with bloody, deft fingers, Desiree running her whetstone down the edge of a blade with steady rhythm.

At the rail, Tomas flicked his coin over and over, the metal ringing soft with each catch. Jun sat cross-legged near the mast, whispering stories to himself in his mother tongue, words that always made the air taste strange. Rook, perched higher in the rigging like a bird, cracked his knuckles one by one, each pop sharp as a pistol.

Near the galley door, Elara rolled dice into her palm, shaking them until the rattle grew too loud for comfort, then starting over again. Beside her, Finn adjusted the beads in his hair, threading new ones in with restless precision, each click and slide of glass another measure of the silence.

On the starboard side, Isa sharpened fishhooks, the scrape of metal against stone quiet but merciless, her expression colder than the sea itself. Behind her, Garrick dragged a whet chain through his calloused hands, testing links for weakness, muttering curses under his breath when one pinched.

And from the shadows by the quarterdeck, Somers tuned his fiddle, bow sliding across strings without music, the notes half-formed, aching to break into something but never daring to.

They all waited to see whether their captain would steer them into ruin or back to the dull safety of coin and cargo.

Liam breathed slow, deliberately. The moon pushed itself slack across the water. He thought of the man on the rock — the way the siren’s eyes had held him, the way a song that should have swallowed him had instead stopped, faltered, like an instrument run over the edge of a cliff and not breaking.

“I won’t leave them ashore,” Liam said finally. “I’m not cruel enough to strip them of what little life this gives them.” The words were softer than he meant them to be. He pushed himself upright, straight, and the moonlight caught the gleam of his fangs when he licked his lips. “But I won’t stop. Not until I find that creature.”

Mason’s face drew tight, something like fear and defiance and resignation braided together. “You’ll take us into siren waters,” he said, tasting the phrase like it was a warning. “You’re asking for—”

“I’m not asking for anything,” Liam snapped. “You think you can stop me, Mason? You think you can order me to forget something that put its voice under my skin? I am a myth like that creature is, yes. I’m a thing of blood and appetite. But I’m not stupid. I will not be hunted by a hunter. I will be the one to hunt.”

He could feel the way the crew bristled, like a flock at the scent of storm. Sadie had come to stand near the mast, her fingers tapping a rhythm to keep herself calm. Holt leaned close to a coil of rope, knuckles white. Corey lingered near the steps, eyes wide with an eagerness that made Liam want to both protect and throttle him.

Sadie’s voice was small. “Cap’n—“

“No.” Liam turned to her. Up close, she looked younger than she was: sunburned knuckles, eyes rimmed with tiredness, the faint scar at her temple from a rope that had bit back in a bad storm. He had seen her sew wounds closed with a needle and spit and had watched her eyes glaze with exhaustion many nights. He cared for her; he really did. That made what he was about to do feel heavier, like a well-timed blade through tender flesh.

The deck was still as a church. All the little noises — Sadie’s tapping fingers, Isa’s sharpening hook, Tomas’ coin — seemed to stop in unison, the hush so deep it pressed against Liam’s eardrums. The weight of their eyes settled on him, one by one, until it felt like standing under a thousand-pound tide.

He let them wait. Let them lean into the silence until it was a blade against their throats. Then, steady as a hammer driving nails, he spoke. “We’re going after the siren.”

Sadie’s breath hitched, Corey’s hands froze around his knots, Mason’s curse cracked the air like splintering wood.

But Liam didn’t waver. He braced his hands on the rail and leaned into the moonlight, letting them all see his face, sharp and carved, letting them remember what he was. “I know the risk. I know what waits in those waters. I’ve seen it, felt it, and still I stand here. And I promise you this—” His voice dipped low, carrying the steel of oath. “Not one of you will be lost to their song. I’ll find a way. I’ll break their melody before it touches your ears.”

“That’s madness,” Holt growled, finally breaking his silence. His voice was rough as rope dragged through salt. “You can’t just promise we won’t hear it. That’s not how it works. You know what sirens do. They sing, men drown. It’s not a choice.”

“I’ll make it one,” Liam snapped back. His fangs glinted, sharp as conviction. “You think I’ll stand by and watch you walk off a deck like cattle to slaughter? You think I’ll watch Sadie’s hands still or Holt’s laugh gutter out because some scaled wretch wants to taste fear? No. I’ll bleed the ocean dry before I let it have you.”

“Holt’s right.” Isa’s voice cut sharp as the hook in her hand. She hadn’t moved from her coil of rope, hadn’t looked up, but her words slid cold across the deck. “This is madness. Sirens don’t drown ships for trophies. They drown because it’s what they are. You can’t fight a song with fangs and fury.”

“You don’t know what I can fight,” Liam growls, eyes flashing as they locked on Isa.

Rook laughed from the rigging, the sound sharp, a cracked-bone kind of humor. “Gods, listen to him. He’s already half-drunk on the thought of it. You’re not fighting, Cap’n. You’re chasing. Don’t confuse the two.”

Jun muttered something, fingers tracing patterns on the mast, as if warding off the very word “siren.” Tomas’ coin hit the deck with a sharp clang and didn’t rise again. Somers’ bow squeaked against string — one note, bent and uneasy, before dying in his hand.

Liam’s gaze swept the deck. His crew. His people. Each of them carried in his chest like scars. He hated that he loved them, hated that their fear weighed heavier than his own hunger. But still, the hunger burned. Still, the memory of green eyes and faltered song coiled tight in his ribs.

“We aren’t running,” he said, slower now. “You want to call it obsession, fine. You want to call it madness, fine. But understand this: if I turn away now, if I let a creature that spared me slip back into the deep, then I’m no longer your captain. I’m no longer your shield. I am nothing but a shadow of what I swore to be for you. And I would sooner drag this ship into hell itself than let that be true.”

Mason’s voice cracked as he cut in. “And if it drags us down with you?”

Liam’s eyes snapped to him. He softened, just a fraction, just enough for Mason to see the man beneath the monster everybody saw him as. “Then I’ll drown first. I’ll take the song into my own skull and shatter it before it touches you. That’s my promise.”

Sadie’s voice, thin as thread: “And if you can’t?”

He looked at her, at the scar at her temple and the tremor in her hand. He wanted to tell her he could. He wanted to believe it himself. But truth was a blade he rarely dulled. “”Then I’ll die before you do,” Liam said. “And I’ll make sure the one that sings it drowns with me.”

One by one, the noises returned. Isa’s hook scraped stone. Elara’s dice rattled. Holt muttered curses as he checked the lines. Corey’s knots fumbled, then tightened again. Somers plucked a trembling note, softer than before, but music nonetheless.

They hadn’t agreed. They hadn’t forgiven him. But they hadn’t walked away, either.

And for Liam, that was something.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

The sun rose sluggishly over the horizon, a pale smear of gold across water the color of old steel. The ocean that had been so silent the night before now murmured and licked the hull of The Nightingale. Liam stood at the prow, arms crossed, the salt wind tangling his hair, eyes narrowing against the first streaks of daylight.

The night’s obsession hadn’t waned. It sat coiled tight in his chest, a hunger sharper than blood, heavier than the weight of the crew he’d sworn to protect.

And the crew — oh, the crew hadn’t forgiven him. Not really. Not for chasing something alive and dangerous just because it had looked him in the eye and let him stand.

“Cap’n,” Holt’s voice cut through the morning air. He was leaning against a coil of rope, shoulders tense, a frown carving deeper lines into his sunburned face. “We need to talk.”

Liam turned slowly, all predatory grace and impossible patience, letting Holt meet his gaze. Holt’s knuckles were white where they gripped the rope, and Liam could hear the tightness in his jaw before the words came.

“You’re talking about chasing a thing that let you live,” Holt said. “A siren. You saw what it did to the others. Twenty men in one night, gone before you could even blink. And it—” He gestured vaguely to the horizon. “It let you go. Do you really think it’s something you can catch? Do you really think this is anything but a death wish?”

“I’m not chasing death,” Liam said smoothly, but the words carried none of the calm they normally did. “I’m hunting what should have killed me. That’s…different.”

“Different?” Garrick’s voice came low, carrying the rasp of someone who had slept none that night. He leaned against the railing, arms crossed over his chest, boots scuffing the wet deck. “You nearly lost half your men to it last night, Liam. You think letting yourself chase a predator that almost drowned you, that could tear you apart if it wanted, is anything but insane?”

“It’s not insanity,” Liam said, teeth flashing faintly in the early light. “It’s survival.”

“Survival?” Garrick spat the word into the wind, sharp as salt spray. “Survival doesn’t look like this. You’re chasing something that shouldn’t have let you walk away. Something that doesn’t care about you. You’re a vampire, yes — undead, unkillable — but this isn’t a duel of strength. This is a game of death. And if you’re stupid enough to go after it, don’t drag the crew behind you. If you want to die, fine. Don’t make the rest of us die with you.”

Mason moved forward, stepping between Holt and Garrick, arms raised in the faint attempt at placation. “He’s right,” Mason said quietly. “We’ve all seen what a siren can do. You’re not just risking yourself here. You’re risking everyone on this ship. Sadie, Tomas, Corey…everyone. If you’re set on this, we’ll help—but only so far as keeping you from getting yourself killed. This obsession—this thing you’re chasing—it doesn’t care about anyone. You’re not invincible, Liam.”

Liam’s jaw tightened. He wanted to snap back, to bare teeth and spit words that cut like blades, but he saw the worry in their eyes, the tired lines on Holt’s sunburned skin, the restrained fear in Mason’s posture. He loved them. Loved them more than he could admit even to himself. That was the cruelest part — his obsession would put them at risk no matter what he promised.

He let out a long breath through his nostrils, letting it taste of salt and the ache in his chest. “I know the risk.” His voice was low, deliberate. “And I will protect you. I’ve done it before, I will do it again. You won’t hear the song, not if I can prevent it. You won’t be taken.”

Holt shook his head, frustration and exhaustion cutting across his features. “It’s not about preventing it, Liam. It’s about not putting yourself in a position where you even need to. You’re chasing something alive that could’ve killed you in a heartbeat last night. And you…you’re letting the fire in your chest blind you to everything else. Don’t do this, please, don’t do this.”

Rook stepped forward, silent until now, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. “I’ve seen what you can do, Cap’n. You’re not like anyone else. But Garrick’s right—you’re asking a lot from us. From all of us. If you want to chase a shadow, fine—but don’t expect the rest of us to stand on the deck like lambs while you tempt it.”

Liam’s grin spread, but there was no humor in it. “I expect you to follow. Because that’s the life you chose. You’re mine. I keep you alive. You sail with me, and you trust that I will.”

Mason shook his head, running a hand over his face. “I do trust you, Liam. But you’re not just hunting now—you’re hunting obsession. You can’t see it. You think it’s about revenge or pride. It’s not. It’s about the hunger that won’t be fed by men or coin or blood. And if you let it grow unchecked, it’ll kill you, and all of us with you.”

“I can survive this, Mason. I’ve survived worse.”

Holt muttered something under his breath, low and angry, but Liam didn’t care. He turned back to the horizon, eyes scanning the endless gray waves for any sign of disturbance, any shimmer of green or blue that would betray the siren’s presence. He didn’t need them to understand, didn’t need their approval. He only needed them to be alive. To trust him when the time came.

The first stirrings of wind filled the sails, and The Nightingale creaked and groaned as it caught the current. The ocean opened before them like a dark promise, endless and hungry. And somewhere beneath it — lurking just out of sight — the siren waited.

And Liam? He was coming for him.

He didn’t know if he would survive the chase. Didn’t know if the song would tear him apart before he ever got close. Didn’t even know if the siren would strike first.

But he would follow it. Across every wave, through every shadow, into the depths that swallowed men whole. And he would see it end on his terms.

The crew murmured among themselves, casting worried glances at him, at each other, at the looming gray expanse. They didn’t agree. They didn’t want to follow him here. But they would. Because that was life aboard his ship. Because they had no choice but to trust him.

And Liam grinned into the wind.

The hunt had begun.