Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
And yet, I feel that control slipping the more the night ticks by.
I’m starting to welcome it.
My pulse is quickening, blood rushing to my cock until my pants are tight. I find myself wondering if the Syren is as beautiful as they say, getting harder and harder at the thought of finding her, feasting upon her…defiling her.
The thought causes a jolt to run through me like burning lightning, and I grip the rosary tighter as I squirm in my chair.
“Salvation,” I whisper to myself, my voice blending in with the wind outside the windows. “Salvation.”
It has been centuries since I’ve been with someone, man or woman. Sometimes, with Abe, it had come close, but he knew better than anyone that celibacy and keeping my vows was paramount to staying human. We are sexual creatures by nature, and because of my monstrous beginnings, my appetites are savage, depraved, and uncontrollable. Blood and sex are my two weaknesses, and because I have to consume blood to survive, it means I can’t give in to the other, or I’ll lose myself entirely.
But tonight, as my body pulses with the energy I’d been denying myself for ages, I think of the Syren I hadn’t yet seen. She would have blonde or red or black hair. Her tail would shimmer like frost under the moon. Her breasts would be full, pale nipples pink and hard in the cold air, begging to be touched, to be bitten.
I think about dragging her out of the water, heavy and wet. She will cry for help, and I will smother her mouth with my hand. I will punish her for her sins and hope that, somehow, it will absolve me of my own.
I think about biting her neck, my fangs piercing the artery before the blood rushes into my mouth. I think about how the blood will taste—more heavenly than God could ever grant me—and how hot it will feel, the sounds as it splashes all over her chest, my throat making greedy noises as I swallow it all down.
If the powdery blood of a dead Syren can give me life for a day, then the pulsing blood of a live one will make immortality that much sweeter.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m bringing my cock out of my trousers, stroking it hard. A few vicious yanks, and I’m coming with a choked gasp, white ropes spurting out across the black cloth of my thighs.
“God,” I swear, gritting my teeth as my head goes back. Immediately, a sense of peace envelops me like a warm haze as I feel the world drift away. I know it’s temporary—it always is. I know that when the feeling goes, my hunger will come back tenfold. The hunger for blood, the hunger for sex. It’s a damned and sinful slope to be on.
But right now, I close my eyes and fall into a dulcet, dreamless slumber that rests my tired bones and soothes my wayward soul.
I don’t know how long I am out for, and when I wake up, it’s like a cannon has gone off. I sit straight up in my chair, my heart pounding, my half-hard cock still out of my pants. I eye the dried cum with disdain. It would look better sprayed across a round, pale bottom than leaving a stain on my holy clothes.
There’s no point in taking them off and washing them in the basin. It will come off in the ocean.
I get to my feet, tuck my cock back in, and stride out of the cottage into the night. A man would bring some sort of weapon to fight off such a savage beast, but I’m a savage beast myself, and there is no beating me. There’s no killing me, either. As lethal as this Syren is, they aren’t immortal, and whatever way she’ll try and injure me, I’ll heal before her eyes.
The wind is steady, bringing in the sharp, bitter cold of the glacial, southern seas, but it’s never been uncomfortable for me. Instead, it’s bracing, giving me virility, causing a vicious stab of hunger to my gut.
I glance around, my preternatural senses trying to listen for anyone nearby. The cannons that guard the entrance to the strait are a mile away and out of sight, as are the stationed soldiers, and there are no fishermen this evening. I don’t think anyone will dare fish after nightfall ever again.
I also listen to the sound of the water—not just the waves crashing against the stony shore, but the splashes out across the strait. Some are whitecaps, one is a seal poking up for air followed by a sharp huff, and one is a floundering sound. Could be a dolphin, a fish, even the shark I blamed for the attack.
Either way, there’s something over there.
I walk across the shore and through the crashing surf until I’m swimming past the break. I could have taken the boat, but that would only attract unwanted attention to myself. This way, I can move quickly and undetected.