Don't Kidnap a Blind Siren

I'm a siren. Every fifty years, I need to eat a heart. Not just any heart—it has to be rotten to the core. The more evil, the better it feeds.

So when Arthur Pendleton, billionaire marine philanthropist and secret trafficking kingpin, spotted a helpless blind girl sitting alone at his charity gala, he thought he'd hit the jackpot.

He took me to his cliffside villa. Cooked me dinner. Drugged my milk.

Cute.

The drugs broke down the second they hit my stomach. His guard found out about the restraints the hard way—right before I snapped his neck.

Now Arthur is steering his yacht into open water, chasing a sunken treasure that doesn't exist, too drunk on greed to notice the strange singing in the fog, or that the blind girl in his passenger seat can see him perfectly fine.

He has no idea what's waiting in the deep.

I was getting thirsty again.

Not the kind of thirsty that water could fix.

My skin was cracking. The gill slits behind my ears throbbed with a dull ache. Every fifty years, my family goes through what we call the Tidal Shift. The old scales flake off, and new flesh needs raw, potent fuel to rebuild itself.

The best fuel? The heart of a truly evil person.

The deep-sea rule is simple: we don't kill innocents. Not out of any moral code—it's just that pure souls are too bland. Like unsalted water. They can't provide the kind of energy a Shift demands.

Only souls soaked through with greed, lust, and cruelty are rich enough.

I was sitting in the corner of a charity gala on a Manhattan rooftop.

Tonight's theme: "Save the Oceans."

The irony.

I wore a white silk gown, my hair falling soft over my shoulders. A pair of custom contact lenses made my eyes look slightly unfocused, and I held a slim, elegant cane in one hand.

Fragile. Beautiful. Broken.

The hunting signal that human men can never resist.

"Is the air conditioning too cold for you?"

A warm, low voice close to my ear.

I tilted my head slightly, playing startled, my lashes fluttering twice.

"I'm fine... I just got a little turned around." My voice trembled—just the right amount of helpless.

Arthur Pendleton.

Host of tonight's gala. Renowned marine conservation scholar. Philanthropist worth hundreds of millions.

He wore a perfectly tailored suit and a textbook-perfect smile. He reached out and lightly cupped my elbow—gentlemanly, restrained.

"I'm Arthur. If you don't mind, I could take you out to the terrace for some air."

On the surface, the man was a saint.

But I could smell it.

The moment he stepped close, a thick, nauseating stench hit my nostrils.

Rotting blood.

The echo of desperate screams laced with formaldehyde.

My eyes might have been faking it, but my nose never lied. Underneath that suit, this man carried the weight of at least a hundred young women's lives.

"Thank you, Mr. Arthur. That's so kind of you." I gave him a grateful smile and placed my hand on his arm.

His fingers tightened—just a fraction. Not tenderness. Control. He'd probably practiced that move a thousand times.

I lowered my gaze, hiding the flash of gold that slit through my pupils.

What a coincidence.

I was excited too.

Out on the terrace, the sea breeze took the edge off the dryness in my skin.

Arthur draped his jacket over my shoulders. "A girl as beautiful as you shouldn't be stuck in a noisy room all alone. I have a private villa by the sea—the sound of the waves there is something else. If you'd like, I could take you to hear the real ocean."

"But... wouldn't that be too much trouble?" I bit my lower lip, hesitant.

"Not at all. Being your eyes would be my privilege."

I watched the corners of his mouth slowly curl upward.

I knew I had the right one.

"Then... if you're sure." I said softly.

I'd been hungry for too long.