Raffaela knew little of how to interact with men or humans, or nothing recent. Secrets, he had those. And she? She had only one.
She had said everything he wanted to hear, even the name of the last man she’d pulled under, made love to, and drowned. Merrick. She regretted that; it would only have brought him sorrow.
The Ravening was coming, but they had many weeks before it was due.
Once it came, once it scratched at her with those hungry claws, she would warn Wolfgang. Then? He would either release her or kill her, or she would end up killing him. That was her secret. It was one he might figure out on his own.
A secret that was not a secret.
Sadness was coming, abysmal sadness, but now was now. A mermaid was made for the present and not the future. She made no diaries, no photographs, no true memories for him. That she did not appear in his images shook him. Though she’d never seen a photograph made as he made them with his cellphone, she understood.
For something to be a solid part of his world, an absolute fact, and yet fail to work, it would be a shock. It was a little bit like being thrown into the sea because people thought you bad luck? How callous, and how complete a denial of her very existence that had been.
The shock had never left her.
Anyway, she could do nothing.
And so, she shoved her forebodings aside.
The fucking was fun. The things he made her do…
Even the aches, the bruises, the pains.
Today – she looked down at her breasts – was a day for clamping things to her nipples.
The first shiny clamp was already biting at one of them. The chain joining it to another clamp swung as he leaned in from his kneeling position to ready her for the second.
“Such a good mermaid.”
Her mouth was an O, as she absorbed the throb and spike of pain and the susurration of pleasure from where he sucked at her other nipple. To make it perky, Wolfgang had said. She thought it was already perfectly perky and upstanding.
He raised his head and pulled his mouth off her, sucking as he did so.
She hissed, inhaled, eyes shuttering.
Now it was wet and perky.
His large finger and thumb slipped on the nipple as he pinched at it… as the opened clamp approached.
“Owie,” she whispered, pushing her chest forward because he’d tugged at her. He opened the clamp wider.
It bit down and she squealed, then smiled at the look of the silver-toned decorations. They hurt but also emphasized a very sexual part of her.
“Siren,” she added, softly, correcting him.
“What was that?” He edged up onto the sofa that was behind him, then hooked her collar with one finger, urging her to join him on his lap. There, his cock awaited her. It was even perkier than her tits.
“Siren is a better word. Don’t you think?”
He pulled her over him, adjusted her spread-eagled position, and made her sit while he squeezed his cock slowly inside her.
“Why?” His smile was strained as he did the first small thrust then pumped out and in again, found the chain connecting the clamps and put downward pressure on them.
She watched, open mouthed, fascinated, as always, by the feel of the man entering her, by the look of herself impaled. She felt for where his cock disappeared into her entrance and her fingers slipped along her lips to either side of his member. He halted. Seconds passed, agonizing seconds. Then he grabbed at her to hold her still with rigid fingers, tilted his hips abruptly, and she gasped, enraptured, as he slid higher inside her.
“Oh. God.” That stretch… his evil chuckle.
“Why siren?”
“Oh. Oh. Ummm. Because. You’re addicted to me, can’t stop. Can you?” She let her head rock back, blissfully absorbed in what he was doing, what his cock was doing, while his hands moved up to hold her tits and haul on the chain. She was enslaved to the bite of that metal, to the push of his cock.
Wolfgang grunted. “I need to fucking gag you.”
“Truth. What I said.” She glared.
Which only prompted him to stick much of his hand into her mouth to stop her talking, as much as he could fit while he fucked her on his lap, then he turned her to plow her over the end of the sofa, with the clamps doing horribly bad, and nice, and painful things, all at once. It messed with her head, made her come with such delicious intensity.
She had gnawed his fingers, when they’d arrived in her mouth, slobbered on them, had gained a modicum of revenge.
Though that did result in him whipping her ass later, then fucking it hard.
That, in her opinion, only underlined the truth in her statement.
All part of the game. The sadistic, orgasmic mind game.
Except she had riled him a little. The gleam in his eyes when she’d said that truth – it betrayed a certain realization.
He knew.
He was addicted and had no clue as to how to extricate himself.
Neither did she.
Weeks passed.
Weeks of them madly screwing with his sadism running slightly amok. He teased her, flogged her, spanked her, and yet he held back some part of himself.
The number of times he said, “You’re different, so different from the others,” was only surpassed by her telling him to feed himself. He had been remembering to eat more than those first days, but it worried her. Killing men with sex was in her nature during the Ravening. Apparently, watching a man starve himself triggered some maternal instinct she never knew she owned.
How could she not be different from his human girlfriends was more to the point. What did he mean by that?”
However, the snuggling, the cuddles that happened more and more were a surprise.
Both of them liked it. Since he instigated them, he must like it.
He even told her about Merrick. Initially, he’d employed the man as a full-time gardener of the house and property, and they had become friends then lovers. Merrick had moved into the house. Telling her about the man she had taken from him seemed the ultimate in trust and forgiveness.
Snuggling though.
Snuggling was more than pleasant or a matter of trust. It meant him gently brushing his fingers through her hair to untangle it. His leg over hers with his toes prodding at her calves. His weight on her, yet so peaceful, not like at other times. His warm breath on her neck.
This overwhelmed her.
Filled her with something amazing, a glorious joyousness. A quiet soft joy.
It was novel, the same as she had never tasted caviar or worn gold jewelry, never ever had she been kissed awake when she fell asleep beside a man. Never played a video game, or drunk champagne.
Snuggling was new and enchanting.
He loved enfolding her in his arms while they lay on the sofa or bed, with a movie running on the TV or Beethoven playing. A few times it was Shakespeare – Wolfgang had decided her education on the arts was abysmal.
A few times, tears had sneaked from her eyes and silently lipped the lids, to wander off and trickle down her face.
And every night she would watch him sleep from underwater in the pool.
When did like progress to something greater?
She did not know and wished it never would. Or hadn’t. She knew nothing of love.
Her loneliness had been bad enough without memories of something… better.
The Ravening was not on her but the twinges of it poked her, beckoning her with bloody, come-soaked fingers. It was in her nature. And, after all, death might be the best answer for her.
She’d been going to anyway.
Each night he slept sprawled out, probably snoring, and sometimes with his eyelids flickering as if he dreamed. She pressed her face to the glass of the pool and watched. The swirls of water made him seem unattainable and a being from another mystical world.
The twinges grew, despite her knowledge of what was normal. It should not be here.
Not yet. It was too soon.
&nbs
p; Perhaps her separation from the ocean had effects she knew nothing of?
The twinges strengthened.
And so the night came when she begged him. “It’s time. You must let me go.”
They lay on a blanket on the grass beside the pool. The grass strip was only along one side but the soil beneath was soft. There had been rain the day before.
She wasn’t facing him, and she had said it quietly, because she had to tell him but hated what it meant.
This was a starry night, one where all the twinkling above surpassed any sky in her memory. She wore a little, frothy pink dress and was praying she would not shift.
“Low pollution tonight and no clouds,” Wolfgang told her, caressing her hair. “The reason for the stars being bright.”
“Oh. I see.”
She breathed in. “Did you hear what I said?”
“I did. The answer is no, Raffaela.” He lifted his head.
She was nestled into his shoulder and chest, and his arm lay across her. He brought his hand up to angle her head a little toward him, until their eyes met, a gentle meeting as she gazed up at him.
By now, she trusted him enough not to be alarmed by the denial. Besides, he could do nothing to her that she would not do to herself.
“If you don’t, I fear I will kill you. The Ravening comes.”
“How soon?” His brow creased.
“I cannot be sure, but I can feel it. Here.” She laid her hand over her heart then on her stomach. “We both know your experiments only let me walk about in your house. Though I do enjoy the effects, I cannot go elsewhere.”
He said nothing.
“Wolfgang.”
“I will not release you.”
“But if you do not—”
“I won’t fucking do it,” he snarled. Then he shut his eyes, swallowed. “I can’t.”
“Release me, please. I will come back to you.”
“I can’t! You’re right. I am addicted to you. This is all so wrong.” His voice dropped in tone, became a ragged whisper. “How can I keep you when I’m fucking myself to death?” He laughed. “Stupid.”
She found his hand, fondled it. What was the answer?
“How can you ever walk among men? You’d draw them. They’d die in your flames like dumb moths.”
“Wet mermaid flames?” she said, teasing him but also forlorn.
“Yeah. Those. I have thought on this. There is another possibility, though I should get your consent before I try it.”
She pulled away from him, turned over. “What is this?”
“A brain probe. If, by surgery, a probe were to be implanted, we could trickle small amounts of electricity into you…”
Her mouth had fallen open.
“They do it to stop seizures. Pick the right spot and it should cause arousal, which… Okay. I can see it’s a no, for now.” He searched her face.
“It is a no. As in forever a no.”
“Hmmm.” He flopped onto his back. “Let’s look at the stars awhile. Instead of me talking brain surgery.”
If she hadn’t thought him serious…
A breeze whistled across her ears and stirred his hair. A night bird made strange sounds from the line of pine trees that shielded the front of his property. And the sea, the sea murmured to her, calling her. The smell of salt and fish never left the air.
Raffaela held up her hands and stared at how they blocked the stars. She felt the suck and surging pull of the ocean that she had refused to acknowledge. It had always been there but had been less palpable. Now, it tugged at every fragment of her body. The ocean knew she was never gone, that she belonged in the depths and chasms, in the frolicking waves, and it was calling her home.
The sea was in her blood. She could not survive for much longer without swimming in the waters that were a true part of the immensity of the ocean.
Hence, the Ravening came early.
“I am sorry. My solution is a bad one.” He rolled over to put his hand on her breast and ran his thumb over her through the light dress. “Stay with me. Don’t shift. Be my girl a little longer.”
“Mmm.” She sighed and snuggled into him again, toying with his shirt buttons. He wasn’t simply meaning tonight. “I will.”
“You see, I love you. I’m fairly sure of it. This is new for me.”
Oh. Fuck. And new for her.
She closed her eyes. No.
Yes.
But also no, no, no.
What was she to do?
“The thing is, I’ve been a bad man. A very, bad man. I don’t deserve you.”
“Shhh.” She placed her forefinger over his mouth, felt him kiss it. “You’re not that bad. You cannot be. I’ve lost count of how many men I have drowned. A thousand or more.” Bitten to death, allowed to bleed out. Whose life force she had taken.
“Then we are both bad, and I am lost. I don’t think I can survive without you.”
“Wolfgang, I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “What to say.”
“Say nothing except this. Do you love me?”
She considered the bright, bright stars. “I don’t know if a mermaid can love.”
She was pretty sure she was lying. Fairly sure she had indeed fallen in love.
But she was even more sure the Ravening was closer than she had imagined.
Maybe it was his declaration of love that had triggered this increase in her need. Her mouth twisted. She could push it down for now, but soon it would be too strong.
“Tell me,” she said to distract herself. “What did you do that was so wrong?”
“I cannot say. I will not. But it was terrible. I lost sight of my humanity. Not sure I ever had any.”
She shook her head in disbelief.
“Sometimes…” Wolfgang lifted her hand and pretended to count her fingers, pressing each one upward, stroking them. “I think you may be more human than I am.”
The next morning she found herself sleeping on the bottom of the pool, with a wicked hunger inside her. On the tiles above, she heard the slap of feet.
He was here.
She stiffened, swirled in a circle, then sped to the surface, flinging a spume of water high.
She showed her teeth.
“You need to go, now!”
“What?” He stopped at the top of the steps. “What do you mean?”
The water gurgled at her ears.
She smelled him. This was not the smell of an available male; it was the smell of life.
Cautiously he came closer, halting a few yards from the pool’s edge.
“Is it the Ravening?”
Though she was not mindless, the craving was too strong. She lunged, skating and sliding across the shallow water on the ramp, launching herself with a flick of her tail muscles. He spun and fled down the steps. The door slammed.
She hadn’t come close to getting him, had not used her siren song.
Raffaela lowered her head to the concrete and shut her eyes.
Next time she would be compelled to sing.
The Ravening had come.
She needed blood and death, and a life to eat.
CHAPTER 11
Wolfgang leaned his shoulder on the door. Not to keep it shut – to steady himself. The side of his face was on the cool glass, and his heart was thudding at him, reminding him of how he had moved down those stairs. She’d almost grabbed him.
He’d run like a fucking banshee batshit suicide machine. He laughed at himself, wiped at his eyes with finger and thumb.
To get away from her – his love, his mermaid with the pointy fucking teeth, he’d run.
“Raffaela…” he murmured as he side-eyed the top of the stairs, wondering if she would appear there, snarling.
When she didn’t, after another minute or so he heaved himself upright and wiped his mouth.
“Think, fool.”
What could he do? The Ravening did not answer to logic or science, that was obvious.
She needed to eat a human? Regula
r takeout wouldn’t help him here.
Because he needed to see her and to be certain she had not found some miraculous way to escape, he went to the sofa and lowered himself.
Raffaela waited for him, staring through the glass barrier that was all that stopped her from killing him. Her tail silently stirred, puffing up sand.
Her siren song should, theoretically, not reach him through the glass. It was soundproof. On the other hand, the Ravening was not science. None of this was based on factual evidence.
If he went out there again, for whatever reason, he should be as prepared as he could be.
There was only one solution to this. Two, if you counted letting her go back to the ocean.
His real solution: Find her someone she could eat.
Using her tail to stay at eye level, she bobbed in the water. The sunlight reached down through the water and cast serpentine ripples across her tail, her back, her side. It made her scintillate like a living jewel, and when she turned full circle in the water, rolling her body, the light played across her front.
She was teasing him with those. Tits. Breasts. He’d kissed those, could feel them under his hands, in his mouth.
He laughed. A fucking obvious tease that had made his dick hard in seconds.
“You want a human? I’ll find you one.”
Nothing was impossible. The latest philosophy? You can do anything you put your mind to.
The nearest town was more of a village that filled seasonally with tourists but drive past it to the next place and you found a city. Merrick knew, had known, the ins and out of the drug trade, of where the dealers hung out, who to buy from.
It was recreational for the two of them, him and Merrick – only nightclubs, not dirty alleys or looking to get a hit in the worst neighborhoods, but he knew where was good.
Knew where to look for the down and outs, for those on an OD path, those who would not be missed if they disappeared.
He went looking for them, found one the third night he tried, under a bridge, which was classic. The man was all by himself – sprawled out wearing a stench-laden coat with pee on his pants, grass in his dank fair hair. Wolfgang hauled him into the trunk and drove off, having checked to be sure there was no CCTV or anyone observing him.
He drove off with a man in his trunk – still breathing but so shallowly he was as good as dead.
Sacrificed to the Sea: mermaids .. monsters .. men Page 10