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Chapter Text

Samira hoists herself up onto a rock as the waves roar around her. Her dark eyes trail across the sky, watching the swirling clouds take their angry shapes. The sea has spoken to her long enough that she knows when a storm is biding its time, waiting for the moment to strike. Her stomach rumbles with need as she rests her chin upon her hand, watching the water. 

She can smell it even from here—the wet wood of a ship, the salty sweat and blood of men. Samira breathes it in, tongue sliding across her teeth. Her stomach bothers her again, reminding her what she craves. Far from her, but still close enough that she can sense them, more heads rise from the water—among them some of her nearest sisters, Heather, Melissa, Victoria. They all know the same thing: storm’s coming. Samira smiles, diving back into the restless sea.

***

“Reduce the sails!” Emery shouts, her voice lost to the pounding of rain against the deck. She had known the storm was coming—any pirate worth their salt could practically smell the change in the air—but it hit faster than anyone expected. She runs across the deck, listening to Yolanda shout orders as Emery guns for the wheel, steering the ship into the stormy waves. 

They only left Nassau this morning with a handsome purse for their stolen haul; the last thing they needed was to lose those riches to the angry beast of the sea. Emery’s hands grip the wheel, rain soaking her to her bones. The seasoned crew of the Saint Caterina has sailed through many storms, but the chaos of them is never something easy to get through. 

“We can’t see shit,” Yolanda’s voice is loud in her ear as the woman—the only other woman on board and Emery’s first mate—takes her place behind Emery. “Sails are at forty-five, we’re heeling as much as we can, but it’s no use.” 

“We’ll make it,” Emery says, eyeing the break in the clouds. The storm is already on their left, passing over them. It won’t be much longer until they’re through. Emery can feel the ship groaning beneath her feet, the sound of the rain so loud it’s almost deafening. 

Emery’s eyes remain focused as she watches the sky, watching for the edge of the storm. Out here in the middle of the sea, it’s easy to see the edges of things. Sometimes, when she watches the horizon, she wonders if they’ll just fall right off one day—even though she knows that’s simply an old wives’ tale told to discourage young boys from going into piracy. 

“Captain,” Yolanda grabs her attention, a firm hand on her shoulder and the other on the sword at her hip. “Captain, the men.” 

Emery lowers her gaze, finding most of her men standing still on the deck. The storm is getting lighter now, though the waves are no more forgiving than they were a moment ago. The ship rocks, already veering off-course without the men to support it. “Oi—we’re not out of the woods yet, what’s—”

Her sentence cuts itself off when she hears it. Barely there over the sound of the rain. “Shit. We need to get out of this storm and quick.”

“What is it?” Yolanda asks, following Emery’s distant gaze into the waves. Emery can’t see them, not yet, but she can hear them. She’s only heard that song drunkenly renditioned by singers in taverns, all mimicking the same legends. In all her time on the sea, Emery had never known them to be real. 

“Listen,” Emery raises a hand, the nose of the ship just barely making it to the edge of the storm. The rain is less harsh now, the song growing louder and louder by the minute. She’s close. Close enough that the men are starting to chase her call. 

Yolanda’s eyes go wide. “Sirens. We need to get the men below deck.” 

Emery leaves the wheel, racing down the deck to try and push her men back from the edge, the song growing louder as they drift out of the storm. It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever heard—and Emery has heard so much music over three and a half decades of life—but nothing quite like this. She’s not compelled the way the men are. Their eyes have glazed over as she and Yolanda try and control them, shoving them below deck. 

“Hey—hey, watch for John!” Yolanda shouts at the same time one of her crewmen begins to climb over the railing of the ship. 

“Shit,” Emery curses, grabbing him by the back of his collar and yanking him back down to the deck. At the same time she does this, a splash echoes as one of her greenhorns leaps over the edge. “Enough of this—we’ll lose too many by the time we’re clear of her. Drop the dinghy.”

“Why the fuck would I drop the dinghy right now, Captain?” 

Even in the dark of night, a sliver of moonlight shows Emery what she needs. She follows her greenhorn—a young boy named Whitaker who snuck onto her ship trying to escape his duty to the Royal Navy. Emery had decided putting him to work was better than killing him and now here he is in icy water, swimming to his death. Her eyes trace his line of sight and there it is—a head out of the water, gilded by moonlight. She can’t see much except for dark hair and a set of shoulders, but Emery grips her sword in one hand, judging the distance to the water from here.

“Well—we’re going to need a ride,” Emery calls out at the same time she dives into the water. 

It’s ice against her skin, more so than the rain was, but it’s not the first time she’s been plunged into the sea in total darkness and it won’t be the last. She dives beneath the waves, trusting the moonlight to guide her as she follows Whitaker’s trail to the siren. She can hear Yolanda shouting at her as she struggles against the cold making it difficult for her to swim. All she has to do is pierce her through the heart—sirens die like women, that’s what all the legends say. For all their bravado, all their bite, they bleed just as easily. 

Emery gets close enough to get a grip on Whitaker, her hand digging into his shoulder and dragging him away from the siren. She raises her sword with her other hand, counting on her legs to keep her afloat.

The tip of her blade finds a throat at the other end, moonlight highlighting the creature. Creature does not seem an apt description, no, because at the end of Emery’s blade is a woman. Her eyes are a rich pool of brown glistening in the moonlight, casting a reflection that is almost silver in the dark. Her mouth had been open in song, luring Whitaker to her razor-sharp teeth that stick out of her mouth now—stretching the skin and protruding from her gums in a horrific threat of danger. Now, though, the teeth disappear as she closes her lips, eyes wide and innocent. 

She’s one of the most beautiful things Emery has ever seen. 

“Whitaker. Back to the dingy,” Emery instructs now that the song has stopped and he’s snapped out of his haze. She shoves him back through the water in the direction of the ship, trusting he can swim well enough to find his way back. Yolanda should have it ready by now anyway. 

The siren just stares at her, a sort of curiosity on her face, as if Emery hadn’t been what she expected. She looks down at Emery’s cutlass, trailing her finger along the end of it without fear. Mesmerized, Emery watches as she pricks her fingertip, pushing it down against the sharpened tip of the blade until blood streams down her finger. She watches as the woman—no, not a woman—giggles, her tongue darting from her mouth to lick up the stream of red. Her jagged teeth are gone, replaced by normal ones, as if they were never there at all. Emery wonders if her mind is playing tricks on her. 

Mesmerized, Emery finds her grip on the sword loosening, the waves reaching higher as her kicks lose their power. Distantly, she thinks someone might be screaming her name. 

“Let us pass,” Emery gets herself to say, though the words are so weak they may as well be lost to the wind and waves. “We’re almost through, let us pass.”

The creature laughs, a hand grabbing Emery by the chin—not roughly, almost as if she just wants to get a better look at her. There’s an expression on her face, something that almost seems to say you’ll do. Emery doesn’t even know if a creature like this speaks English, let alone any tongue of man. 

“Emery!” Yolanda’s voice is close now, but the creature is opening her mouth, her chest pressed to Emery’s as those teeth make themselves visible again. Emery doesn’t know where her sword went. 

There’s a hand on her collar, dragging her out of the water before the creature can bite down and Emery takes what must be her first breath since she first laid eyes on the monster. As soon as she makes sense of what’s happening, she can see her men have loaded into their second dinghy, wrapping a wide net around the creature.

“What are you doing?” Emery jumps up, nearly falling over back into the sea if not for Yolanda’s strong hand on her belt loops. “She was going to let us pass—why are we taking her?” 

“She was going to kill you, Emery,” Yolanda reminds her and Emery blinks harshly. She was, wasn’t she? She was going to kill Emery. Even so, they have no use in capturing a mythical creature, unless—

“The siren’s cove? That load of bullshit?”

“Blood of a siren leads the way!” Jack screams over the waves. “You said you wanted bigger, this is the biggest treasure known to man.”

“Because it’s not fucking real, Jack,” Emery spits, watching in abject horror as they drag the thrashing siren into the boat. It’s filling up with water quickly as she tries to wrangle her way out of the net. Her fingers extend into claws, trying to tear at the rope, but John is already tying her hands back—though not without catching a claw to the face, a long red tear now showing on his cheek. “You can’t seriously be entertaining taking this poor creature hostage.”

“This poor creature nearly drowned us—she was going to eat you!” Jack shouts. “We want a chance at the treasure, we need her. Come on. Let’s get her back to the ship.” 

Emery is about ready to jump over into the other dinghy to fight Jack and free the creature, but Yolanda is dragging her back down, seething, “It’s pitch black and the storm could move at any minute, We need to get back to the ship and we can discuss it there.”

“Yolanda, you can’t seriously think the siren’s cove treasure is real, it’s a myth! My mother told it to me as a girl, that’s how fake it is.”

“Emery,” Yolanda whispers. “It’d be enough to buy Trinity’s freedom.” 

“Love has made you a fool, Yolanda,” Emery groans, settling down as she watches the siren twist and turn in the other boat. It takes four men to hold her down, but even then, she’s putting up a decent fight. 

When they make it up to the ship, Emery watches in disdain as they empty one of their larger crates they’d used to carry their riches and some supplies for the trip that they’re now dispersing into other storage containers, filling the box with enough water for the creature to float in. Emery doesn’t like any of this. Not one bit. She’s never believed in God, but she does believe in karma and this is something that will get them hanged. She doesn’t know how or what cosmic forces will unite to fuck them over, but this is bad enough that they’ll deserve it. 

The siren cries out as they force her onto the ship, shove her into the container and tie her wrists to the edges. She claws at the wood, gritting her teeth and nipping at anyone who comes close. Since the storm has subsided, they light torches to illuminate the small parlay they now have to hold to decide just what the hell they are going to do. 

“Sirens travel in packs. Someone is going to come looking for her,” Emery begins, standing atop the higher deck and looking down at her men. 

“We’ll be quick in getting out of here,” Jack says with a shrug. “You know the siren’s cove treasure isn’t a myth, Captain. Adamson saw the map, he swore it ‘till the day he died.” 

“Any fool can invent a map and call it whatever they like, this isn’t right,” Emery tries again, her eyes darting toward the creature. She’s gone eerily still, just staring at Emery in her small cage. She feels sick to her stomach. 

In the light she can make out her features properly—long dark hair in wet curls around her shoulders, so long it covers her breasts where her shoulders protrude from the water. The crate rests horizontally, long enough for most of her to fit, but Emery can see fins poking out over the edge of it, a shimmering gold in the torchlight. A similar color of scale spreads across her shoulders. She can’t turn around with the way she’s tied, but Emery swears she has spindly fins protruding from her back as well. She’s unlike anything Emery has ever seen. She understands why so many bards and sailors sing songs of these creatures now. 

“We are pirates and savages, but we are not evil. I will not allow it,” Emery swallows, her hand on an empty scabbard. Of course she’d been so stupid as to lose her sword to the sea. She’ll borrow one of Yolanda’s spares until they can dock long enough to visit a blacksmith. “As your captain, I demand you free her at once. We will find another treasure.”

Below her, Jack looks at her before turning to the other men, something mutually understood between them. He clears his throat before speaking next, “You know, Captain, we do you quite the favor letting you lead us. Most men wouldn’t dare allow a woman on board, let alone two.”

“And yet you wish to take on another.”

“That thing is hardly a woman,” John pipes up, eyes darting to the siren. 

She doesn’t seem to take a liking to this, snarling low and mean with her sharp teeth protruding from her lips. 

“All I’m saying is, Captain, the crew wants that treasure. And we need the blood of a siren to get it. We have a siren and we know where to find the map. All we need is a willing captain. And that can be arranged with or without your permission. Don’t you want to be richer than God?”

“I don’t believe in God, Abbot, you know that,” Emery muses, though the irritation in her voice hides a thinly-veiled warning. All she can do is watch the creature thrash and struggle. Her heart breaks for her. “I’m already richer than him. Let her go. Now.” 

“I don’t think we will. I’m not so sure we have to listen to you.” 

Emery catches onto the way Yolanda’s grip on her sword tightens. Treasure or not, Yolanda is loyal to Emery first. When Yolanda was to be hanged for piracy, it was Emery who saved her, Emery who gave her a ship to escape on and a crew to help lead. The two of them could not exist on the sea without each other. Yolanda didn’t take kindly to anyone who threatened her captain, nor did Emery ever let anyone say an unkind word about her first mate. 

“Is that a threat, Abbot?”

“Only if it has to be,” Jack warns, his voice anything but friendly. Jack had never taken kindly to having a woman in charge of a ship, but no one wanted to run this beast, so Emery stepped up to the plate and now she’d made a livelihood of it. She wasn’t going to let this spoiled man just take it from her. 

Emery stares out at her crew, jaw locked as she contemplates her options. She can see the way they’re all hunched together, nodding in agreement with Jack and his idiotic threats. Some of them aren’t even paying attention, some of them simply eye the creature with a hunger that makes Emery sick. She swears she would never sail with men if she had the choice. She finds them disgusting, the lot of them. And the ones that appear passable always prove her right in the end. Like right now.

“Fine,” she grits out. She’s merciful, to a degree, but she won’t sacrifice her ship for the fate of a creature who was perfectly fine eating her alive. “We get the map, get the blood from her we need, and then we let her go. Are we understood?”

For a moment, the ship is silent except for the waves lapping against the side of it. The storm has passed, but Emery feels a new one brewing amongst her men. If she agrees and sets her terms now, it’ll hopefully save her another fight later, but now she isn’t sure. 

“Understood,” Jack finally agrees. 

“And she stays in my quarters. I wouldn’t trust the lot of you with a regular woman, let alone one so…” Emery pauses, thinking of the word. Beautiful is the first that comes to mind. “Tempting.” 

It makes sense—as the captain, she’s the only one with her own quarters. More importantly, she has a door that locks. Which means that these filthy men won’t be able to get to the siren without Emery knowing. If they are going to keep her captive, they are not to harm her unless absolutely necessary. Emery doesn’t like this at all. She has no need for such a grand treasure and she’s certain most of these men don’t either. She also has a feeling that this so-called map that the siren’s blood will mark for them is just another wives’ tale. 

“Whatever you say, Captain.”

***

Samira doesn’t like these people. Not one bit. She’s never been fond of humans, but these ones seem to be particularly horrible. She had been so close to getting her meal. The boy would have done, but then that beautiful pirate showed up in front of her and well, Samira would never turn down such a luxurious offering. She didn’t know women could be pirates, but there was no other explanation for this one. The men listened to her—at least, they did until the question of Samira’s fate was in the air. Idiotic men. She’s never liked them unless they were diving into the waves, allowing her to feast on their flesh. 

She can understand her well enough, this captain. She doesn’t think any of them know she can speak at all, nor do they seem to think she knows what they’re saying. Foolish humans. They always think they know everything, that they’re kings of the world. She could open her mouth and have this entire ship at her whim.

If not for the captain. She hadn’t counted on a woman. Women, she learned early in her life, were immune to her song. This one, at least, had seemed to fall prey to her beauty. Samira had almost had her. If not for the other one dragging her away just when Samira was about to sink her teeth into beautiful pale flesh. Gods, she was hungry. She hadn’t even gotten a little bit of a taste before she was unceremoniously dragged onto this filthy ship. 

It wasn’t the first time she’d encountered humans that wanted a piece of her, but it was the first time they’d actually stolen her from her own waters. She did not like being crammed in a box, Samira was quickly discovering. If these idiots had waited more than two seconds for her to dry off they’d know there was no need to shove her in a box of water, but she digresses . 

She’s shoved into a room, pulling at her restraints and nipping at anyone who gets close enough, but a blade at her throat from one of the men—the old one who challenged the captain, she thinks his name is Jack—keeps her at bay. The door slams and Samira grumbles to herself. At least they don’t know she can speak. She’s found that when people think you can’t respond, or better yet, think you can’t understand them at all, they’ll reveal much more than they intend. 

Through the door, she can hear a bit of shouting, but Samira just sticks her head beneath the water, drowning out the noise. This is terrible. It won’t be long until she’s out of here. All she has to do is earn the trust of one of these fools long enough for them to let her go and then she’ll simply eat them and jump back into the water where she belongs. She can be out of here in a day if she really wants to be. She’s stronger than these men. All she needs to do is not meet the wrong end of a blade. Should be easy enough—she already got that captain to lose her sword in the ocean. 

The door opens and Samira lifts her head, eyeing the new entrant curiously. Speak of the devil—the captain enters her own quarters, her clothes still wet from the storm and her icy dive. Samira had been quite impressed with that one. The boy she went after was an easy one. Most captains would probably let him die and sail on, but not this one. 

The captain eyes her curiously, keeping a wide berth between them. Samira’s eyes are wide as they watch her, her claws gripping the side of her box. Ugh— her box. She hates the sound of that. “I want you to know I don’t want it this way, either.”

Samira says nothing. She simply observes. 

The captain continues about her business, shucking her wet coat with a shiver. She must be freezing. Samira’s blood runs cold, acclimated to whatever water she finds herself in. She’s used to the ice of the ocean at night, but this woman, it seems, is not. She disappears for a moment, hiding behind a screen as she changes. Samira bites her lip, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. It’s been so long since she saw a human woman at sea and she’s more curious than she’s willing to admit.

“Look,” she says as soon as she’s back out in the main area of the small room. She now wears a loose white shirt, dry yet sticking to the remaining wetness on her skin. The top of it is undone, revealing a golden cross necklace against her pale chest. Humans and their God. She finds it ridiculous. Of course, humans would be so self-centered to think their entire universe and being could be created by one man. “I don’t know what you know about pirates, but I can’t exactly handle a mutiny right now. I’ve been overboard enough for one night.”

Samira can’t help but roll her eyes. The captain perks up at this. “So, you can understand me.” 

Samira dips her head mostly beneath the water until only her eyes are visible. She doesn’t respond, not yet. 

The captain only steps closer. “I’m sorry, okay? I’d let you sink your teeth into Jack right now if I thought I could get out without my crew killing me for it, but I can’t. This ship is all I have.”

Samira doesn’t care about pesky human problems, not when she’s this hungry. She just wants the captain closer. Samira can’t reach out thanks to her tied wrists, so now she just has to wait, and it is driving her insane. 

It would be a bit of a shame to kill this captain, though. She’s one of the prettier humans Samira has seen. Her hair is dark, drying into wavy tendrils that stop just below her shoulders. There’s a mole just above her upper lip, dark eyes narrowed as they look at Samira. 

“If I untie you, will you promise not to strangle me in my sleep?”

Samira snorts. Strangle. Quaint. Samira would tear her throat out. 

“If you understand me, can you speak? Can you tell me your name? Do you even have names?” Humans and their questions. Neverending curiosity does grate after a while.  “I’m Emery.” 

Emery. It suits her. 

She steps closer and Samira resists the urge to smile. Luring her into a false sense of security, Samira retracts her claws, letting her more human features rise to the surface. The captain—no, Emery— pulls a dagger from her belt and with one hand gently reaches for the rope that binds one of Samira’s wrists.

The first rope is cut and that’s when Samira reaches for her. Her claws are back out, gripping onto her pale wrist. Emery thrashes, but Samira sinks her teeth into the flesh regardless. Emery tears her wrist back, some of her flesh coming with it. Samira swallows it down, relishing in the taste of blood on her tongue.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Emery curses, stumbling back and clutching her wrist. She pulled away too quickly for Samira to really get a good chunk of flesh, but the blood will satiate her hunger for now. She watches as the captain reaches for something—a scarf perhaps, some type of handkerchief—to wrap her wrist, blood seeping through the quick dressing. “I’m sorry—I just want to untie you. I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Now that’s an interesting reaction. Emery hasn’t even dropped the dagger in her hand, but she makes no move to attack Samira, just watches her swirl around in her crate. Samira brings out one claw to cut the other rope, setting her wrists free. If she wanted to, she could crawl her way out of this, advance on Emery and kill her within moments, but something in her hesitates. This woman is interesting. That’s the last thing Samira expected any human to be. 

Samira rolls her eyes, “Fine. Come here.”

“You do talk!” Emery exclaims, scrambling to her feet, still clutching her bleeding wrist.

“I do and I’m hungry. Come here.”

“Not if you’re going to eat me.”

Samira just stares at her. She leans with her arms folded on the edge of the crate, tail swishing in the water. Resting her head on her arms, she opens her mouth, running a normal finger against her human teeth. “I won’t bite.”

“How am I supposed to trust you when you just bit me?”

“How am I supposed to trust you when you say you won’t hurt me?” Samira asks. She can play games all night, but the captain will bleed out sooner rather than later if she doesn’t get over herself. 

Emery sighs, dropping the dagger she has in her hand and letting it fall to the floor. She eyes Samira curiously. “Your accent. What is it?”

It’s been a long time since Samira spoke English and she doesn’t even know what it might sound like to a native speaker. She can’t even pinpoint Emery’s accent—she doesn’t know enough about humans to know. It sounds vaguely British, but nothing like those snobby navy men she loves to feast on. Though, there was a time where she ate too many and then every time she spoke it was embarrassingly posh. 

“You think I know this language for fun?” Samira asks with raised eyebrows, “I do not think you want to know the answer as to why I sound the way I do.”

“Try me,” Emery scoffs, clutching her bleeding wrist.

Samira rolls her eyes, getting the feeling this little pirate isn’t going to let this go. “I steal the voices of the men I eat. I eat a lot of Englishmen, a lot of men from everywhere. It makes things… confusing when I need to speak your ridiculous language. Happy? Now come here before you bleed out.”

“What are you going to do—” Emery starts to ask, but Samira’s patience has run out. 

Emery is close enough for Samira to reach out, so she grabs her by the wrist—sans claws—and tugs her even closer. Samira tugs the bloody handkerchief out of the way, running her tongue along the wound she made. The salt of flesh and metallic taste of blood are practically ambrosia to her, but she resists the urge to take another bite. She supposes it’s only fair since Emery dropped her dagger. 

Emery staggers back when Samira lets her go, eyeing the wound as it begins to close. Samira leans back in the water, twisting around as best she can in the small space. “You’re welcome.” 

“That’s what you were doing in the water. With my sword. You cut yourself and then you—you healed it?”

Samira nods. “I liked the look on your face.”

She isn’t sure why she says it, but she likes the way the captain's cheeks go pink when she does. Samira changes the subject anyway. “It’ll scar, but you won’t bleed out. I don’t recall hearing a thank you.”

“Thanks,” Emery grits out, still marveling at her wrist. “I–you’re unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m hungry,” Samira spits, ignoring the way her heart flutters at the sheer admiration in this woman’s voice. It’s irritating. She almost wishes she was meaner because then Samira wouldn’t feel bad about having to eventually kill her. She already got Emery to untie her, it won’t be long now.

“Do you eat… anything besides humans?”

Samira thinks on it for a minute, humming softly. “I’m quite fond of papaya.”  

Human food won’t last her long, though. She’s meant to survive on flesh and man is the best of it. She doesn’t tell Emery this. She wants the woman to believe that Samira can be docile, that she can be nice. That she can eat her little human fruits and be satisfied. 

“You’re lucky we just left port this morning,” Emery grumbles, still eyeing her wrist. “I can… see what we have I guess.” 

“Oh, aren’t I so lucky to be in a crate on a ship getting little pieces of fruit from some idiot pirate,” Samira bemoans, falling back into the water so abruptly it splashes a bit onto the wooden floor. She comes up from the water to see Emery staring at her, unimpressed. “What? You’re not going to moan about how you don’t want to do this? That you don’t want to keep me hostage and use me to find a stupid map that doesn’t exist?”

Emery perks up at this, “So, you’ve heard of the treasure?”

“Has a siren heard of the siren’s cove treasure. Are all humans this smart? I’m in awe.”

“Watch it. I’m in charge of what you eat.”

“No, you aren’t.” Samira looks her up and down. Emery tenses as if picking up on the danger she’s in. Samira used to be meeker in her interactions with humans, timid and shy like she was some fragile thing. That was before she realized she was stronger than them. Now, she doesn’t make those mistakes anymore. “Sorry. I’m usually nicer, but then again, I’m not usually imprisoned.” 

Emery goes quiet, chewing the inside of her cheek. Samira really wants to take a bite of her again. “Like I said. If I could let you go without sacrificing my ship for it, I would.” 

“Pirates and their ships. I’ve heard it before,” Samira hums. She rests once more on the side of the crate, watching Emery. She eyes the cross against her chest, the pale, freckled flesh at her disposal. Samira sighs, a bit wistfully. This would be easier if Emery was not painfully attractive. Samira would probably think about killing her a lot more. Instead, she levels with her. “Can I… please… have something to eat? Unless you’re willing to offer a finger, I’d prefer that.”

Emery snorts. “No thanks, I kind of need those.”

“I figured.”

Emery heads for the door, seemingly about to comply with Samira’s wishes when she stops, turning back to face her. “Do you have a name? Sorry, if that’s a stupid question, I don’t know much about your… kind. Up until an hour ago, I thought you were just a story.” 

“I do,” Samira answers, not yet giving it away. After all, there’s power in names. Samira knows enough about humans to know that. The last thing she needs is for this one to feel connected to her in any way. Though she has a feeling it might already be too late for that.

With a hand on the doorknob, Emery nods, hesitating before asking, “Can I… can you tell me your name?”

She knows she shouldn’t, but she does anyway. “Samira. My name is Samira.”

Chapter Text

Samira is bored. She thought if humans were going to keep her that there would be more torture, or poking and prodding, or really just gawking, but no. This pirate captain of hers seems adamant that the men of the ship are not to come near her. Samira knows about human men—she sees them at their worst each and every day. She watches their last moments: either begging for their lives or fighting for them. So many men have tried to take a piece out of her and Samira has ripped them to shreds. She finds it entertaining that this Emery thinks she’s protecting Samira, when in reality, she’s protecting her men without even realizing it. 

Emery doesn’t keep her tied up, even though Samira took a chunk out of her arm, but Samira stays in her water, watching Emery sleep. She could climb out of the box, dry off a little, and walk right over there to tear her throat out, but she doesn’t. Emery is kind of… beautiful when she sleeps. Her dark hair is down in loose curls splayed against her pillow, one scratchy-looking blanket pulled up to her chest. Her loose white shirt is spread slightly open and Samira squints—her eyes are a bit more used to the darkness since they’re accustomed to seeing underwater, but the lack of moonlight on this cloudy night makes it more difficult for her—trying to catch more glimpses of the fair flesh hiding beneath the fabric. 

“Caterina,” Emery breathes and Samira perks up, thinking the woman might be waking up. Caterina—that was the name on the side of the ship. Samira’s tail curls in the water, curiosity creeping beneath her skin. She’s no stranger to pirates and why they name their ships. Many name them after saints to bless their journeys, but some name them after lovers, after women they met once, after anything they choose. She wonders which one Emery’s Caterina might be. 

Emery shoots awake and Samira sits up, leaning back with her arms against the back of the crate, tail curling over the side. She misses the ocean. She watches as the pirate captain looks around the small quarters, getting a sense of her surroundings before her eyes land on Samira watching her. 

“You talk in your sleep,” Samira says in a sing-song voice, chuckling slightly as the water swirls around her. “Who’s Caterina?” 

“Don’t,” Emery spits, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Don’t you sleep?”

“Sometimes,” Samira answers with a shrug. “Easier to hunt at night, so I usually sleep during the day.”

Emery moves so she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, a room between them. She expects Emery to fall back asleep—watching her do so earlier had been interesting. She kept tossing and turning, clearly not feeling entirely comfortable with Samira’s presence. Samira can’t blame her, but she’s trying to look as non-threatening as possible. She even has her dorsal fins flattened against her back, so from the waist up she looks as human as she possibly can. 

“Why is hunting at night easier? Don’t they just get mesmerized?”

“Some,” Samira says. She doesn’t know why she feels the need to answer all of Emery’s silly questions, but it’s kind of endearing. She supposes if man could talk to a shark, the first thing they would probably ask is why they bite. “Mainly the young ones, like that little greenhorn boy of yours. Or men with weak minds—men who often indulge in vices like women or cards or ale. But during the day, some will see me before they hear me, warn the others, throw their weapons and really, it’s just easier to hunt at night.” 

“Vices, huh?” Emery chuckles, “Surprised I didn’t go overboard.”

Samira hums, teeth pulling slightly at her bottom lip as she moves forward, resting her arms against the side of the crate and her chin on her forearms. “Oh? My song doesn’t work on women, even those that… indulge. I almost had you, though.”

Emery’s eyes are sharp when they land on her. “Well, you got my sword at least, so you should be proud.”

“I’d be more proud if I wasn’t starving,” Samira groans, flopping back into the water briefly before rising again. It’s almost dawn. Samira can tell by the light breaking through the window. They’ve been moving all night and Samira almost wants to ask where they’re heading, but she isn’t sure if Emery would tell her. “Fruit will only satiate me for so long.” 

“We’ll be at port by afternoon, I can find something for you there, but I’m not going to sacrifice the small amount of meat we have portioned for my men for you.”

“It’s fine, just go back to sleep and I’ll gnaw on you a bit, you’ll hardly notice at all.” Samira doesn’t miss the way Emery’s eyes widen and it brings her slight joy. Good. She wants this pirate at least a little scared of her, at least, for now. “Relax. That was a joke. I joke.” 

Emery scoffs. “You need to brush up on your human humor.”

“Why would I? I don’t like you. I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation with a human,” Samira sighs, turning her head so her cheek rests on her arm, one hand absentmindedly playing in the water. It’s partially a lie. She remembers the last time she had a proper conversation with a human because it was also the last time she was foolish enough to get close to one and think he wouldn’t hurt her. Samira won’t let herself be such a fool again. No. This pirate captain will die. She’ll make sure of it. 

“I’ll get you back to the water soon,” Emery says, guilt riddling her voice. Samira doesn’t care much for her guilt, she’d much rather the woman just use that regret to let her go. “I swear it.”

“Pirates and their promises. I’ve heard them before,” Samira hums, letting her eyes slip closed. “You can go back to sleep, I’ll stop watching you. I’m beginning to tire anyway.” 

“Do you—is there anything… you need to sleep? Or is the water… fine?”

“I sleep on the inside of a giant clam cozied up next to a glimmering pearl, so if you could get that for me—”

“I’m going back to sleep.” Emery rolls her eyes. 

Samira laughs, dropping her head back into the water and closing her eyes as dawn breaks. 

***

“Why won’t you let us see her?” John accosts Emery outside of her quarters as soon as she’s up for the day. Emery groans and rolls her eyes, pushing past the men on the dock as she heads for the wheel Yolanda has been manning all night. 

“She probably threw it out the window back into the waves last night,” Jack quips. Emery shoots him a glare. 

“She is just fine, she’s sleeping,” Emery tells them even though to give them even that bit of information feels like too much. The night had been… strange. She could feel Samira’s eyes on her every time she closed hers and she knew she should be scared, but she wasn’t. It was kind of comforting to have someone in the room with her. It reminded her of a past that was not nearly as hellish as her present. Perhaps that was why she dreamt of Caterina again. “And none of you are coming near her. She’s dangerous. And so are you. It’s mutually beneficial to keep you separated.”

There are a few grumbles throughout the crowd of men as Emery relieves Yolanda of steering duty. They’ll reach land soon and then Emery will be able to see who she needs to—the only person who might be able to help her navigate this mess. They still need to find this alleged map that will lead the way to the treasure-filled cove once Samira’s blood spills across it. Emery finds herself gazing down at the mark left on her wrist—the flesh is already puckered with pale scar tissue as if the injury were months old, not received just an evening ago. 

“You sure you know how to handle them on your own?” Yolanda asks, barely stifling a yawn as she does so. She’s been up all night making sure they don’t crash into any rocks or hit land, so Emery thinks the woman is due for some sleep.

Emery shrugs and shakes her head. “No, but I’ll do what I must. I’ll wake you if they try to throw me overboard.” 

“Aye aye,” Yolanda chuckles, tipping her hat slightly before pushing through the crowd of men to head below deck. 

Despite the arguing, the men are still working as they should, for which Emery is grateful. The last thing she needs is for them to be frustrated and unhelpful. She turns and watches the unending waves, looking to the sky for a moment. They’ll reach land soon—she’d know the way to this island with her eyes closed. 

“Um, Captain?” a voice interrupts her thinking (and her glaring at the ocean) and Emery turns to see the greenhorn—Whitaker, is how she knows him; he’s probably mentioned his first name to her at some point but she can’t recall it now—approaching her, timid, hands wringing together in front of him. 

She looks him up and down, her expression confused and affronted as if he shouldn’t dare approach her. Really, any greenhorn who speaks directly to the captain is bold and she would not have expected this kid to be such a thing, considering he looks a bit like a mouse that scurried on board while she wasn’t looking. “Can I help you?”

“I just wanted to, um, thank you. For coming to save me the other night. Any other captain probably would’ve let me get eaten alive and sailed away. So, thank you,” he mumbles, so quiet she can barely hear him over the sound of the waves, but she gets the gist all the same. He clears his throat, a little louder this time. “All this to say that, though I know I don’t mean a lot in a crew this size, I owe you my life and that’s a debt I won’t forget.” 

It catches Emery more off guard than she’s willing to admit. Truthfully, she hadn't even thought about leaving Whitaker behind. A man on her ship was hers and she would never leave them to proverbial wolves. She had just shrugged off her coat and dove like second nature. She nods to him, her expression softening a bit. “Of course. When you’re on this ship, it’s my job as the captain to protect your life. I’ll remember your loyalty, as I hope you will remember mine. Get back to swabbing the decks before they notice you’re missing.”

“Yes, Captain,” he nods, cheeks flushed slightly pink as he scrambles back to his position. Well, at least if things go south, she’ll have more than just Yolanda. If she lives through a mutiny, of course. Pirates aren’t known for keeping their deposed captains alive, but Emery is sure she’d put up a hell of a fight. Not that she has to worry about that— yet. 

“Captain!” John’s shout earns her attention, “That’ll be land!” 

Emery turns to the direction he’s pointing, seeing the small isle come into view. Emery breathes a sigh of relief. Hopefully she’ll have her answers soon. 

It’s not long before the anchor has been dropped and Emery has begun rowing towards land with a few of her men. She doesn’t want to take all of them, since there’s not much to do on the small spot of land that barely has anything besides the local village—and Emery wouldn’t dare sic all her pirates on such a tiny amount of people, Lord knows what trouble they would cause. 

She’s still trudging through the water with the dinghy when Robby steps out onto his porch, hands on his hips and a disapproving look on his face. He knows if Emery comes to visit, she never brings good news. He just shakes his head and heads back into the small house. Emery turns to her men and nods towards the village—a silent way of saying make yourself scarce. She hopes they understand the don’t cause trouble that comes with it. 

Emery wades through the sand all the way to Robby’s porch, wiping off her boots before she ducks through the same doorway the man just vacated. 

“What is it this time?” Robby asks her, his voice gruff and wary, already pouring them ale.

“My men think we’ve got ourselves the way to the siren’s cove,” Emery says from the doorway, sunlight beating down at her back. 

Robby nods to the table and the mug of ale and Emery finally crosses the threshold, running a nervous hand through her hair as she settles down. He looks at her, no confusion on his expression, only defeat. “Only way to get to siren’s cove is with a map and a siren, so tell me which one you’ve got.” 

“The men… caught one last night,” Emery admits. “I didn’t know they were real.”

“Me neither,” Robby chuckles, something sardonic about the sound. “Not ‘till Heather.” 

Everyone knows about Heather. Most men who worked with Robby thought she was a figment of his imagination and for a long time, Emery thought the same. Now that she’s met Samira, though, she thinks she knows just what really happened to the woman who stole Robby’s heart, who stole his heart and convinced him to give up piracy for good. 

“She was a siren?”

“Still is, I suppose,” Robby sighs, scratching the back of her neck. “Every time I look at the waves, I hope she’s out there. Maybe she comes to check up on me, hops herself up onto a rock somewhere over by the cliffside and watches me go about my day.”

Emery sucks in a deep breath, unable to resist the urge, “How the hell did you go falling in love with a mermaid, Robby?” 

“I wish I knew.” His laughter is sad, still tinged with heartbreak even though it’s been years since he gave up the life Emery now leads. Emery understands, even though she wishes she didn’t. When her heart broke, she almost gave herself to the sea. Instead she chose to sail it for the rest of her days. After all, there was no one who needed her on land anymore. “I was shipwrecked, she saved me even though she was supposed to eat me, and then she gave me up. To this day, I don’t know why. Tell me about this siren of yours, what’re you working with?”

Emery tries to think about falling in love with a creature like a siren. Emery doesn’t know if she’s even capable of falling in love again. She clears her throat, answering Robby. “Her name’s Samira.”

“She told you her name?” Robby interrupts to ask. “Heather didn’t talk for ages. I didn’t even know she understood me. I was rambling all sorts of things to her before she eventually caved and told me to be quiet for once in my life.”

“Well, maybe they’ve got all different types of personalities,” Emery offers with a shrug. She finally reaches for the ale, taking a hearty sip and appreciating the warmth of it down her throat. “Just like we do. Anyway—her name’s Samira. She’s… funny. Mean. She bit me.”

This earns a real, hearty laugh from Robby. “I’d reckon she should do a lot worse if you’re keeping her holed up on that ship of yours. Heather hated walking, she’s probably miserable up there.”

This gives Emery pause. “They can walk?” 

***

While Emery is on land, Samira explores her quarters. The door is guarded and she can still hear men roaming the ship, so Samira knows her chances of escape right now are slim. She may as well use her alone time to explore. It was relatively easy to worm her way out of the shallow box and after that, it only took her a couple of minutes of lying there, admiring the way the sun shone through the window, until she was dry enough for her legs to take shape. She never understood why they were made this way, why creatures who lived in the sea needed to take a human form, but in times like this, it comes in handy. 

Emery has a lot of trinkets—that’s the best way she can think to describe the things she sees. She wouldn’t think some no-nonsense pirate captain would keep such things, but she does. It’s… quaint. Samira looks at her shelves, perusing the small things she keeps there. Her hands land on a necklace, picking it up, surprised when the pendant flips open. Samira marvels for a minute, looking at the mechanism that allows for such a thing and running her fingers over the small pieces of metal. Inside the pendant is a painting of a woman—she’s got olive-toned skin and long, curly, dark hair. She’s beautiful. Samira hums to herself, putting the necklace back where she found it. 

She finds Emery’s wardrobe, thumbing through her small amount of shirts and coats. Part of her almost wants to put one on, just to see. She’s never worn human clothes before, but they seem itchy. She knows enough about humans to know that girls are supposed to wear something different, something other than what Emery has in here. These are men’s clothes, she knows enough to know that. Samira wonders why that might be. Then, she starts to wonder what she would like. Not that she’d ever wear human clothes. But she has seen an awful lot of pretty dresses that might be fun. There’s not a single dress in this wardrobe for her to test her theory, which is a bit boring. 

She settles for grabbing the white shirt that Emery had tossed aside this morning, the one she had slept in. Samira bites her lip softly, bringing the fabric to her nose. Her heightened senses give her a whiff of what Emery smells like, especially after she bit her—a bit like the salt of the sea air and her sweat, a little fruity like maybe she’d just eaten, but the shirt, the shirt is so her. Samira enjoys it more than she thought she would. It’s musky, but she can smell the seawater and linen, as if it’s been cleaned recently. There’s something beneath that, though, something that’s distinctly Emery.

Samira is just about to pull the shirt over her head, out of pure curiosity of course, when the door slams open. Samira is too far away from the crate of water to run back over there, certainly not on her shaky, out-of-practice legs, so she just freezes.

Emery stands there, one hand on the door, a scoff halfway fallen from her lips. “You can walk.” 

Samira balks, flushing at having been caught. “Not well.” 

“When were you going to tell me? When you got up to strangle me in my sleep?” 

“I wouldn’t strangle you. I would tear your throat out,” Samira answers. 

Emery stares at her, taking in her mostly-human state for what seems to be the first time. Samira is bare, of course, her hair long in front of her chest, but not much else is hidden. It’s never bothered her, but it seems to bother Emery because her cheeks flush bright red. Samira rolls her eyes. Humans and their modesty. She walks across the room and flops back into the water. She likes it better there anyway. 

“Did you get what you needed?” Samira asks, swirling around now that her tail has taken its rightful place. She leans on the side of the crate with her elbow, propping her chin up on her hand. Emery’s eyes are still climbing down her form and Samira can see the way she swallows. She can’t help but smile slightly. This is precisely how she almost got Emery in the first place. If her song won’t do it, her beauty will. Peculiar, though, because most women are able to resist her. “Did you find the way to your little map?” 

“I—sort of,” Emery finally answers, turning away from Samira. She sees the rumpled shirt Samira had been holding, scrunching her brow before turning to face her again. “What were you doing with my things?”

“You leave me in a locked room, I’m going to explore the locked room.” Samira shrugs. “You smell nice. Not like I thought pirates would smell. Most of the men smell like shit.”

This causes Emery to huff out a laugh, saying, “Yeah, well, men are idiotic and don’t find it necessary to bathe while at sea. I do so regularly.”

“Bathe?”

“Yeah, like—”

“I’m kidding,” Samira laughs, swirling around in the water. “Humans are so gullible. I bathe. Differently from you, probably, but you can always teach me.”

It’s another joke, but Samira is finding she likes the way Emery blushes. She wonders how this woman is feared because all Samira has seen of her is that she’s a bit bumbling. Emery falls right into the same trap, cheeks pink. “You don’t—you’re making a fool of me.”

Samira bites her lip and nods. “Tell me about the way to this map.” When Emery hesitates, she adds. “Please?”

She finds humans like when you add simple things like that. It makes them feel better. Samira finds it a bit endearing, even though she knows she shouldn’t. Language to her has always been about efficiency. When underwater, she and her sisters communicate through simple motions and noises, similar to the whales and dolphins. They have their ways, but nothing quite like humans do. 

Emery sits on the chair her shirt had been on, rubbing the spot on her wrist Samira had bitten. Doing so seems to remind her of something. She stands up again, holding up a finger before leaving the room. Samira sighs, dipping her head below the water. She shouldn’t be entertaining this human as long as she has. She could have killed Emery by now, but she hasn’t. Instead, she just watched her sleep as if she hadn’t been entirely capable of climbing out of this crate and sinking her teeth into her. She’s lost her edge. 

The silence doesn’t stay for long because Emery returns, holding something wrapped in netting. “I figured given what you… usually eat, you would prefer raw, but they wouldn’t let me buy it raw because they insist on cooking with all sorts of things, so here. Figured meat was better than whatever fruit I could spare you.”

She approaches Samira timidly, looking her up and down as if she expects Samira to climb out of the crate and spook her, but Samira doesn’t. She doesn’t have the heart to tell Emery it doesn’t quite work like that, mainly because her fear is a little entertaining. She watches as Emery takes the object out of the package—she can already smell it long before then and her stomach starts to grumble. 

“It’s turkey. They don’t really sell human meat these days.”

“Ah, so you do joke,” Samira hums, smiling as she snatches the large turkey leg from Emery. She’s so quick with it, that she doesn’t realize she scratches Emery until it was too late. 

Emery curses, bringing her finger to her lip to clean up the blood. Samira’s eyes widen and for some reason, her first thought is to apologize. “I did not mean to, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Emery says, though the wound on her finger says otherwise. 

Samira holds out a hand—claws safely retracted—and Emery looks at her for a moment. Samira nods slowly, not saying a word. Eventually, Emery gives in and places her bleeding hand in Samira’s offered palm. She smiles, pulling the hand closer to her. It’s rough, callused, evidence of the work she does with them. 

Samira brings the wound to her lips, taking a selfish moment just to taste the blood before she runs her tongue along the scratch, letting it heal. She sits back in the water, reaching for the meat Emery offered and watching the way Emery marvels at her hand. Samira chooses to be civil in front of Emery, picking meat off the bone and bringing it to her lips instead of tearing into it the way she wants to. She’s probably scared the woman enough for one afternoon. 

“Why can you do that?”

“Why does your heart beat? Why do you require sleep? I do not know, same as you do not know why you do the things you do. I just know that I do,” Samira shrugs, grateful to finally have something in her stomach. The fruit had done well enough, but she needs meat if she is going to sustain herself for any lengthened period of time. “This is divine. Oh, my. I can see why you eat it like this. Here—have some.” 

She takes off a piece and offers it to Emery, who still stands there, gawking slightly at her. After a moment, though, Emery takes the meat from her and eats it, even though it’s something she’s probably tasted several times before. Samira grins. 

“Okay, I’ll write that down as something else you like. Papaya and cooked turkey,” Emery says as she takes a step back. 

“Now, tell me about the map,” Samira tries again, settling in the corner of her crate with the edge of her tail hanging over the side. Emery’s eyes follow it, marveling every time she seems to remember what Samira is. It’s interesting. She’s not used to being stared at like this—as if she were being studied; admired. 

“We don’t know where it is for sure—if it actually exists. There’s this pirate I know, Robby. His buddy Adamson apparently saw this map once in his travels, though we have no way of knowing if it’s the same place,” Emery explains with a sigh, watching Samira as she eats. Eventually, she sits back in her chair, running a hand through her hair. “We have to sail to this island port, shouldn’t be more than a few days from here. We’re hoping to find it there.”

Samira laughs. “And you think it’ll just be, what? Sitting there waiting for you? This mystical treasure map?”

“I—no,” Emery starts to say, her cheeks coloring slightly, embarrassed by Samira’s playful mockery. Humans are ridiculously fun to play with, Samira is learning. Or maybe it’s just this one. Either way, she likes it more than she thought she would. “There’s a woman there, she trades in rare artifacts. We’re hoping she’ll still have it and if she doesn’t, maybe she’ll know who she sold it to. Happy?”

“It’s sweet you keep me informed,” Samira offers, her voice softer than she would normally let it get. She smiles, hoping it looks normal. She rarely smiles without baring her teeth—her real teeth, but she tries because she thinks it makes Emery like her. At least, Emery seems to like her fine so far. 

Emery grunts. “I think you’re the first person to ever call me sweet.”

Samira shrugs. “Maybe you’re showing me a different side of you. The side you show all the beautiful girls, hm? Like the one in that necklace of yours?”

Emery bristles immediately, standing up and straightening out her shoulders. She’s trying to make herself look big, but Samira thinks she might be taller than her when she stands on her human legs—she’s certainly longer than her right now, but she doesn’t know if Emery would count that. Either way, what Samira said clearly struck a nerve because her entire demeanor changes.

“Ever touch my shit again, I’ll be happy to move your little box to the brig,” Emery spits, her eyes not on Samira, but on the necklace that rests on her shelf. 

“You wouldn’t,” Samira tests, tilting her head. “You can’t talk to me the way you talk to those men because I see what they don’t. Will you tell me about your lover? This… Caterina.”

“Samira,” Emery says and Samira sucks in a breath. It’s the first time Emery has spoken her name, at least, to her directly. It hits her like a shock—something about the warning tone mixed with the exasperation. “Enough of your questions. I won’t tell you again.”

Samira just clicks her tongue, a finger teasing the water around her. “When will you learn? You cannot threaten me in any way that matters. You’ve seen what I can do.”

“Then I’m asking,” Emery relents, a soft sigh leaving her lips. “Don’t ask about her again. Please.” 

Samira wants to keep prodding. Emery makes her curious, though she doesn’t know why. Still, the look on the woman’s usually stoic (or blushing, she supposes she can add to the list) face is laced with a sorrow Samira cannot fathom. So, she takes gentle pity on her. “Fine. I apologize.” 

“It’s fine, you’re curious,” Emery offers peace, clearing her throat. “I have asked many things of you which you did not have to give me the answer. This is just… this is one I cannot give you. I’m sorry. I must—I must go speak to my men about our journey.”  

Samira bites her lip as she watches her go, feeling a slight pang of guilt for bringing up something so painful. Though she knows it shouldn’t, the plain emotion on Emery’s face before she leaves only makes her more curious. Even without answering, it told Samira all she needed to know—Caterina, whomever she may be, was a lover. Someone like Emery is capable of love—with a woman nonetheless. Samira settles back in her crate, enjoying the rest of her meal and trying not to think about her fate. Instead, she thinks of Emery in love.