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Sonja didn’t like to share.
She’d told her handsome captain that, when she’d agreed to let him go, so long as he returned to her waters every other full moon. When she’d been unable to resist those dark eyes that shimmered green or amber depending on the light. When she’d accepted his kisses and promises that he would bring plenty of sailors her way for her and her sisters to feed on.
Caleb Varek was a clever man and a craftier pirate, but he was true to the ocean and respected her threats. He embraced them, embraced the promise of freedom and riches and thrills if he did not disrespect her, and so Sonja had thought he would not disrespect her kind, either.
But she’d found the golden band tucked away in his things. Found the letters from a wife tucked away in his desk. A woman who was there before Sonja, who waited at the shores for Caleb during the new moons between the full ones promised to the siren queen.
She had hoarded these discoveries like secret treasures, kept the knowledge of his betrayal hers and hers alone.
He had woken to find her sitting by his open window, listening to the song of the sea, and come to her, kissing her and drawing her back to his bed. He had whispered sweet, reverent prayers to her, worshipped her and the primal power in her veins, in her voice.
And she had let him, wondering all the while if he’d claimed his mortal wife in those same sheets.
Sonja did not like to share.
She’d warned her handsome captain of that, when she’d accepted his promises and given her terms. She’d tasted his blood to seal the pact, to promise safe passage to him and his men while those that hunted after them were hers and her sisters’ to claim.
And he had acknowledged the fact. And he had kissed her and promised her that there would never be anyone or anything that could claim him as she and the sea claimed him. And he had told her that she was the sea to him, wild and untamed and beautiful and deadly. And he had sworn, he was hers.
He had lied.
So Sonja left the treacherous shallows where she and her sisters dwelled. And she found the shores where his wife waited. And she called to her, singing the same song that lured so many to the murky depths where they were torn asunder. Her voice would call to any ear that heard it - no age nor gender was immune.
This woman was no different. She came to the edge of the ocean. She waded into the waves. She came to Sonja’s arms, and let her drag her down, let her steal the breath from her very lungs, and only realized too late she was gone when saltwater filled her lungs.
And Sonja watched, black eyes darker than the deepest depths, lips pulled back and over shark-sharp teeth. And Sonja fed, feasting on everything but the heart. The heart she kept. The heart she saved.
And on the next full moon, when her captain returned, she presented him her finest treasure, half-rotted by the salty ocean, something gray and gutted of life. And she smiled, lips pulled back over shark-sharp teeth.
“I do not like to share.”
But her captain surprised her as he eyed the heart wet and lifeless on his desk. He snapped the chain from his neck from which the golden band hung and let it fall onto the desk beside the wet, dead thing that once pumped his wife’s lifeblood. And he smiled.
“I know.”