Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was awful.

Some horrid wailing, caterwauling, shrieking din. It ricocheted through the ocean and suffocated all the thoughts inside his head.

It hurt!

Each pulse, each wave, coursing through his taut body. Their beating hearts, the twitching muscles, the approaching vessel. Fish of all shapes and sizes darted away from it as they felt it approach. But not him. A thrash of his tail, and he was speeding towards it, points of his teeth clenched tight enough to draw blood.

The assault on his senses increased as he drew near, and a high keen tore from his lips. Out, out, and up through the hull of the ship. The horrible sound lessened, and he gained some control, directing his voice up, out of the sea and into the ship.

With their conventions, he sang. Their precious notes and rhythms, all metered out and tuned in their harsh and unflattering tongue. It clung to the inside of his mouth as he forced it out, sticky and grating.

But it had the desired effect. The ship had halted now, the sounds of its engines fading, those fragile heartbeats gathering to the sides. Now, the fun would begin.

Two wide fins on either side of his chest and two slightly smaller ones at his hips kept him steady as he glided through the water. He maneuvered until he was right against the hull and hummed. This time his own song, not one of theirs.

The hull shivered with the sound, carrying it to untrained ears, where it wormed its way in and filled their empty minds. They would not see him here, hidden under their ship. Even if they could, his sandy complexion and textured skin would serve as adequate camouflage against the ocean floor.

The first body hit the sea, the impact rippling out to give him a complete picture—punctuated by growing ripples as the others dove from the ship. He revelled in their helplessness as their desperate heartbeats rang out against their stolen minds.

At last, every sailor had leapt from the deck. He sprang into motion, his song still echoing out. Several heartbeats had vanished or moved beyond reach.

There.

Flashes of movement, above to his right. His tail whipped to one side, setting him upon his prey. A dark, clawed hand reached out and snatched an ankle, deft fingers wrapped around and tugged. The body followed, heartbeat flashing in his head.

The body—a young man—kicked and thrashed against his grip, but blows fell on indifferent skin. It would take more than that to incapacitate him. He seized the man's shoulders, light hair wafting after him in the current. His eyes were open, a feat in the salt. Humans were predominantly freshwater creatures.

Honestly, they should stay there. Why bother with the ocean? They were not built for the deep. Sure enough, as the pressure increased, the human writhed, unable to adapt. Such delicate creatures they were. For all their noisy machines and greedy nets, they came apart so easily.

He pressed against the man and hummed that deadly hum. The man let out a garbled moan, and he drank it in, savouring the sound. He angled them deeper now, down, down into the depths. Down to his domain. This was the best part.

Fingers tightened, claws bit into skin, blood in the water—sharp and delicious. His tail flicked, and his lips met those of the man in his grip. That fragile human body stiffened, but still its heart beat.

Each second that they dove, the young man’s voice filled him further as he drew it out of him with his song. Drinking greedily from his lips each sweet, bloodstained note. He pulled from him until he had every last drop, every piece of his voice. There was not a sound left in the body when he finally let it drift away—not even in its heart.

This time, the sound was sweet.

As it resonated through his skin, it set something aflame within him. He needed to seek out that voice and possess it.

He set out, tail swaying side to side, carrying him to the rocky shore where it was low tide. Just below the surface, he hugged the seafloor. The two sets of fins along his sides pressed down into the sand. He flapped them a few times, carving out a small hollow for himself as he settled down onto the ocean floor.

There he lay, half-buried in the sand—listening, existing in the sweetest, most intoxicating song as it rolled over him and possessed his mind. He hadn’t the slightest clue as to how much time had passed when the song finally faded, only that he was filled with a deep, yearning emptiness in its absence.

He swam back and forth along the shoreline in the dark, tail twitching in irritation. A school of fish flashed across his body, featherlight flutters as they danced amid the waves. He ignored them. The memory of the sound would drive him mad, but there was no way for him to obtain it. His power only worked at sea and, thus, did not extend to those rooted firmly on the shore.

To his great relief, the voice returned the next day. And the day after that, and the one after that, as well. It was human, he was certain of that now. But for a human to have such rich timbre, such delicate tones, such warm, exhilarating resonance? It was a true marvel!

He longed to see the person who sent such sounds out into the world, day after day. Why stay on the shore? Why not come to the sea? The sea, where he could sing back, claim the voice as his own, and never have to give it up.

Unable to hold back any longer, he hummed, thrumming deep in his chest, in perfect unison with that most beautiful voice. The voice wavered, hesitant, then faded.

No!

With a push of his tail, he shot forwards, upwards, until his head crested the waves. The air hit his face and he grimaced at the unpleasantness of his hair sticking to his scalp. His senses were deadened, disoriented. He blinked, acclimating to the harsh, dry sensation. The spiracles on his upper back pulled water into his body and through the gills on his chest. The crash of the waves along the rocks still reverberated through his submerged body, allowing him to easily locate the rocky shore. Slowly he propelled himself towards it.

The human stood amid the wave swept rocks—a small figure, clad in black.

“Hello?” the voice called. “Is someone there?”

He hummed back. It came out short and flat, none of the all-encompassing resonance that it carried under the waves. He switched tactics, employing their technique, one of their melodic scales. He added a couple of their words for good measure, despite the unpleasantness of their taste.

The human turned, searching, but he was hidden cleverly, obscured by waves, the rocky shelf, and his own natural camouflage. His tail swayed to keep him from being dashed against the rocks. He continued to sing, wishing desperately for his own resonance. But it would not work here like this, his head above the water, the human’s feet squarely on land.

“Where are you?”

Why did the human not sing? What did he need to do to get that precious sound back?

“Please! Have you fallen? Do you need help?”

He stopped singing. Peered at the human around the rocks. Did it intend for him to answer back? He considered, selected a voice, and spat out the dull, flat words. “Sing for me!”

The human blinked. “What?”

Had he used the wrong language? He searched, found another voice, and tried again. “Syngdu fyrir mig!”

Nothing.

His tail thrashed in frustration. Another, then. “Canta—”

“I understood the first time. I just was not expecting…your request.”

Back to the first voice, then. “Sing for me!”

“Why do you want me to sing for you? Where are you? Can you come out where I can see you?”

Why was this so difficult to understand? He hissed, resenting that he would have to use more of that hateful human tongue. “For the sound! The song!”

“How long have you been listening to me? Why have you come here?”

Again, with all these damnable questions! It would be far easier to just sing!

“Are you from Perros? Do you live along the shore? Perhaps I can—”

“Sing!” His impatience caused him to put too much force into the command. More than once voice poured from his throat and reverberated off the rocks, their tones clashing and scraping against each other.

The human screamed.

The sound pierced inside his head, tearing at his sanity. He curled in on himself, writhing and thrashing in pain. His hands flew to his ears, his face, pressing tight, a desperate attempt to alleviate the sensation.

It stopped only short seconds later, but it had felt like an eternity. He held himself, swaying in the waves and keening softly.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—! I was startled! I wasn’t expecting—!”

He should leave. In fact, he should have left a long time ago. It was pointless, really, lingering here. Far too dangerous, too painful—far too much of a risk. But the music, the memory of it, soothed his aching skin. No, not a memory—the human was singing! Right now! For him!

Slowly, he lowered his hands, and his muscles relaxed, tension melting away. He let the music sweep over him, its comforting, gentle reverberations caressing his body. Yes. He could live inside this forever. It was better than lying in the warm sand as gentle waves rocked him, better than the heat of the sun’s rays through clear waters, better by far than any of the other voices he had tasted…

He hummed, pouring himself into her tune, resonating back with the sounds inside himself. She continued, and their music wove together, in unison at first, and then branching out into harmonies. And oh, the vibrations then. The tension and friction of the sound as it slid together and released. It fueled an insatiable hunger inside of him as their tones met, some sweet, some grand, some yearning for relief.

He hated that this form of music began with an end, an inevitable conclusion foreseen from the first note. There were so many other forms of music that did not prescribe an end—human ones even—that allowed the song to continue until the musicians declared it over.

But this one had long since announced its end, and it came to pass, its resolution predictable and placating. Their voices faded, echoed by a pang of disappointment in his chest. Perhaps he could coax out another song.

“How did you…? How did you know that song?”

“I heard you sing it.”

“But you couldn’t have. I’ve never sung it with anyone but my father before…”

“That is no matter.” He figured out most songs from their repeated patterns. Especially human ones. They practically blared out where they would go before they even got there.

“Truly, I am impressed. You sing so beautifully. It’s almost as though you’re…not human.”

“I am not.”

A sharp intake of breath. He braced for another scream.

“Are-are you an angel?”

Relief washed over him. He’d never been relieved to hear a human speak before. But then again, anything was better than the screaming. He needed to find a way to get the human to trust him. To return, to venture into the waves, so that that sublime voice could be his.

“My father told me about the angel of music. He said the angel would come to the downtrodden and the lonely and teach them to sing.”

“I could teach you, if you would like.”

“You would do that?”

“Return tomorrow evening.”

“In the evening?”

“Yes. It is safer that way. I do not need the entirety of humanity bearing down upon this beach, searching for me.”

“Oh! I suppose that makes sense… Tomorrow, then…” She turned to go, hesitated, and turned back around. “Wait!”

He hesitated, bobbing just above the waterline.

What is your name?”

His name? He hadn’t been called by a name in a very long time—and never in a human tongue.

“You do have a name, right?”

He searched the voices in his head, for one that matched the closest with the human standing before him.

“Erik.”

“Erik?”

“Is it wrong?”

“No, no! Not at all! I just wasn’t expecting—Never mind. Nice to meet you, Erik. I’m Christine.”

“Christine.” He hummed it to himself. It was a bit chewy. Not at all how he would have named her. She deserved something much more...melodic. Damn this language for not being a tonal one. At least those languages had depth. They weren’t all flat and spread out.

“Until tomorrow…Erik!” And this time, she did depart.

He dipped below the waves, a welcome reprieve from the harsh air. The water washed over him, moistening his skin, tousling his hair, returning his senses. It had been a success! He would hear the voice—her voice again. And then he would make it his.

Their lessons commenced with a vigour. He had no idea how humans taught each other to sing. Clearly, not well. Some of his preferred techniques were simply not possible out of the water, but he managed to get his point across. Most of the time.

At times, he would come across gaps in the human tongue, a lack of words to describe the precise sensation of music resonating in a specific way or to describe the depth of sound. Or he would find himself grasping at ways to explain air in a body that breathed in an entirely different manner from his own.

Still, the lessons continued. Most evenings, she would come, stand among the rocks and sing. He would teach her, sing with her, losing himself in the sound of her voice, the sound of their harmonies.

Some days, she surprised him, grasping exactly what he meant before he had an opportunity to demonstrate. Sometimes she even managed to sing better than he did. Up in the air, out of the water, he was limited in ways he was not accustomed to. The longer he spent teaching her, the more adept he became at weaving song through air as he did in the sea. Her voice, too, improved rapidly under his tutelage, and his hunger for her voice only grew along with it. But something else grew too.

It began entirely without his intention. She lingered after a lesson, and he remained, curious despite himself.

“The sunset is lovely. It reminds me of when I was young, and we would come here. My father would play violin and teach in the summers. He loved the seaside. It’s why he asked to be buried here. Do you know him?”

“Your father?” Why on earth would he know her father?

“Yes, did he send you? He told me he would send an angel.”

“No.”

“Oh.” Disappointment coloured her voice.

“I came because your song called me here.”

“I was singing to my father. I’ve been so lonely since he left, but the singing helps. Our lessons help.” A pause. “Do angels get lonely?”

“No.” This conversation was pointless.

He slid beneath the waves and flicked his tail to leave, but her reply still vibrated through him.

“I think they do.”

She could think whatever she wanted. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t one of her “angels”, and he wasn’t lonely. Yet her words lingered, prodding at his mind. Why would she even say such a thing? What had he done or said to make her think that?

His kind were solitary creatures. He didn’t need their companionship and he certainly didn’t need the company of a human. His body twitched with restless energy, and he gave up hunting for the evening. He would never catch anything like this.

He arrived at their next lesson hungry and irritable. She picked up on it immediately.

“What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer. It was all her fault anyways. Her infernal words.

“Did something happen while I was gone?”

He ground his teeth. “I am here for the lesson.”

She sighed. “What if we did something else instead of singing today?”

Panic flared through him. “No!”

“You probably know this already, but humans do need rest sometimes. Resting my voice will ensure I don’t injure it from overuse.”

That was possible? Humanity’s inefficiency truly knew no bounds. It was rather inconvenient. He longed to hear her voice again, but if pushing her to sing so frequently risked damaging her voice… He would have to be sure to include more rest in her assignments.

“Erik? Are you still there?”

“Of course. I suppose it might be beneficial for the health of your voice to rest some days. I can return tomorrow.”

“Don’t go yet. We can have a different kind of lesson today.”

“How so?” His eyed her warily.

“Maybe I could teach you something?”

What could she possibly teach him?

She settled down onto the rocks. “When I was a child and we came here, there was a young boy—Raoul—we would run wild, knocking on doors and asking for stories. Do you know about the korrigans?

“No.” It was most likely trivial human folly. But it would be prudent to be certain.

And so, she told him. Over the course of the next few weeks, after her singing lesson or on rest days, she told him a different story about the korrigans. It was complete nonsense, of course. Tales to explain what their small human minds could not comprehend.

Sometimes the korrigans were fairies with shimmering wings and long hair. Other times they were dwarves that played pranks and hid objects. Sometimes they were creatures of Hell that despised religion. Once, she even described them as spirits of the sea, using their voices to lure men to watery graves.

The tales were captivating and full of colour in a way he had never imagined any human words be. Just like music, they wove together in different patterns, mixing and twisting and changing over time. And with each story, each lesson, as they spent more time together, that strange feeling grew.

One day, when their lesson came to an end, she turned to go instead of beginning a story, climbing back along the rocks.

“Christine!” Was she ill? If she were, they should postpone their next lesson.

She paused and turned back, looking out to sea. “I’m sorry, I’ve told you all I know of the korrigans. I don’t have any more stories of them.”

Oh. “Perhaps… You could tell them again?”

A small smile tugged at her lips. Had he amused her?

“I have a better idea. Have you heard of Little Lottie?”

He had not.

She returned to her spot on the rocks and sat down to tell him of Little Lottie and the Angel of Music. In the days that followed, she told him tales from her homeland of Sweden. She recited poetry and brought more stories from human writers he had never heard of. Now that they had moved beyond the korrigans, the supply of stories was endless. Perhaps humanity was good for something after all… At least, a few of them.

He had never expected that he would come to miss her during the long hours he spent buried in the sand, alert for sustenance. Nor had he expected his eagerness for the stories that would come after the lessons, no matter how foolish or naïve. Nor that he would find himself considering what she might think when he seduced sailors from their ships and sucked the voices from their dying lips…

One story in particular haunted him though. The story of the Näkken. 

“Näkken live in rivers and streams and can change their shapes. All the mothers warn their children about them. They say we must always carry steel into the water to keep them at bay. When one sings, it’s supposedly the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard—other times they play the violin. They use their music to bewitch people and lure them into the water. Once their victim enters the water, the Näkken carries them away and drowns them. That’s why they like to use the story to scare children. It’s quite horrible, really.”

Was it? He had never heard of this “Näkken” before, but what if it were just another name for other beings like him? He was overcome by the sudden urge to flee, relieved that she could not see him.

He forced himself to wait until she left, too preoccupied to return her good night. With a flash of his tail he dove, fast, deep, so much so that it hurt, and he had to slow as his body protested. While sturdier than the humans, he could only dive so deep before the pressure and lack of oxygen would take its toll.

This human—Christine—was convinced he was some sort of deity from her religion. Would still return if she found out he was not? If she discovered that he was far more akin to a monster than a god and fled? What if she left before he claimed her voice? He should care what she thought of him, but it needled at him that she might not wish to return, should his true nature come to light.

As time passed, he had grown comfortable in his role, for once adored instead of feared. It was a heady sensation, playing at being a god. He had been given a million chances now, thousands of opportunities to entice her into the water, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask it of her. If he did, she would do it in a heartbeat, but something held him back.

Perhaps that it would be too easy? The sailors struggled, attempted to flee when he grew near. It probably had something to do with this new, infernal growth warping his judgement…

It was a nuisance, like a cancer that stained his mind. It made him indecisive, hesitant, and more than a few sailors had escaped with their voices—and their lives—as a result. He should have dragged them all into the abyss, should have relieved them of those sounds they did not deserve—sounds they abused. But when he gripped them in his claws, the image of her replaced their faces, the sound of her voice replaced their cries of fear. She filled his head, clouded his thoughts, his judgement, and he let his prey go, hunger raging all the while.

More frequently now, he let ships go entirely. He lay, buried in the sand, blocking out the shrieking of their mechanics churning, the shrill singing from their decks, with the memory of her. It didn’t stop the pain, but it provided him some comfort.

In brief moments of clarity, he was disgusted with himself. Ashamed that he had let them get away once again. He really should find a way to cut this growth out; it would only cause problems in the end. But then she would sing, and all his plots of vengeance were forgotten.

It was more than likely he would have gone on like this forever, his mind in a stalemate, if it weren’t for that infernal scarf.

It had been a blustery day, chilly. The seasons were changing, and the sea was beginning to reflect that as well. Normally, he would have travelled further south some time ago, but he had been unwilling to risk losing access to her voice.

Now, that devious wind tore her scarf from her small frame and tossed it into the waves. It was no loss to him, an unremarkable length of fabric, swallowed by the sea. But to her, apparently, it meant everything.

The splash as her body broke the surface nearly shattered him. She was in him, every part of her resonating against him. He slid beneath the water as the sensations rippled across him. The flexing of her muscles as she fought the current. Her increasing heartrate as she struggled against her heavy dress to keep her head above the crashing waves. The flare of desperation that shot from her when she failed and was sucked under.

His mind slowly recovered from the onslaught of sensation as the vibrations—the flailing of her limbs—grew feebler and less frequent. He turned in a flash, zeroed in on her location, her presence in the water. He was propelled towards her, hunger driving him.

At last, he could claim her voice. She would drown, of course, but he would have her voice as his own, to sing at his whim. His mouth watered at the thought—her sound coursing through his body—her voice singing his song.

But there would be no more lessons. No more stories about places he would never see. No more conversations or reprieve from his monotonous days. Things would return to the way they had been, and he would be alone once more.

Perhaps he could find someone else to teach? It wouldn’t be the same. Besides, it wasn’t every day random humans came to the rocks all alone and sang out to the ocean. And none of them would have the same voice as her. Tell stories quite like her.

As his arms wrapped around her body and the hunger within him surged, he fought back, pulling her close and thrashing his tail against the current to keep them steady. Her body was hot, burning, as her smooth skin scraped against his. He needed—He needed to get her air, she had no gills, her mouth would need to be above the waves. He surged upwards, and they broke the surface, her head above the water.

But still the muscles in her chest did not move. Her mouth did not open. What was wrong with her? He lifted more of her body above the water, but the dress weighed them both down, impossibly heavy above the surface.

He yanked on it, claws tearing through the fabric until it fell away, seized by the current and dragged down. He lifted her again, trying to angle her better, hands moving to her chest to force muscles into motion.

Water spilled out of her lips and the muscles heaved in her chest, playing out against his skin. He was caught off guard by his relief at the sensation. The swells of the waves pulled them up and down as he worked to keep her head above the water.

Horrible rasping noises spilled out of her throat and grated against his senses. A pang of concern shot through him at the damage they might cause to her voice. No singing for her for several days—until he was absolutely certain everything had healed.

A violent spasm shot through her, momentarily overwhelming him. She was close—too close. Now she was shaking, shivering, the frigid ocean water sapping her precious warmth. She needed to get out of the water. He needed to get her out of the water.

“P-please.” Soft fingers clung to him as he swam to the rocks. “So c-cold.” Another tremor. He glanced up at the rocks. This was going to be…unpleasant. He angled himself with the waves, taking advantage of their power, and shot forwards, then up.

With help from the wave, he hauled them both onto the shelf. Then the wave receded, taking with it his oxygen. He had expected it, but it was still uncomfortable. The horrible pressure of everything, of himself, the weight of his own body, struggle to move, the alarming lack of air. His mind screamed at him to breathe, and his mouth pulled at air, but there was nothing his body could do with it.

A wave surged over them, momentarily alleviating his desperation. He used its momentum to push Christine higher onto the rock, tail thrashing to propel them forwards. One last push, and she was beyond his reach. He was suffocating again.

His fins and tail flapped inelegantly as they tried to gain purchase on the slick rocks. He pulled himself along the rocks with his arms, lifting himself to prevent his gills from scraping. Another wave. He was too far up for it to pull him back out, but it washed over his body, momentarily allowing him to breathe.

“W-wait!”

He couldn’t wait, not if he wanted to live. He pulled forwards again, away from her. The muscles in his arms screamed in protest. She scrambled after him. Of all the unintelligent—

“Don’t go! I p-promise I w-won’t hurt you!”

Ha. Her? Hurt him? No. But the lack of oxygen and the pressure above the water certainly would if he didn’t do something about it fast.

Something hot clamped around his tail, and he jerked. A cry of pain, and the pressure vanished as his spined skin sliced through hers. He met her eyes, full of pain, full of shock. She clutched at her hand as red welled up and dripped onto her remaining clothing. Even without the water to draw it to him, he smelled the iron scent of it. She shook with another tremor and took a step forwards.

“P-please.”

His lips parted, and a searing screech spilled out from his body. He had no voices; he was cut off, helpless, no air, no singing. Only this atrocious sound. She staggered back, hands clasped over her ears, face screwed up in agony. That was it then. It was all over. She would not want such an atrocious thing to teach her.

His head throbbed, the world was spinning, swaying—he needed to go now. He heaved, pushing with his tail. It smacked against the rocks, and pain flared across his body. The movement propelled him forwards just enough that, when the next wave came, it lifted him rather than simply washing over him. He surged forwards, allowing it to drag him out, the relief of water over his gills pure bliss.

“No!” Christine. Was she crying out in horror over her newfound knowledge of him?

Contrary to his better judgement, he pushed his face slightly above the water, tail churning to keep him steady in the current. Christine was on her knees on the rock shelf, wide eyes scanning the surface. Her brow relaxed when her gaze fell upon him. Why did she not run?

“I thought…I thought you w-were going to leave. I-I’m sorry I grabbed you. I didn’t mean to h-hurt you.” Her body still shivered. His own skin twitched in response, though her tremors no longer played out against him.

Hurt him? What could she possibly mean by that? “I am unhurt.”

“B-but you screamed. Why d-did you scream then?”

He wanted to dive, to let the current drag him down, away from her question.

“I cannot breathe without the water. I would have suffocated, as you would have underwater.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry, y-you were j-just trying to get b-back, and I tried to stop you. Oh, God.” She pressed a hand to her mouth.

The sun was setting; her tremors were growing worse. This couldn’t be good for…for her voice. She ought to return home and get warm—before she did irreparable damage.

He opened his mouth to tell her as much, but she spoke first.

“I’ll come b-back… Tomorrow.” She nodded. “Tomorrow…”

Finally, some sense. Though unidentifiable feelings still churned in his body as she stumbled across the rocks and back to the shore. He turned away and sank under the water. His entire body ached from their ordeal, he needed to rest, recover.

Unfortunately, once he had settled in the sand, his mind began to race. It posited scenario after scenario, each one worse than the last. She knew he wasn’t a god now—what would she do? Would the shores and waves be filled with men and nets searching desperately for a terrifying sea beast? She’d heard his voice, the voice not tempered by those he had stolen and so cleverly woven together to layer over his own. She had no reason to come back. He should have taken her voice when he’d had the chance.

Now it would be lost to him forever.

Chapter Text

But she did come back. She returned.

And now she was singing to him, hand bandaged and a little pale, but otherwise no worse for the wear. If it weren’t for the now achingly familiar sound of her voice thrumming through him, he would not have believed this could be the case.

A hum escaped his lips in greeting. Her head cocked at his sound, and she spun, long curls streaming in the wind. The unforgiving tide tugged at his body and shoved him against the rocks. For once, he let it toss him, savouring the harsh scrape of stone biting into his skin.

“Erik?” Fear coloured her voice.

Right. He was the monster. Well. Might as well play the part.

He bared his teeth and hissed. That’s what the monsters in her stories did, right?

It worked. She jolted back, eyes wide. Exactly what he wanted.

Then why was his chest still tight?

She surged back, hands reaching out. He drew away, hissing again.

“Is something wrong? Are you hurt?”

He drew back. She froze. What on earth could she possibly have to say to him? Why could she not just leave him in peace? Why must she insist on torturing him like this? Why did he let her?

“I was scared that you wouldn’t return. Now that I know… You’re not an angel—are you a Näkken? All those stories about singing and men being dragged to sea… The abandoned ships, the drowned sailors…” Her eyes widened.

So, she was scared of him then. At least she admitted it. He remained silent, waiting for her to turn and run.

“That was you, wasn’t it? The missing sailors? The lost ships?”

“Yes.”

Her face remained blank as she nodded slowly. “I suppose it makes sense that it would be. Why though? All those innocent men…”

“Innocent,” he spat. Her words stoked a familiar fire within him. “Those men were not innocent. They are fools! Their ships tear through the ocean, spewing chemicals that burn! The agonizing noises, their voices—their atrocious machines—churning in the water, blaring out without a care in the world! They are entirely ignorant to the destruction their blundering around causes! And the nets…” An involuntary shudder ripped through him at the memory, and he snarled in distaste. “Their horrid, inescapable nets, grasping everything and ripping it up, leaving nothing untouched.” His teeth clenched and his fingers twitched in aggravation.

“I…”

His eyes shot to Christine’s face. Her eyes were wide in horror and her mouth opened and closed repeatedly. Like a fish.

“I’d never thought about it like that before.”

“No,” he scoffed. “Of course not. And why would you? You are human, after all.” He really should have killed her when he’d had the chance. It would have been far better than this, the image he had built of her crumbling before his eyes. A part of him had naively—wrongly—believed that she would be different.

He let himself slip beneath the waves.

“Wait! Erik!”

Damn him. Damn him for hesitating. He was a slave to her voice, bound to hear what it said. He hovered, just below the surface, awaiting her words.

“Please don’t go. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” She sighed. “I don’t want you to go. If you’ll have me. I enjoy our lessons. Telling stories after. But I suppose if you want to go…I understand. I’d miss you.”

He closed his eyes. He should end it now. Tell her to go back to her world and return to his. This was all a mistake. A grievous error of judgement on his part. It wasn’t worth it—it would not work out. They were too different.

With a flick of his tail, his head broke the surface again. He opened his mouth to tell her his decision. To drive her away, once and for all.

But the words did not come.

His tail thrashed, claws bit into rock. “What do you want?!” he cried at last.

She blinked, a hand coming to her chest. “Me?”

“Yes! Why are you still here? Why do you not flee from the sight of me?”

“I suppose… What I’ve always wanted. Angel or Näkken or something else, it’s been nice to have someone to talk to, someone to share my stories with. I enjoy your company. And now that I know what you are…I want to know more about you.”

She knew what he was—what he had done—and yet, still she claimed to enjoy his presence? She must be mad. Or he was. Or both.

“Tomorrow,” he said before he could stop himself. Traitor, his mind hissed.

And then he was diving back down, away from the rocks, away from the shore, away from her.

Irritation flared through his body, his fingers clenching and unclenching as he swam. How could he have given in? Why had he not just put an end to it? How could he have let her feelings alter his judgement like that? He was damning her and tearing himself apart in the process. Such a self-indulgent weakness that had seized him, and now… Now they would both suffer needlessly for it.

He was far too restless. He needed to clear his head. He swam, hard and fast, until he was well out of his normal range.

That was when it struck him. The telltale churning, whirring, whining. The vibrations pounding against his body as it tore through the water. The ship moved through the sea, casting its nets and destroying everything it touched. Fish, rays, sharks—even dolphins—fled, the terror in their movements ripping through him as the net’s gaping maw bore down on them. Memories flared in his mind and old scars ached with them. Thrashing, flailing, raw terror, biting knots, burning ropes, flesh torn in teeth, tightened, helpless—

Enough.  

A visceral hum tore through him, striking the ship and its occupants in full force. Bodies staggered, heartbeats ricocheted, sweet shivers as they desperately hurled themselves into the waves. Claws slipped around throats, teeth tore at lips, the sharp tang of blood as he ripped away voices. Each new addition resonated through him, spurring him on as he sang out louder and louder.

It wasn’t until each heartbeat ceased, the snarling ship lay cold and abandoned, its clever mechanisms permanently disabled. Alerted by the scent of blood, scavengers flocked to the area to take care of what remained of the bodies. What was left of the loathsome net lay in tatters around him. It would never hold anything again. He could finally breathe. It was gone. They were gone.

Rage spent, he returned to the ocean floor, settled deep into the sand, and let his mind drift.

The next day, she didn’t return.

He told himself it was no surprise. Especially not after what he had done last night. He was an atrocity to her. A monster. He didn’t regret it, though. No. He relished in it. He had stopped them. He had brought them all to justice. A feeble attempt to right the scales. After all, they had destroyed so many lives. What were a mere handful in return?

His chest buzzed with new voices yearning to cry out. There amongst the rocks, he let them. He sang by his own rules, with his own tongue. Without bounds, without beginning, or end, just song. The music burned through his cold body, pulsed along with his wretched heart, thrummed against his abrasive, scarred skin.

It was the only thing part of himself he might describe as holding beauty. It was the only part of him that came from them. Their voices, his drug, a constant craving in his mind. His nature or some gross defect? He did not know.  

He hadn’t seen one of his own kind in an exceedingly long time, solitary as they were. Perhaps they were all dead. It was not important. As far as he was concerned, without humans, he would have no voice with which to sing. Of course, the power was his, the artistry, the craft. But the sound itself, the vibrations at their core, he had stolen from them.

Eventually, his song faltered and died. He had no energy left, wrung himself until the last drop had gone dry. He was hollow and drifting as he sank down to the sandy bottom to hide himself away from the world once more.

There he lay in wait. A trap primed for prey. Watching, monitoring, always a part of him alert, no matter how far his mind strayed. Tiny crustaceans milling about the sand, kelp swaying in the tide, a lone shark drifting past, schools of fish fluttering—there. A little above him a fish drifted into his range.

Coiled muscles released, and he snapped up, the helpless fish clasped between his teeth. The stuttering vibrations as its companions darted away. That was fine. He had plenty of time to wait for other unsuspecting prey. With a few flaps of his fins and the twitch of his tail, he reset his trap and settled back under the sand to wait.

When he’d had his fill, he wandered, letting himself float along the shore. He told himself he was not waiting. Searching for her song. His mind grasped at something—anything—to distract him from the persistent gnawing in his chest.

A pod of dolphins stalked a school of fish nearby, their endless chatter like an unceasing itch on his skin. Dolphins were rarely quiet. Some days he would bare his teeth and chase them, relishing in the exhilaration as they fled from him. He was fairly certain they took pleasure in it, from their teasing cadence when he eventually grew bored and left them alone. Masochistic bastards. Today though, his heart wasn’t in it, and he ignored them as they chirped after him inquisitively.

The chirps changed. Warning tones. Odd. There wasn’t anything approaching them. He would have sensed it long before they did. Perhaps it was a general warning. This was a fairly popular beach for humans in the warmer seasons. Perhaps Christine had returned, and they had seen her?

He turned, ignoring the dolphins as he darted along the shallow rocks. Right into the discarded net tangled around them.

The horrid net stuck fast between the rocks, and his body stuck fast in the net. It wound around the fins on his tail, and he jerked to the side, hands flying to remove the offending object. His arm caught something. He wrenched it back. Only to become ensnared on the other side. He pulled at his arm, attempting to snatch it back.

Pain flared white hot across his chest as the net scraped over his gills. He choked and tried to breathe. The net tangled around his torso, cutting into his pectoral fins. His fingers searched, but only one hand reached his chest. He tried to pull back to no avail. The infernal rope bit at his fingers and scraped against his skin. He hissed at it.

He kept pulling, his mind spinning. This couldn’t happen. Not again. Not like this. Not—A wave caught him, turned him around. The net tightened. He thrashed his tail, scraped rock, blood—his blood, another wave—no! Splashes, sand, rocks, pain, echoes…silence.

Something was very wrong. He was warm—too warm. He twitched, and his skin burned. It was too dry. A growing sense of dread gnawed in his belly. His tail lay on the rocks, above the water. The tide had gone out. Soon, he would be beyond its reach. With effort, he dragged his tail towards himself, and it hit the shallow water with a jarring splash. The water was a relief against his too-dry skin. Soon he would be unable to breathe. Already he was struggling; it was too shallow, not enough water, not enough flow.

Scrambling in the sand, he tried to pull himself back, back to the water, back into the sea. The net held tight. He tore at it with his claws again, managing to tear a few strands free, but the pain nearly overwhelmed him. His head spun and he tried to rally his sluggish limbs. His body was so heavy, his arms not used to this kind of weight. He needed more oxygen.

The sand kept shifting under him. His fins—the ones that were free—tried to dig in and find purchase. A wave washed over him, a welcome reprieve that cleared his mind. Taking advantage of it, he tugged at the sand, fins flapping, tail thrashing. Parts of him tingled with numbness. He snapped at the net, resorting to his teeth, desperately trying to free himself again. The sharp taste of blood filled his mouth—had he bitten himself?

The next wave did not reach him. They were getting fewer and further between. What stupidity that there was all this oxygen around and his body could not use it. He pulled harder, just a few more handfuls—his muscles burned, his head pounded, the world was so hazy. Was it supposed to be this hazy? Maybe he should just wait. He could lie here in the sand. It was nice and wet, and the sun was warm. It would be fine. He could try again after he had rested a bit. 

The net was singing now. Why was the net singing? His head pounded. His gills burned. Everything hurt. He tried to gulp air. His skin was tacky and stiff. Would it crack and slough off him if he moved? That would be new. The net’s music washed over him. He could have sworn it was... Hot fingers brushed his skin. The net was yelling now. Screaming. No. Not the net. The human. There was a human? Since when had there been a human? He should probably try to get away…

“Erik?! Erik, can you hear me?”

Christine? What was she doing here? Was she caught in the net too? He tried to lift an arm. Pain flared through his body again.

“No, don’t. Don’t try to move. We’re going to get you out.”

We? Who was—?

“Raoul! Pass me your knife! Quick!”

“Stay back! It could still be alive! It might attack you!”

“He’s not going to hurt me! And of course, he’s still alive! Now, give me the knife!”

“We don’t even know what it is! Christine, stop! What if it bites you?!”

“Raoul!”

Hissing. Pressure. Pain. So much pain. His mind screamed. Soft music soothed him. So gentle and sweet.

“Go soak this in the water and bring it back.”

More singing. The haze around him thickened. Wet, cool bliss settled over his too-dry skin, and he wished he could hum back in appreciation. He would happily die like this. He had her music now, and that was all he needed. He relaxed, and pain mingled with the musical haze. Why did there have to be pain? It was so inconvenient. If only there were a way to make it all just go away.

“Help me lift him!”

“I don’t want to get bitten!”

“He’s not going to bite you! Erik, if you can hear me, please don’t bite him.”

Bite…who? Raoul? Why would he bite Raoul? The man probably tasted awful. Christine, on the other hand…

“Stop that.”

Stop what? Dying? He had tried. It hadn’t worked. She was going to have to get over it. It shouldn’t be too hard. He was only a monster after all.

“You’re baring your teeth. He’s not going to come near you if you do that.”

He tried to move his face muscles accordingly, but he couldn’t quite remember how. He missed breathing. Speaking. Singing. Strange, nonsensical images flashed through his mind. There was blood in his mouth. His blood. What was happening? He spasmed as his spiracles tried to pull in water and his entire body lit up with pain.

“Erik, try not to move!”

The cold wet slid off his body as hands grasped at him. He twitched at the touch, the shadow of a shudder. He needed to get away from the hands. They were too hot. Too wrong. Horrible, really. His tail may have moved, but he wasn’t entirely sure if he had imagined it. A hand on his chest. No.

A grating yell. He spasmed.

“Christine, you said it wouldn’t try to bite me!”

“I don’t think he’s entirely conscious right now, Raoul. Keep your hands off his chest. You’re too close to his gills.”

“His what?”

“Lift, Raoul!”

Oh, no. The world was heaving. Lowering—no, he was rising. Swaying, staggering, moving through the air. The world was a blur. The vibrations were wrong. He wanted to vomit.

Splashes. Water. He missed water. How was he not dead yet? What was taking so long?

A lurch.

He was falling. He wanted to scream.

His body hit the water with a jolt, a mix of pain and relief as he was finally submerged. The current rushed over him, through him, his mouth and gills filling with cool water. His body twitched, senses slowly returning.

There were two sets of legs in the water nearby. Two frantic heartrates besides his own. He tried to flick his tail, but it was still stuck fast, pain shooting though the fins along his hips. No—the net—he was free—why couldn’t he—?

“Don’t struggle! You’re still tangled. We still need to get the rest of the net off.”

He clawed at the net, raking more furrows in his skin.

“Stop! Please stop! Raoul, can you grab—?”

A yelp and a splash as his tail connected with a set of legs.

“Christine!” The other set of legs splashed closer.

He froze. Christine was under the waves. He zeroed in on her vibrations as she picked herself up and rose above the water again.

“Are you alright? Leave it be. It’ll be fine on its own.”

“Can’t you see he’s still bound? He’ll never be able to swim like that. We need to cut the rest of the net off before it gets any worse.”

“Christine—”

“Trust me, okay?”

“Okay.”

A warm hand pressed into his back. She hummed.

His body relaxed. He hummed back, an instinctive response.

Christine worked at the ropes, and gradually, pieces of him came free. Occasionally it stung, especially as she removed pieces of the net that were more tightly tangled around him. His fins tingled as blood flow improved, pain flaring as the numbness faded.

He did his best to hold still, but he was unable to stop the occasional twitch or flinch as she cut and pulled. Jaw clenched, he forced his mind to focus on the music. On her. Her rhythmic heart and steady breath in his head.

When the last piece of net fell away, she gathered up the strands in her arms. He twitched his tail experimentally. No pain—no new pain, at least. Her hands slid from his body and while he missed their warmth, he needed to flex his muscles, inspect the damage.

He swam a ways, his muscles burning in relief, in fatigue. There were several lacerations along his fins and arms from his violent attempts to free himself, and many more bruises besides, but nothing he hadn’t weathered before. The gills along his right side were a little swollen and irritated, but he still pulled in enough oxygen to keep himself from passing out. It would be a while before he could exert himself fully though.

He drifted back over to Christine, bumping up against her side. She ran a hand along his spine, along his tail, tracing over his fins, careful to avoid his wounds. He shivered.

“Are you alright?”

He shifted, pulling his tail under his body so his head broke the surface. He stared past her, not meeting her eyes. He hated his uselessness. His incapability. It was nearly worse than the net itself.

“Erik?” Her eyes were wide with worry, and she stepped towards him. “What’s wrong?”

He opened his mouth to speak.

“Oh, my God. Christine are you—? What is—? Are you talking to it?”

Erik snarled at Raoul. He wanted to grab him by the ankle, pull him under, and suck every last drop of air from his stupid face.

“Raoul, just— I’ll explain everything…later. At the house.”

“Yes, why not go back to the house. Leave us to our conversation free from your rude interruptions.” 

The blood drained from Raoul’s face, his eyes widening in surprise. His heartrate increased. It was incredibly satisfying. But then he planted his feet and raised his chin.

“I am not going anywhere. I’m not about to leave Christine alone with the likes of you. Christine, tell me what is going on. Right now.”

Erik had had enough. With a sharp stroke of his tail, he was flying through the water, claws wrapping maybe a little too tightly around one of Raoul’s legs. He tugged, and the man fell backwards into the waves with a startled yelp. Satisfaction settled in his chest.

“Erik! Erik, let him go!”

But this was all too amusing. Raoul was terrified, his heart screaming against his ribs, his muscles clenching as he tried to scramble away. His fear surged through the water in waves. Erik grinned, needle sharp teeth on display.

Raoul thrashed harder against his grip, coughing and spluttering. “Get this thing away from me!”

“Both of you, stop!” Christine’s warm fingers wrapped around his bicep. She shot a glare at him as she tugged him off Raoul. Reluctantly, he let her.

Raoul slowly struggled to his feet, covered in sand and soaked through.

“He’s not a thing. His name is Erik,” Christine snapped.

“Erik? Wait. Wait. The same Erik you’ve been telling me about over the past few days? Your music teacher, Erik?”

“You told other humans about me?” Irritation and pride fought for dominance at the revelation.

Christine glanced back and forth between the two of them for a second before nodding. “Yes, I told him about you. Raoul, this is Erik. I had planned for a better introduction, but then the net...”

“You failed to mention that he wasn’t human! I thought you were talking about one of the local fishermen! I mean, sure, he sounded eccentric, maybe a little crazy, but Christine… I wasn’t expecting…” Raoul gestured at Erik. “The monster from our childhood fairy tales.”

“How dare you?” Erik hissed. “Is it not you who are the monsters? After all, it was a human net that nearly killed me.”

Raoul retreated a few paces, eyeing him warily. Good.

Christine rubbed her temples. “Raoul, your comments are not helping. He’s not going to kill you.” She shot Erik a hard look. “Besides, I don’t think he actually eats people.”

“You don’t think?” Raoul’s voice had entered an entirely new octave.

Erik grinned, making sure to show off his teeth.

Christine glared at him.

He sank down in the water and hummed softly to himself. He wasn’t going to admit it in front of Raoul, but she was, in fact, correct. He didn’t eat humans. Humans were foul and more often than not, slathered in bitter chemicals. No, it was far better to just steal their voices and drown them.

“At least give him a chance, Raoul.”

Raoul narrowed his eyes, then sighed. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” Christine offered him a small smile.

Raoul turned to Erik. “If you hurt her though, I will see you destroyed.”

Erik thrashed his tail and sank beneath the waves without responding. This human exhausted him. He wasn’t worth the effort of forming human words.

“Come on, Christine. Let’s go. Before he comes back.” Raoul turned and began to walk back in the direction of the shore. Good riddance.

“Wait…” A warm hand found his shoulder. Christine spoke in a faint voice. “Erik, I know you can hear me. I’ll return tomorrow. Our usual time and place.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, and the hand drifted away. She turned to go, and he waited until the vibrations of her footfalls no longer resounded through the ocean at all.

Sure enough, the next day her song found him. Piercing through the gloom like the sun. A balm on his aching flesh. He let it draw him out, lead him back to the shore. He couldn’t sense her movements like this, but it sent a thrill through his spine all the same. Her eyes landed on him, lighting up as she advanced towards the edge of the rocks.

“How are you? Should you even be out here in your condition?” She knelt at the edge of the rocks, eyeing him with concern.

“You called for me.” What else was he going to do? Sit in the sand all night, nursing his injuries? No, he would much rather be here. Despite the way the air made the skin on his face dry and cracked. Despite the pain when an especially strong wave slammed his tail against the rocks. Despite even the hunger that coursed through him each time she sang, stronger now than ever before.

“I have something to tell you. Some news. I spoke to some of the local fishermen. Raoul helped. They are unhappy with the steamboat trawlers as well. The larger companies are outcompeting the local fishermen with their large ships. I suppose it’s why the locals have turned a blind eye to the missing sailors, the broken ships. Some of them even believe it’s the work of the korrigans protecting them.”

Rage flared through him. So much of their human politics he did not understand, but one thing was for certain. “I am not doing this for them,” he snarled. His fingers clenched at the implication.

“I-I know, I just— I thought maybe… This might help. If you have a common goal, maybe we can get something done about it. Stop the trawlers from coming through here.”

“Stop—?” A wave caught him, and he had to brace against the rocks to avoid being slammed into them again. He winced as it aggravated his wounds. He moved to a curve in the rocks, where he would be sheltered from the worst of the surf.

“I’ve been thinking about what you told me, and I wanted to see if there was anything that I could do about it. I don’t have much influence, being a woman and a foreigner, but at least the locals are already worked up about the industrial fisheries.”

Again, so much nonsensical human politics. “And this… Making it about their ‘profits’ would get rid of the screaming ships? The nets?” Something foreign swirled in his chest.

“I can’t make you any promises… But they are certainly motivated to move against the industrial ships.”

His head spun, and he slid beneath the waves to better orient himself. She had… There were humans who also detested those ships. This was…not what he had expected. He breathed deep, letting water flow through him. The smoothness of the rock under his palm, the dull throb of his healing wounds, the ever-present tremors of fish darting through the waves, the rhythmic rise and fall of the tide. He hummed softly, using the sea as his tempo.

A gentle hum joined his. Christine.

He surfaced. Her face relaxed. She broke off her hum and shifted, leaning low over the edge of the rocks, her eyes scanning him.

“I heard you singing the other night. It was beautiful. I wanted more than anything to come out and join you. I truly had intended to return. Unfortunately, I had to play host to unexpected guests. I hadn’t expected Raoul to arrive so suddenly. He came to pay his respects to my father. We were walking along the shore catching up when we found the net…”

He continued to hum. It didn’t matter anymore that she hadn’t returned. It should, but it didn’t. She was here now, and the grudge slipped from his grasp, despite his best efforts to cling to it. He was growing soft. He tore his eyes from her face, unable to bear her scrutiny. What did he want? Why did he feel so…unresolved?

He pulled his hum into one of their human cadences. Pushed it into completion. The sound faded out. It didn’t help.

“I wanted to ask you something that has been bothering me. The other day, what you said, about humanity? If that’s how you feel about us, then why not kill me?” Her eyes bored into him. “Why have you not enticed me into the water? As you have with the sailors. You could have used your song. God knows, I would have gone.”

“It does not work like that. It only works on those at sea. You” —he glanced pointedly at the rock— “are not at sea.”

“But then, that day when I so foolishly dove after my scarf. You could have then. I was practically drowning in my skirts. You could have left me to die—dragged me under, even. And again, when I helped you from the net, once you’d been freed, you could have killed me—Raoul as well.”

“Yes.”

“So, why didn’t you?”

He turned his head, focusing on the gulls shrieking in the distance instead. Gulls were horrid creatures. They should all die painfully.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I…” How did he explain the invasive growth in his mind? The very one that swelled now and distorted his thoughts. The one that transformed the hunger for her voice into a hunger for her. For something more.

She shifted, lowering herself down and reaching out over the edge of the rock. Her eyes held his gaze, unflinching and impossibly steady. Ripples brushed across his body as her hand dipped into the water. He froze.

Her fingers trailed through the rising and falling waves. He tracked her movements with his body as he would those of his prey. His eyes slid shut as he let the flexing of her fingers wash over him, suppressing a shiver. She was so close. The hand stilled. His eyes opened.

“Am I at sea now?” she whispered. Her eyes were different now, darker. Hungry.

The voices stuck in his throat. He swallowed. “Yes.”

“Why are you holding back then? Sing.”

“I—”

She hummed. His fingers twitched, the ghost of a grasp. How did she—? He had taught her that. And with her hand in the water… He held his body taut, fighting the desire to reach up and drag her under, even as he drifted closer. Unable to hold it back, an answering hum spilled out from his lips. Again, she hummed to him, longer, louder, sweeter. As her body shifted on the rock, as her hand swirled in the water, as her heartbeat sped—was she scared?

He drew back.

The song faltered.

Her brow furrowed. “What is it?”

“I have no desire to kill you.” He turned away. Something burned in him. Shame?

“I know.”

His eyes snapped back to her face. This time it was fury that blazed through him. “You do not know. You could not know what lurks within me. You do not know the voices I have stolen, the souls I have taken.” He drew from a new voice; one she had not yet heard. “I do not need the voices, yet I covet them. I devour them like my prey.” He switched voices again. “Women, men, young, old. I have stolen from them all, and I feel no remorse.” Another voice, darker. “You do not know that when I first came to you, it was to claim your own voice. You do not know how each time I hear you, each time you sing, I hunger for it. To pull your voice from your lips and make it my own. That I would have it to sing for me for the rest of my despicable life!”

“You want my voice?” The wind whipped her hair back. Her hand lingered in the water as she loomed above him. Her jaw twitched. Her eyes burned. Her heart hammered in her chest. Against his flesh. “Then take it.”

Her lips crashed into his, pushing him down into the water. He tasted blood. His skin shivered. His wounds ached. Something in his mind snapped. His hands flew up, claws wrapping around her shoulders, digging into cloth, into flesh. She gasped, a small cry against his lips, but instead of pulling away, she leaned forwards, hurling herself into his mockery of an embrace—into the sea.

She fell into him, her heart stuttering, muscles seizing at the cold. And still, she pressed into him, soft skin and hot flesh against his own. He winced at the contact against his damaged skin. A hand came up to gently caress his face, her other hand clutched at slippery rocks, striving to keep her face above the greedy waves.

His tail thrashed, those heavy clothes once again dragging them down, down. He shifted, pushing her body against a shallow ledge. Her legs found purchase and her hand slid from the shelf, falling to her bodice. He let go of her shoulders and worked at her dress like before, only this time she helped him. One hand still against his face, holding him to her; the other worked at fastenings while he tore at her skirts.

Her freed legs wrapped around him, both of them flinching at the harsh contact. The fins along his sides kept them steady, twitched at the heat of her touch. Even through her underclothing, she was so warm, so wonderful. His hands slid up over the material on her back. She moaned, and it filled him, resonating through his face, thrumming against his skin and inside his body. A new kind of song. Of passion. Of desire. Of heat.

She was a Näkken, and he was a lost seafarer, his mind swept away in her sounds. Was this what it was like for the sailors when he sang? He would give anything, do anything for her. Her lips, sliding against his, pressing, tasting… He hummed into her mouth, his lips parting with the sound.

Her tongue slipped between his lips, traced into his mouth. The sound stuttered in his throat. None of the sailors had ever done that. His mouth watered at the familiar taste of iron as she ran her tongue along the rows of his teeth.

He drew her in, savouring the sweet sound of her and it was his turn to moan. She tasted—she resonated—everywhere. Fingers tangled in his hair, twisting, digging in, sparks of pain along his scalp as she drank deeply of his sounds, pulling him into her mouth. An entirely new experience, he let himself fall into her.

His teeth caught her lip, more blood, hunger burning through his body. His jaw ached with the overwhelming desire to sink his teeth into her flesh. He needed more—closer. He pulled her tighter against him, wounds be damned. Claws bit into skin, and he pressed his sound into her lips as though he needed her to breathe.

Her legs tightened around him. The muscles in his tail burned. Their faces slid beneath the waves, and everything amplified. She was here; she was his. She had offered him her voice, her life. Everything he had desired. He hummed into her, deep, dark, infused with power. She arched against him, her voice crying out. He tasted it, on his face, his lips, his tongue, as it resonated there, between them.

He hesitated. The song died on his lips.

Their faces broke the surface, and her eyes flew open, a silent question in them as she urged him forwards.

He couldn’t move.

She pulled his face to hers. Her heart beat too rapidly now, her body straining. Their lips met. Her song spilled from her lips, reached towards him. He pushed into the kiss, sent his voice—voices—singing out to meet hers.

With gentle notes he sang into her, stroking, caressing, weaving his sound with hers. She welcomed him, clung to him, as he pressed the song back into her body. Into her soul. Her song blossomed around his, her voice burning through his skin as he gave into her completely and allowed it to consume him.

“Christine!” a voice screeched out from the shore. Raoul.

Christine stiffened at the sound of her name. Erik hissed in distaste.

“Christine, where are you?!”

What was it with that bumbling idiot and his ill-timed interruptions?

Christine swore, reaching for the rocks. His fingers tightened around her.

“Christine! I was sent to fetch you for supper! My brother is coming!”

Her head fell back, and she groaned.

“Ignore him.”

She sighed. “I wish I could.”

“And why can you not?”

“Because he’s been given a task and he’s not going to stop until he’s carried it out. Raoul is fiercely loyal…to a fault.”

“I could hide you. He could search all night. His dimwitted brain would never find you.”

“That sounds tempting. But I have things I need to discuss with his brother. He has sway with the kind of men who make the regulations about the ships.”

More distasteful human politics. But a means to an end this time.

Gently, she disentangled herself from him and began pulling herself up on the rocks, underclothes clinging to her soaked skin. A tremor shot through her as she left the water, her unadapted body once again suffering from the ocean’s chill.

She turned back when she got to the top and crouched down. She slipped a chain over her head and fiddled with it, then held something out to him. Her fingers were tinged with blue.

“H-here. A promise. I don’t know if it will fit you, b-but it was my mother’s.”

He held out his hand and something small and round dropped into it. A ring. He blinked at it.

“I suppose you m-might not have much familiarity with ring customs, but I w-want you to have it. It’s a promise. I’ll be back.”

His gaze rose from the ring to her face. Her eyes, so full of hope and possibilities. A part of him scoffed at it, but he shoved it down. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, a song.

It bubbled up from inside his chest and out into the air. She sang back as she turned to go, as she made her way along the rocks, along the sandy beach, despite her shivers and the tremors in her voice, still she sang. He lingered until not even the faintest trace of her voice lingered.

When at last she was gone, he examined the ring—a simple gold band—and slid it onto his finger. Heavy and foreign, it pressed against his other fingers, into his palm when he closed his hand, but he welcomed the reminder.

A promise. She would be back.