Synopsis: Being the last Siren Hunter, in the hands of your âpreyâ, is unnatural. But you must do what you have to so you can return to dry land.
Warning: Smut, two-cawks, Monster fudging (think of RAF as the size of the Lemurian Skeleton in the main story), talk of slaying mer-children, tummy bulge, oviposition, egg-laying, Reader is scared they wonât fit, size difference, breeding, Rafayel being smug about filling you up.
A/N: I feel like we donât get to see just how a massive Lemurianâs are beside the skeleton. In RAFâs myth heâs obviously a bit bigger than us but I want our hugeeee merman:(
The pre-dawn air is thick with salt and the promise of a coming storm as you step onto the docks, your boots heavy against the worn wood. The sunrise has yet to even peak in the sky, casting only an eerie blue across the docks.
The âSaint's Wrathâ creaks in its berth, its dark hull already laden with harpoons and nets, your fatherâs silhouette moving methodically across the deck. Your family was the last of its kind, ones that actually had the bullocks to fight back against the monsters of the deep.
"You're late," your brother calls from the rigging, his voice sharp beneath the tolling church bells, a reminder that God watches even here, where blood runs more freely than prayer.
You donât answer. Instead, you tighten the strap of your blade sheath and glance at the horizon where black water meets bruised sky. âThey're getting bolder," you mutter as salt spray stings your cheeks. "More wrecks last night."
Your father pauses mid-motion before tossing another net onto his shoulder with a grunt, his silence louder than any agreement he could give.
This hunt wonât be like killing fish.
These âfishâ fight back.
Your boots scrape the wooden flanks of the ship. This would be your chance to prove yourself. To prove you could hold your own like your brother, despite being the youngest. When your mother was alive she would try to convince you that perhaps the Sirens werenât all bad. Men were more evil, she would say.
When she died, you were forced to stay home. Cook and clean for your brother and father when they returned from Hunting. Most of the time their catches were smaller creatures. Barely older than you. When you would watch them hang limply from nets, your stomach would drop.
Your brother glances down from his perch in the rigging, his gaze raking over your smaller form with skepticism.
"You sure you're up to this?" he calls, his tone a gruff warning. âI seen the size of the last one we chased down. Damned near sank the Saint's Wrath.â
Your jaw tightens at the thinly disguised doubt, but you know better than to let it show. "I can handle myself," you mutter, fingers brushing over the hilt of your blade.
 He snorts, unconvinced but he doesn't argue further as he tosses a coiled hawser to the deck below. âThen get your ass up here already. We're heading out."
The deck of the ship shifts under your feet as the crew makes final preparations for your hunt, securing lines and stowing equipment with practiced efficiency. The bells from the nearby town still ring out in peals, marking the hour with a chorus of holy purpose, contrast to the grim work that awaits you beyond the harbor.
The storm you rush into that night is brutal. The rain pelts strong against the sail, and the vessel jolts violently.
The wind howls like a wounded beast, whipping the rain sideways into stinging lashes against your skin.
The Saint's Wrath groans beneath you, wood creaking under the assault of waves that rise like black mountains before crashing down in torrents of salt and fury.
"Reef the sails!" Your fatherâs voice cuts through the chaos, raw from shouting over the storm. âNOW!"
 Your brother lunges for the lines, muscles straining as he battles to rein in canvas gone wild with wind, but even his strength isn't enough alone. You donât hesitate; you throw yourself forward, grabbing hold beside him as your boots skid across slick decking. For a heart-stopping moment, it feels like the ship itself might capsize⊠but thenâ
 Not thunder. Not waves breaking against the hull... but something else entirely, a voice threaded beneath storm and sea that doesnât belong to either. It slithers into your ears like silk and poison all at once, beautiful enough to freeze blood mid-pulse inside your veins that are already thrumming with adrenaline.
 Nothing human could make a noise like that... unless it wanted you dead first.
 Your father pales under lantern light when he hears it too.
 He knows what comes next.
 The song makes your ears ring. Your hand drop the rope and immediately try to cover your ears. Your brother comes behind you, desperately clasping his hands over your own to keep out the Sirenâs sound.
 He was sacrificing himself for you.
 The song is a Siren's Call in every sense of the word, seductive in the same way a snake is: beautiful⊠but deadly to touch. It fills the storm-tossed air like a seductive melody, wrapping around your senses and trying to drag you under.
 "Don't listen," your brother growls above the song. "Don't you dare listen. You stay with me, understand?"
 But then the ship slams to the side of a massive rock, tearing the side from the vessel. Your brother and father are thrown backwards, breaking through the railing and peeling overboard.
 Your hands drop from your ears, and you wail, cutting through the Sirenâs Song.
 The impact throws you to the deck, wood splintering beneath you as cold seawater explodes across the planks. The Saintâs Wrath shudders like a dying animal, groaning under its own weight before lurching violently to one side.
 Your scream is raw, more instinct than sound as your hands scramble for purchase on the slick wood⊠but itâs too late. Your father and brother are already gone, swallowed by black waves and a storm that doesnât care about prayers or hunters or last words.
  The hull splits in two, and you are forced into the sea. The water encloses you like a brutal fist.
 Your limbs thrash through the water, fighting desperately for the surface even as the storm does its best to drown you. The ocean closes around your body in a brutal grip, cold saltwater filling your lungs and weighing you down like lead. The ship tilts plunging into the depths a few feet away and suddenly you know youâre alone.
 Your boots kick out against nothing but darkness. There are no oars left to row, no sail to steer, just the cold press of the sea all around you.
 You are lost. Vulnerable...prey.
 You truly expect to see the gates of heaven when you awake. But instead you hear damned seagulls, and your back is pressed to a stone like you were laid out to dry.
 You feel hands-claws more like-peeling back your blouse. You hear a small gasp and the soaked fabric slaps back onto your breast.
 Your eyes fly open, gasping as you bolt upright only to collapse back onto the stone with a groan, every muscle in your body screaming from the fight against the waves.
 The voice... it's wrong. Not human. Too smooth, too melodic even in its shock.
 Blinking saltwater from your lashes, you finally focus on the figure poking its head from the Sea beside you.
 His hair is wild, purple strands tangled with seaweed and ocean foam like a cursed crown of the deep.
 His skin glows faintly under sunlight as if he is carved from moonlight itself.
 But those hands? Those claws curling hesitantly near your torn blouse? They belong to something that drowns men for sport.
 And yet when he speaks again?
Thereâs no song laced beneath his words, just something glistening in his eyes with childlike curiosity.
  âA woman hunter?" His head tilts, gaze raking over you. âHowâŠinteresting.l
 His tail, massive and light reflective, flicks in the ocean water. Your lungs burn, your eyes sting with saltwater. You try to push yourself up, to create distance between you and the monster.
 Who was rather beautiful.
 But waitâŠwerenât Sirens female?
 If it's even possible, he grins wider at your reaction, a hint of pointed fangs showing beneath the curve of his lips. His head is tilting the other way as he watches you scramble back as far as the stone allows.
 "Donât be frightened," he murmurs, voice like the soft lull of the sea itself. His body is lean and lithe, all corded muscle beneath pale skin. He moves in closer, and you can sense the raw power coiled beneath that massive frame.
 "You'll only exhaust yourself for nothing."
 He closes the distance like a flash of silver beneath water, one hand catching your wrist and pinning it back to the cold stone with a grip that makes your bones ache.
 Those claws gleam dangerously close to your throat as he leans over you, his face mere inches from yours.
 "Though... I must admit," he hums, "I've never come across a woman hunter before. Especially not one so very...pretty.â
 You kick weakly at the massive, broad creature before you. âD-do not touch me!â
 The stone bruises into your back as he leans forward, a sharp-toothed smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.
 "Is that any way to talk to your savior, pretty girl?"Heâs leaning over you like a shadow. His fangs glimmer, glinting completely clean. No trace of blood to be found.
 The fin at the end of his tail flaps into the water. Heâs heavy, massively so. Nearly 3 times the size of a normal man.
 âY-you killed my familyâŠâ your voice cracks as you gaze up at the beast.
 "Killed... your family?" His brow furrows as he studies you with those dual toned eyes.
 "I did no such thing," he growls, jaw clenching. âI found you drowning in the storm. I was...saving you."
 You thrash, anger overriding your senses. âYour song! You made our vessel crash! It-itâs all your FAULT!â Your scream startles the seagulls, feathers and squawks follow your outburst.
 His eyes flare at your words, sharper like a wave slamming into a rock. âWatch your tone, little hunter," he snaps, the words a growl against your cheek.
 âI am not to blame for your carelessness. You were in the ocean during a storm. What did you expect would happen, hmm?"
 âI heard your songâŠâ your voice is weak, the droplets of water from his body mingle with your tears.
 âYou humans. So quick to blame us for your own misfortune." The waves around you lap at the rock you are splayed against. âNot every wreck is our doing."
 Heâs so close now you can nearly taste him, salt and sea and something dangerously wild.
 âBut since you insist Iâm a monsterâŠ" A slow smirk curls over his fangs. He releases one wrist just to drag a claw down the side of your throat. "...Maybe I should act like one."
 Your hand comes down in a fist across his jaw. But the action barely moves him. He doesnât flinch. But the bones in your knuckles shatter, and you bow like a taunt string. âF-fuck!â
 The Siren barely reacts to your pathetic strike, his face barely turns with the impact. But you feel it, the way your hand collapses against his jaw, bones grinding beneath skin.
 Pain lances up your arm so sharply that for a second, you canât even scream.
 He watches you writhe, that cruel smirk never leaving his lips.
 "Ohhh...now that was stupid, little hunter." He tuts. "But don't worry. I like my prey with a bit of fight left in them."
 Your clutch your broken hand to your chest. Your lungs burn with water and agony. You curl in on yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. You wish you were back with your brother and father. In the comfort of your sea-side home. âJust kill meâŠâ you whisper.
 He stares down at your curled form, the way your body tenses against the pain. There's no mercy in his expression, but he sounds irritated. "Don't be so overdramatic."
 He shifts above you, his hands coming to rest on the stone on either side of your head, effectively caging you in. "Just because you're injured doesn't mean I need to cut your life short. I'm not a monster, no matter what you hunters like to believe."
 His bare chest ripples, the colorful tattoos color his flesh. You lay limp like youâve already accepted death. âWhat do you want from me? Why did you save meâŠ?â
 He hums again as his eyes trace over your face. This time, the sound feels thoughtful.
 "I suppose... I want many things." His gaze searches your face as if trying to find those words buried in your expression.
 "But for now, I suppose I just... want you to look at me. Really look at me. And understand⊠that the ocean doesn't belong to you. It isn't your sanctuary. It's mine. Ours.â
 His lips pull back to expose those sharp canines. He drags you lower on the rock so his body can dip back into the sea. You donât even yelp, just lay like a fish out of water. âDo you know how many of our children you have slain?â
 Your head weakly lifts. âThey lured our men to watery graves.â
 The monster scoffs and shakes his head in disbelief. âThose guppies were barely old enough to find their voice. Every single one you have successfully slaughtered, were mere-children.â
 Your eyes widen at his words. It perfectly explained why all of the Sirenâs before were so small, your size or bigger.
 Your eyes flicked to the beast. His long violet strands tickle your arms and cheeks. HeâsâŠbeautiful. In a way you canât quite describe.
 Your hand aches, now turning an ugly shade of purple and red that nearly match his aesthetic.
 You scoot to a sitting position as he gives you space. Your legs ache, head throbs, and now your fist is shattered.
 You were alone, on a rock, hundreds of miles perhaps from civilization.
 âNow. Tell me what you want from meâŠâ You whisper.
 The waves crash behind him, spraying foam against the stone where you sit like some storm-tossed offering left for the sea to claim.
 "You still think this is about wanting something from you?" His eyes drift over your broken hand, then back up to your face âYou are in my waters now, little hunter." His hair pools around him like tendrils. âAnd I donât drown pretty things for sport, even when they deserve it."
 But the way his claws flex against the rock betrays him.
 Thereâs hunger there.
 And not just for flesh.
 His clawed hands reach for your wrist and you flinch away like he might gnaw off your hand as a snack. He simply scoffs.
 You hold your breath as his touch ghosts over your shattered knuckles, so gentle itâs almost maddening. His fingers are cold, like the deep sea he crawled from.
 "Hm." His eyes flicker over your injury. âYour people would have splinted this wrong. Made it worse.
 Without warning, his other hand grips your forearm to steady you as his claws press along the fractured bones.
 A sharp crack echoes between you two as bone slides back into place under his guidance.
 The pain is instant, blinding, but over just as quickly. Then he pulls away like he hasnât just realigned your hand and made your entire body reset.
 The best examines his claw nails like you arenât in extreme agony.
 âDon't thank me all at once."
 But when he sees the fresh tears leaking from your eyes, he canât stop the way his heart convulses.
 âCan youâŠcan you take me back to shore?â You know itâs a big favor for someone you blamed for the death of your family, but you were desperate.
 His tail flicks impatiently against the water, sending ripples through the tidepool.
 "You would trust me not to drown you halfway?" The question is a taunt, but beneath it is a challenge. âAfter all this time hunting my kind?"
 He throws himself closer in one fluid motion, claws closing around your waist before dragging you flush against his chest. His skin is shockingly warm for something born from the depths.
 "...Hold on," His tail coils beneath him in preparation to dive. "...And don't scream. Your weak lungs will fill with water.â
 He dives back into the waters, and you try to hold your breath as long as you can. You truly expect the Siren to drown you, but the beast shoves what seems like an air bubble between your lips.
 The moment your lungs burn something cool presses against your lips. His mouth? No.
 A bubble, shimmering and strange, like liquid glass, passes between his lips and yours with a sensation that isnât quite a kissâŠbut isnât not one either.
 Your first instinct is to choke, to cough it out. But then you breathe. And instead of saltwater flooding your throat, itâs air, fresh and sweet as if stolen from the surface itself.
 His smirk is smug against your temple when he feels you go slack with shock in his arms, those clawed hands tightening around your waist as he swims deeper into the blue.
 âTold you not to scream," his voice rumbles through the water directly into your skull like some underwater sorcery. âBut it will not last long.â
 In the distance, you can make out the outline of a cave mouth, a shadowy chasm lurking within the depths.
 He guides you toward it, tail propelling you ever forward with a single focused power that makes your head spin.
 As the cave swallows it, he pulls you closer to his chest.
 "Relax," he hums. âI won't let you drown."
 For some reason, those words make you shiver.
 His head pops out in the underwater cave, just for real oxygen to hit your lungs. You give a slight gasp at the ornate decorations laid out. A bed of the finest taste, something youâd never seen in your life.
 What use would a Siren have for a human bed? Your eyes travel to the other grand decor.
 The cave gleams, soft bioluminescent algae clinging to the walls like living candlelight, casting an eerie glow over treasures piled high: gold coins spilling from cracked chests, jewelry draped over coral formations, even a few rusted swords that must have been plucked from sunken warships.
 But the bed? Thatâs what holds your attention. It's lavish, covered in silks that shimmer with colors you didnât even know existed beneath the waves.
 The Siren doesnât comment as he pulls himself up onto a flat rock ledge beside it, dragging you with him before depositing you onto its surface like some prized catch he can't decide whether to eat or admire.
 His tail coils beneath him as he watches your face carefully for...something.
 "You look surprised," he muses finallyâclaws tapping idly against his tail "What? Thought we slept in seaweed nests like animals?"
 But the way his gaze lingers on your injured hand betrays just how much of this act is for show.
 Heâs waiting for your reaction.
 And gods help him. Part of him actually cares what you will think.
 The smirk curling his lips is downright smug as he watches you wobble like a newborn fawn, his tail flicking lazily against the stone.
 âOh? Did the mighty hunter finally realize sheâs helpless for once?" He enjoys seeing you off-balance only because it means you canât run.
 Then his gaze drops to your ruined clothes, salt-stained and clinging to your skin in tatters. Those clawed fingers are suddenly snapping near your face, making you flinch back instinctively as a bolt of woven kelp and shimmering fabric materializes from seemingly nowhere into his waiting palm.
 âHere," he grumbles, shoving it toward your chest with an impatient scowl that doesn't match how carefully he avoids grazing your injured hand. âUnless you'd rather keep wearing rags like a shipwrecked urchin."
 Monsters shouldn't be this pretty. Or this generous.
 You look at the monster and clutch it to your chest. âCan youâŠturn around?â
 His lips purse, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but he complies abruptly, turning his broad back toward you with an irritated huff.
 âHmph." He pouts, folding his arms across his broad chest as if expecting you to attack him. âThere."
 He can hear your every breath. He can even hear the way your heart is racing.
 Your clothes fall to the cave floor in a sodden heap as you slip into the dress. The fabric is cool to the touch, but comfortable, silkier than anything you've ever worn before, and somehow fitting perfectly around your curves as if tailored to your every inch.
 But as your fingers come to the laces that need tying at the back, a sound makes you freeze in your tracks.
 "Need help?" He is so close you can feel the words brush against your ear.
 You jump, whipping around to find him directly behind you. If he's amused by your reaction, he does a good job of hiding it. Heâs sitting on the rocks edge, massive body towering over you even with only his torso.
 âTurn around," he instructs. âHands up. I'll do the laces."
 He finishes tying the lace and you turn towards him, hands coverings your chest like you feel far too exposed. âThank youâŠâ
 His gaze flickers downward, just for a moment, taking in the way your hands clutch at the silken dress. You swear you feel his breath catch.
 But then he's looking at you again with that infuriating smirk, head tilting slightly.
 It's a stupid question, and you both know it.
 âYou look like some blushing virgin bride."
 Your face lights up and you scowl. âYou-you can at least tell me your name before insulting meâŠ.â Your wounded hand hangs loosely by your side.
 The monster grins. âRafayelâŠ.â
 Your cheeks heat, but you try not as best you can to ignore it, focusing on the name he's given instead.
 "Rafayel," you repeat slowly, letting the unfamiliar syllables dance on your tongue. It sounds almost musical, like the sound of waves crashing on sand.
 Thus begins the story of you and the Siren. Your hand starts to heal, and you make Rafayel promise to search the seas for any remains of your brother and father.
 Weeks pass. The cave becomes your reluctant home, its walls shimmering with stolen light as the tides shift outside.
 Rafayel is gone for long stretches. Vanishing into the deep with only a mocking âDon't drown while I'm gone,â tossed over his shoulder before he disappears beneath the waves.
 You learn quickly that he hates goodbyes.
 But when he returns, it's never empty-handed.
 Sometimes itâs food, exotic fruits from distant shores or fish so fresh they still glisten with saltwater.
 Other times...itâs treasures dredged from shipwrecks: a rusted locket, a waterlogged journal, even a single boot that makes your breath catch before you realizeâŠit isnât theirs.
 Rafayel watches you quietly each time, those multi-colored eyes tracking every flicker of hope in your expression before snuffing it out like a candle in the wind. "Not today," he murmurs whenever you look up at him expectantly and somehow, that softness in his voice is worse than any taunt could be.
 He doesnât apologize.
 Because monsters donât apologize for things they can't change.
 One evening, just as the bioluminescent algae begins to glow along the cave walls, he drags himself onto your shared ledge with an uncharacteristic quietness pooling around him like ink in the water.
 His voice lacks its usual sharpness when he drops what looks like half of a shattered spyglass into your lap. Itâs still crusted with barnacles but unmistakably theirs. Your fingers tremble as they trace over its broken edges because gods aboveâŠit was real.
 Rafayel had actually been looking this whole time without once throwing it back in your face as leverage.
 For once, there are no taunts on his tongue.
No smirks hiding behind claws too sharp to be gentle.
 Just silence stretched between you two like an unspoken truce finally taking root beneath stormy seas.
 That terrifies him more than drowning ever could have terrified you.
 You canât fight the sob that tears through your chest as you clutch your fatherâs spyglass. Everyone you loved, the last of your blood, was gone.
 Rafayel flinches at the sound, like the sob itself had physically struck him. For a moment, he just stares at you.
 In one abrupt motion he drags you against his chest with a growl.
 His claws dig into the fabric of your dress, but not enough to tear. Not enough to hurt. JustâŠholding. Like if he lets go now, you might shatter.
 âQuiet," he mutters into your hair, that was now kept braided by the beast. He insisted it would help the strands not become tangle with sea-salt. "Your crying is making my tail itch."
 By morning the spyglass is gone from where it had been clenched in your fist all night, only for pieces of it to reappear days later on a thin chain. He gifts it to you one evening after dinner.
 The chain is cool against your fingers, delicate but strong, woven from a material that is iridescent, that shimmers like moonlight on water. You recognize it as the same material that lines his tail, and the realization makes your breath hitch.
 Rafayel doesnât meet your eyes when he fastens it around your neck, claws brushing against the back of your skin with a gentleness that shouldnât belong to someone born of teeth and saltwater. âThere," he has you spin around to face him. "Now you won't lose it again."
 He doesnât say what you both know, that this is as close to an apology as monsters get.
 As the night of the full-moon approaches, Rafayel grows more irritable when he returns from hunts. But the gifts he gives you become more extravagant.
 You notice it first in the way his tail lashes against the cave floor like a caged storm. Restless , agitated.
 His hunts grow longer, his returns more abrupt. Some nights he doesnât come back at all, leaving only strange offerings in his wake.
 A dagger carved from black coral, its hilt studded with pearls that glimmer like trapped stars.
 A cloak woven from kelp so fine it feels like liquid against your skin when you drape it over your shoulders.
Even a circlet of twisted silver, too delicate for a monster who once sneered at human vanity, left on your bed of silks while you slept.
 But then... he starts bringing live things.
 A seahorse no bigger than your thumb, its bioluminescent scales pulsing gently as it curls into your palm before darting away into the dark water beyond the cave entrance
 An octopus that shyly offers you polished shells every morning.
 And onceâŠonce-even an injured merchild no older than ten summers who Rafayel carries in with a snarl about "Stupid guppies getting caught in fishing nets.â
 You help him remove tangled rope from her tail before she slips back into open waters with wide-eyed gratitude.
 You donât get to name her.
 But seeing you with a young mer-child makes something in him shift. The way your touch was gentle, how you promised her everything would be okay.
 You realize how right Rafayel had been. She was just slightly younger-looking than the Merfolk your grandfather used to drag to shore. Your gut clenched at what those creatures last thoughts might have been.
 The full-moon comes, and the morning of, Rafayel disappears into the depths. You are left alone all day. You find yourself drifting off to sleep alone.
 Only to be awoken by the sound of splashing.
 You jerk awake, heart hammering against your ribs, just as water sloshes violently over the ledge of your bed. Moonlight spills into the cave, painting everything in an eerie silver glow
 Rafayel hauls himself onto the stone with a ragged gasp, his tail flicking water everywhere as he struggles for balance. His breathing is uneven and labored his skin flushed darker than youâve ever seen it.
 His pupils are blown wide, leaving only thin rings of fuchsia around them as his claws dig into the rock beneath him.
 A shimmering trail of iridescent liquid drips from between the scales of his tail where they meet his hips.
 You swallow the terror in your throat. The Siren looks like heâs in agony. âRafayelâŠ? Are you alright?â
 He flinches at the sound of your voice. His jaw clenches as he fights to look at you, claws gouging deep grooves in stone as he strains to control himself. âDon'tâŠ" his head lulls back, strands of his hair cascading over his muscles shoulders. "Please...don't get too close."
 You've never seen him look so wild before. Like a feral animal struggling against his own instincts. His gaze is unfocused, and haunted, his muscles coiled so tightly it looks like it hurts.
 You are crawling from the bed. Crawling to where rock of the cave met water. âYou are sweating. And shakingâŠâ
 He growls, a sound so deep and feral it vibrates through the stone beneath you. His claws dig harder into the rock, his entire body trembling with restraint as he watches your every movement.
 âI said," his voice is slipping into that same melodic tune you heard the night of the shipwreck, âDo. not. Come closer."
 But you can see it, the way his pupils swallow any color in his eyes when your knees hit the damp stone. The way sweat rolls down his neck, making silver trails over that tattooed skin as he shakes.
 This close, you can smell it too.
 Salt and something muskier, something primal that makes the heat pool low in your belly.
 You shouldnât want this.
 Your shaky fingers reach out to touch his cheek, and he snaps.
 He seizes your hand before you can reach him, claws clamping around your wrist like a vice as he yanks you forward with a growl.
 His body smacks against yours, muscles coiled under his sweat-slick skin, as he brings your captured hand to his face with a snarl. His fangs are elongated. His nostrils flare as he turns his head to press his nose into your pulse. "...To not get closeâŠ?â
 Thatâs when you see it. The way a line parts on his tail. Where not one, but two long, smooth lengths are struggling to peek through the opening. âWhat is-?â
 His whole body goes rigid when the words leave your mouth. He can feel the way the protective layers over his organs part further. He cannot fight instincts this time.
 "T-ThatâŠ" he grits out, "...doesn't concern⊠you.â
 You donât move your eyes away. Your father always said taking your eyes off a predator for even a second could mean a death sentence. Your other hand dips to rub across that slit, and the simple action has the lengthâs springing to full length.
 Exposed. And the you realize what they are.
 He groans, a low, rumbling sound that makes your heart skipple at the same time your fingers brush the sensitive lengths. He shudders at the touch, body thrumming. "Little wench⊠pleaseâŠdonât."
 Don't you know he's trying not to claim you?
 "It is a mating cycle," he growls "That's all⊠it'll pass."
 He's lying, and you know it.
 But you do not remove your hand and he doesnât force you to. Your hand dips further into the water, soft fingertips gliding from the slit up each tendril. His head falls against your shoulder. Pleased and strained noises push past his quivering lips.
 âThey areâŠbig..â your voice is hoarse as you fumble to wrap your hand around the bottom length, the slick flesh jumping in your palm.
 His entire body jerks at the contact. "Iâfuckâ!" His hips buck violently into your touch. The water flows over the edge of the stone, drenching your night gown. "YouâŠyou do not understand what you're doing to me. What games you are playing.â
 He could take you right here, could pin you beneath him and make sure no part of you forgets this moment. It wouldn't even be hard, not when the scent of lust is thick in the water between you both. Each ragged breath from him makes his cock throb harder against your palm.
 âI wanted to help. PleaseâŠI canât bear to see you like this.â Your other hand strokes his cheek, the glistening in the corner of his eyes is just evidence of how hard heâs fighting back mating instincts.
 But then heâs pinning you against the rock, pulling himself above you. The lengths flop against the nightgown across your tummy and-
 You fully see the sheer size of his cocks
 "Look at what you've done," he snarls as he grinds them against your stomach, leaving twin streaks of slick behind. âNow feel what you're playing with."
 His hands clamp down on either side of your head, claws sinking into stone like anchors Every inch of him is hot, practically oozing.
 And those lengths. They're everything.
 Thick and heavy and flushed dark under the caveâs eerie glow, their tips already leaking in anticipation. His hips twitch involuntarily when you gasp at the sight, like even that tiny sound has him fighting not to rut against you mindlessly.
 "Do you still want to help?" His voice is mocking now, mocking himself more than you because who was he kidding? He lost this fight the second your fingers brushed his slit. No, no. The second he saved you.
 âStill think they will fit inside that pretty little human cunt?"
 You were no virgin. Youâd had your roll in the hay with a man or two. But this, this was completely different.
 Your breath hitched. You know they would not fit. No way your insides wouldnât be turned to mush. âI want toâŠto try. To helpâŠâ
 Then your thighs part, and his sensitive nose twitches. Fuck. You were ovulating too.
 His Gods must be playing a trick on him.
 His nose flares. His teeth graze your neck. "You little⊠you'reâ"
 So fertile he could imagine that scent blossoming with a womb full of-
 No. No he could not subject you to that. He would not-
 âI want itâŠâ you confession makes him lose it. But he knows he must prepare you. Thoroughly. Your body was not meant to take something of his size. No doubt two of them. âWhy are there twoâŠ?â
 Rafayel laps at your throat. âBecause I was made to breed.â
 The words rumble out of him like a dark, forgotten truth. His clawed fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you wider for his inspection. Your soaked gown is torn. He had stopped creating or fetching you new underwear long ago.
 You had no need for him. When you shyly asked about what would happen during THAT time of the moon, Rafayel simply laughed.
 âDo you think I am afraid of blood, Little Pearl. You will bleed naturally. Like you were born to do. You do not see my people shying away from our bodies natural woes.â
 That was funny, coming from someone who now was fighting every call of nature.
 One of the lengths jerks against your entrance, already leaking pearly fluid as if impatient. âOne⊠for filling." His thumb brushes over your clit. The claw catches on the sensitive hood and you yelp. "And one⊠for fertilizing.â
 He is dragging you further down the slant of the rocks. Your knees are bent to your breast. He studies your lower anatomy.
Noting its differences to Merfolk females.
 His gaze is ravenous while it roams over you. Heâs taking in every dip, every curve of human anatomy so different from the scaled females of his kind. He traces your folds with the back of a claw, hushing when you jolt at the contact. âSoft,â he murmurs, almost to himself. "No scales⊠no protective layering."
 A low growl rumbles through him as his thumb circles your entrance, testing its tightness before dipping just barely inside. "Fragile," he chuckles, watching how your body struggles to take even that much without proper preparation.
 Heâs already cataloguing all the ways heâll have to be careful with you. All the ways this will hurt if he doesn't take his time.
 But there was at least some common denominators. A weeping little hole and pretty pearl on top.
 His nose flares again, inhaling the scent of your arousal like it's the only sustenance he needs. âAnd this-â
 He rubs the back of his thumb against it, slow and deliberate like he's savoring the feel of that sensitive bud. Itâs more fleshly and exposed. Which is odd for a Siren. All those sensitive nerves exposed like this. âThat's just like a merfolk."
 The flesh pulses and your face changes to a deep blush. "Pretty... and already so needy." He presses two claws to your mouth.
 Not a request. A commandment. "Lick them. Cover them with your saliva." His claws press to your lower lip. "Make them nice and wet, unless you want them to stretch you dry. And trust me. You do not want that,â he hisses. âYou'll be too sore to walk for a week."
 Your cheeks burn, the image of those long fingers filling you making your head swim with need, but you do it anyway.
 You open your mouth...and lick. You taste the salt-mucus of his rough skin, savoring the way those claws scratch against your tongue. You cover them with saliva like he wanted.
 He watches you with wide, unblinking eyes, lips parted slightly like it's taking every bit of his self-control not to take those digits from your mouth and replace them with something else.
 He withdraws them, letting the claws scratch your tastebuds on the way out. His hand reaches for yours...and guides it down low.
 His lengths are still twitching against the heat of your stomach like a threat. The moment your hand wraps around them, his eyes rolling back in his skull.
 His head bows back, as is your touch is already more than he can take. "Feel that?" The one length is far too big for you to even clasp your fingers around. "You...you have no idea how long I've been fighting not to touch you like this."
 His wet claws shift down to your pussy, teasing your hole that clenches around air at first, before slowly sinking inside.
 You choke as his claws breach you. The stretch is immediate, the burn so sharp your back arches off the rock. He doesnât stop, just watches with predatory focus while his fingers work deeper into that tight heat.
 âLook at you," he praises "Already trying to swallow me whole. Greedy thing."
 His free hand pins your hip down, keeping you still while your body tries to squirm away from the overwhelming intrusion.
 "Relax," his thumb is circling your clit in slow, taunting strokes while his fingers crook inside you just right. âUnless you would like me to stop?"
 But neither of you believe that lie. Not when his cocks twitch against your stomach in open jealousy. Not when every shallow thrust of his fingers draws another broken sound from both of you.
 You are gasping from the stretch of his digits alone. Two fingers, roughly three and a half of yours for one of his, fuck you open. âI canât-I do not know if-â
 He hisses through clenched fangsâthe sound pained while he watches you struggle around just his fingers. âShhhâŠ" His thumb presses harder against your clit, rubbing tight circles to distract you from the stretch.You can take itâŠyou will.â
 He scissors his fingers inside you, stretching your walls further apart with every torturous movement. âBreathe," your muscles spasm around him.
 A third finger teases at your entrance, his gaze locked onto yours when you clench down instead- "...or do not." And then shoves it in with one thrust that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.
 The stretch is agonizing The way his claws graze that spongy spot inside you is maddening. Youâre sobbing now, half from pleasure, half from the sheer size of him working you open. But it won't even compare to what comes next.
 Rafayel looks absolutely ruined by it, lips parted around ragged breaths. His cocks leak against your thigh in helpless sympathy for how tight you are.
 For how good this must feel if just his fingers have him trembling above you like an untamed beast.
 Your walls coat his fingers, betraying your tears. You are sprawled on the rock like an offering. His lengths that rest on your stomach go far beyond your belly button while he works you open.
 His claws brush against that delicious spot inside you. âCan you feel how much I want you?" His claws are spreading to make you moan. âDo you feel how deep I am already inside you? How you are swallowing my fingers like the sea itself?"
 The third finger helps ease you apart. âHow do expect to take even one of my cocks when you are this tight?â
 You donât know, but...he seems determined to find out.
 His free hand presses down on your lower stomach now, trying to gauge just how deep he is, how much of him he can fit inside you. "Relax." His voice is gentle. âI will prepare you. I will make you ready.â
 He finds the length of his fingers by pressing down on your tummy while curling his claws upwards.
 âFound you," heâs chuckling, lips pressed to the space where the flesh perks from his fingers. They press against that spongy spot inside you. The moment he rubs against it, your back arches off the rock, a sharp cry tearing from your throat.
 His free hand keeps pressing down on your stomach. Marking where his claws are buried deep inside your heat while his thumb continues its relentless assault on your clit.
 You can see the outline of them beneath your skin, stretching you obscenely wide as precum drips from both of his neglected lengths onto your thighs now. "Look at that," his tongue lathers over your tummy. "Already making space for me. Greedy little thing."
 He's done being patient.
 His other hand pushes open your thigh and he squeezes a fourth finger in.
 Your scream is muffled by the sudden crash of waves outside the cave, your body convulsing around him like it canât decide whether to fight or beg for more.
 Rafayel watches with his full attention,jaw clenched so tight veins bulge in his neckz
 His thumb never stops circling that swollen bud though, not even when tears streak down your cheeks or when your whimpers turn into full-on sobs.
 Will you even be able to walk after tonight? Doubtful.
 Heâs murmuring praises against your slightly bulging tummy in a language you donât recognize. No doubt the language of his people.
 But heâs not speaking to you, heâs speaking to your womb.
 His lips brush against your fevered skik, whispering guttural words in a tongue older than human civilization itself.
 The language of Lemurians, of hunters and kings beneath the waves, spoken directly to your womb like a vow.
 "Kesha'li vanyaâŠ" You will take me so deep...
 A claw traces the strained curve of your stomach where his fingers press from inside.
 âThalara shiânathâŠ" You will clench around me like the tide.
 His breath is hot against you, possessive. Worshipful.
 And thenâdarkest of allâa growl that vibrates through your very bones.
 âVi'shara teth mara.â I will fill you until you remember nothing else.
 The promise in those ancient syllables is absolute. He finally lifts his gaze back to yours.
 He removes his fingers, and you almost sob at the sudden emptiness inside you, legs spreading even wider as if begging for more.
 He watches you through listful, hooded eyes as he brings his fingers to his lips. You expect the taste of you on them, but he's licking something else.
 "Taste it..." he rasps, reaching for your mouth with a single, glistening digit.
 There's no way to describe the dark, satisfied noise he makes when your lips part on a moan and he presses that same finger, coated in your honey-slick, against your tongue. âYou taste divine.â His tongue falls from his mouth like a dog begging for water. âLike something Iâve craved for eons.â
 Heâs dragging you to the waters edge until your hips dangle from the rock. The twin cocks are sliding across your tummy. He grabs the top one, running teasing strokes across your slit.
 He's so much bigger than you.
 Judging by the expression on his face, he knows it. He drags the head of his lower length through your honey, coating himself in your slick like it's sacred.
 "Gods, you're...so small," he sizes you up. "So perfect. Are you scared yet?" His tone is dark, cruel even. "I'm going to break you."
 And you have no doubt that he will. But even now, with your legs spread and your eyes wide, there's something else in your eyes that makes him stop mid-stroke.
 Your expression is vulnerableâterrified...
 He's not sure what to do with that.
 Despite everything, the corners of your lips tremble into a smile.
 "Of you?" Your voice is nearly a scoff despite the way you are shivering.
 "Yes," he hisses, his tone thick with a challenge of his own. "I could break you. I could ruin you."
 Rafayel is hovering over you like a shadow. "And you'd still smile at me like this."
 You continue to smile with wobbly lips. âThen prove it.â
 His pupils blow wide. âYou dare to challenge me?"
 The hand not pinning you down moves to the base of one cock, pressing the thick head against your fluttering entrance with deliberate, agonizing slowness. âThen take it."
 A sharp thrust, just enough to stretch you obscenely around the tip.
 You cry out, back arching from the stone. But Rafayel keeps you still.
 "EasyâŠ" he croons, his thumb rubbing gently against your clit as he's trying to soothe you, trying to remind you that this is gentle. Compared to what's to come.
 "Relax, Little One. This will be easier if you justâŠLet. Go.â You feel him twitch against your entrance, his breaths ragged and harsh against your neck. "Take a deep breath," he whispers. "And then, when I tell you, I want you to exhale, and on the next breath, when I give you permission, I want you to breathe in deep and bare down.â
 Rafayel kisses your forehead, lips cold and shaking. âI want you to push against me."
 You choke back a sob but nod. âY-yesâŠsâ hurtsâŠ.â
 "I know," he murmurs, the words barely being heard over your shaky breaths. His thumb never stops moving against your clit, slow and deliberate even as his cock inches deeper inside you. "But it will not for long."
 Every shallow thrust burns so sweetly you swear it's carving him into your very bones.
 "Breathe out⊠now push.â
 His fingers tighten on your hip, his other hand pressing flat against your lower stomach so he can feel where heâs stretching you from the outside.
 "Good," he coos when you obey, when your body instinctively fights to accommodate him even through the pain. âSo good for me⊠just like that."
 The praise is filthy, dripping with praise, but it works.
 Your walls flutter around him, sucking him in deeper as if they can't help but try to take more of him despite the burn. âFuck," he hisses, hips jerking forward without warning when that greedy little clench nearly undoes him right then and there. âYouâre going to kill me."
 He buries himself all the way in, watching your body sink onto his length.
 You cry out. Feeling like your guts have been shoved to the side to make room. You canât breathe, canât move, can only sob in the cave.
 He freezes, every muscle in his body locked tight as he lets you adjust, his breaths ragged against your sweat-slicked skin.
 One clawed hand strokes up your trembling thigh. The iron grip he has on your hip is to keep you from squirming away.
 "Breathe," he orders. "Just⊠breathe through it."
 His hand slides up to press against where his cock bulges obscenely inside you, fingers splaying over the slight curve of your stomach like he canât believe this is real.
 Like he canât believe heâs the one ruining you.
 A low, broken sound escapes him when you finally suck in a shaky breath and clench around him instinctively. "Godsâ!" His forehead drops against yours, fangs bared in a snarl that's equal parts pleasure and pain as he fights not to move. Not yet.
 But patience was never a virtue of his kind.
 His hips roll experimentally, just once, just enough to make sure this wonât actually break you.
 "Now you shall take the other one."
 You wail and claw at his chest. âN-no please! Youâll-fuckinâ kill me !â You gargle when his cock feels like it might reach your throat .
 Rafayel lifts your thighs to make even an inch of room in your cunt. âSo dramatic, My Hunter. I thought you werenât afraid?â
 But oh you were so afraid when his second cock nudges next to the other. You wail, eyes clench closed. Rafayel laps at your cheek, bracing his forearms next to you. The stretch is unbearable. You canât even fight back now.
 Rafayel lifts a leg over one shoulder, chin to his chest as he watches how you take inch after inch. You are sure you must have lost consciousness a few times before he is seated as far as he can go.
 You are so speared on his lengths like a trident, if he released your body you would still dangle helplessly.
 Part of him wants to test it. Wants to watch you flail limply to soothe his pride.
 He watches, mesmerized by the way your stomach distends with every shallow thrust. âLook at youâŠfucking ruined.â
 He drags one claw down the curve of your belly, following where his cock moves inside. "Can you feel it?" he rasps against your lips before stealing another searing kiss. âHow deep I am? How full Iâve made you?"
 Your answering sob is muffled by his mouth, your nails scrambling for purchase against his back only to find hard muscle and scarred skin instead.
 He finally pulls out just enough to snap his hips back in with a force that rattles your teeth.
 You swear you see stars.
 His mouth is on the junction between neck and shoulder. He does not want you to fade while wrapped so gloriously around his cock.
 He murmurs an apology, and sinks his fangs in your flesh.
 Blood drips from your wound, but it warms your body.
 You remembered your grandfather mentioning something about the Sirens and their poisonous tongues.
 But now, you welcome the little bit of relief it gives you. Rafayel watches your mind go blank and your body ease around him from his bite.
 He knows it's working, can see the tension ease from your body as the tension drains like water from a cup. His grip loosens until it's little more than a caress along your skin, his lips pressing gentle, apologetic kisses along your shoulder.
 "Does it help?" he whispers as he slowly drags in and out. Heâs still deep, still excruciating, but nowhere near as painful as before because of that single, sharp bite.
 Your glazed over eyes is all the confirmation he needs.
 His lengths pummel into your cunt. Youâre drooling, fucked out in a way that makes you limp and pliant for the Siren.
 Your body is no longer your ownâitâs his. A wrung-out, trembling mess that takes whatever he gives with slack-jawed surrender. The stone scrapes your flesh, leaving intentions in their
 Rafayel growls in approval, his thrusts turning deeper, hungrier as he watches you come apart beneath him. Your walls fluttering around him like they never want to let go.
 âThat's it. Take it all."
 Every snap of his hips makes your vision blur, your stomach bulging from the sheer size of him stretching you beyond reason.
 Your eyes disappear in the back of your head. Your toes are curled and you cannot ignore the burn growing in your lower extremities.
 Your head thrashes to the side, the words spewing from your mouth barely make sense. âMâ gonna-Rafayel please-âŠcanât stop-â
 His voice is rough broken glass. He's close. âGo on," he is breathless. "Release."
 He buries his face in your neck, sinking his fangs in again as if he just can't get enough of the taste of you, your blood on his tongue, your body clenching around him like you're never going to let go. "That's it⊠that's my good Little Hunter."
 You think you might get a taste of that later.
 When the storm is gone and the fire has burned down. When there's nothing left but the echo of those dark words in your head and the ache in your bones from his mark.
 Your body is aching, you do not know how much longer you can take his abuse. When you think you might tear from the stretch, he somehow grows even bigger at the base of his cocks.
 âR-Rafayel-? What is-ohhhh!â
 "Shhhâ" His hips grind deep as the thick knot at the base of his cocks swells inside you, locking you both together with a wet, filthy pop. Your body convulses, overwhelmed, oversensitive, as he suddenly stills.
 The first pulse hits like molten fire.
 âF-Fuck! Rafayel-!" You sob his name like a prayer, your back arching off the stone as his seed floods into your womb in heavy, unrelenting spurts.
 His claws dig into your thighs keeping you spread wide and impaled on him as he growls against your skin.
 "...Taking it so well... such a good little mate..."
 Every pump of his hips sends another wave of heat spilling deeper inside you until it feels like itâll never stop.
 Rafayel knows the next part will be the true test. If you will break or not. Heâs pressing so many kisses against your throat and face you KNOW something is coming.
 Rafayelâs face is scrunched is pain too, but you feel it.
 The way an egg slithers down his shaft.
 You feel it, the thick, slow slide of something far too large stretching you wider than ever before. Your body quakes beneath him, nails scrabbling against stone as a broken whimper tears from your throat. âRafayel-! Itâsâit wonât fit-!l
 His teeth grit against the side of your neck.
 The egg pushes past the resistance, sliding deep inside you with a wet, obscene sound that makes Rafayel shudder above you. His cocks are twitching inside you, hell bent on filling you so full to burst.
 You sob weakly at the stretch but then another follows behind it immediately. And another after that. Until every pulse of his cock drags another into place within you.
 You are powerless to stop the flow of eggs filling your womb. The way your belly is stretching not only from his cocks, but the eggs he had laid inside.
 A sick and twisted satisfaction washes over him. Your ancestors had slaughtered his people for decades, but now the only ruin, is what he has left behind in your cunt.
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