Siren Ch. 02-03

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Kenna wakes up aboard the pirate ship.
7.5k words
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Part 2 of the 9 part series

Updated 11/04/2023
Created 03/18/2017
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Chapter 2

Kenna opened her eyes to darkness, and groaned as she pushed herself up off the hard floor. Why was she on the floor? What had happened? And then the feeling of the man's body falling on hers, the sounds of his last gurgling breath came rushing back to her. She heaved, though there was nothing in her stomach, and moved to put her head in her hands. The smell of blood, still thick on her fingers, caused her to jerk away and retreat from them as if she were not attached to the source of the offending scent.

She sat in the dark, unable to see her blood-soaked hands before her face. The smell was different, the sounds of the ship were unfamiliar, and the very air seemed to hold a greater weight. As the realization began to take shape, Kenna shivered—she was aboard the pirate's ship.

How long she sat there, cold and frightened, she couldn't say for certain. When footfall sounded outside the door she turned her head in the direction of the sound, hoping for anything to break the darkness around her. She saw the orange light of a lantern through the cracks in the door and the sound of a key against the lock. Then he was there, his towering form unmistakable despite it being only her third viewing.

He stepped forward, hanging the lantern above and setting a bucket down on the table. Kenna spared a glance at the room and deduced she was in the captain's quarters, the heavily-framed bed against the far wall sat threateningly in the shadows. The man gestured for her to take a seat and he placed himself in one facing her.

Kenna contemplated resisting the order, or at the very least ignoring it, but quickly came to the conclusion that she would gain nothing from rebellion. She moved to stand, swaying a bit as her head swam. She moved towards the offered chair but before she could sit he stood up, crowding her. She pulled back instinctively and continued until the wood met her back. He pursued slowly, languid movements infuriating her as her heart pounded in her chest. Bile rose in her throat again as her sticky fingers met the wall.

His hands came to the ripped collar of her coat and he did away with it more deftly than the man who'd caused the initial damage. Next came the white shawl at her throat. Once it was removed she could see how grotesquely stained it was and knew the rest of her clothing would not have been spared. She grasped his wrists, her hands unable to encircle them. His voice was low in the dark, and the lantern at his back meant she could barely see his face as he spoke. "Your dress may not show it, but it is soaked in blood and must be removed." She sank her nails into his skin as he continued to undress her, but it did not hinder his progress. Not one bit.

She shook as he pushed the dress from her body, revealing dark stains on her lighter undergarments. He moved to undo the laces of her stays and it served to snap her out of the impassive trance she'd been in. She released his wrists and stepped to the side, holding her hands out to stop him before slowly reaching to do it herself. She wanted the garments off of her, the smell of death as far from her as she could get it.

Her shaky hands fumbled with the knot as she unlaced herself and dropped the stiff corset to the floor. She found with dismay that the shift below had not been spared and found herself at an impasse. She couldn't take it off with nothing to exchange it for and a quick glance at her captor showed her no replacement would be provided. She stiffened and looked back at him, silently declaring herself done.

He gestured to the seat again. Kenna slipped past him, turning as she went to keep him in front of her at all times, her eyes locked on his face. He settled in his chair once again and dipped a cloth into the bucket, sloshing a bit of water out of the rim. He took her arm, making her jump at the sudden contact and began to slowly wipe away the blood that covered her skin.

His hands were surprisingly gentle as he went and Kenna was conflicted by it. With all that had happened today, all that was still happening, she felt dangerously close to collapse. Her nerves felt frayed, and every swish of the cloth sent a jolt of fear through her. What was she doing aboard this ship? Why had he brought her here? Her jaw ached as she loosened the muscles there, driven to speak for the first time since the attack.

"Are you going to kill me?" The fear of the answer was vastly outweighed by the uncertainty that ate at her.

He didn't answer immediately, instead choosing to continue his thorough cleaning of her arms and hands. If he was surprised by her decision to speak he did not show it, which irritated her further. The blood had dried in the grooves of her nails and he began to work on them with the damp cloth. She couldn't bring herself to speak again, unsure if it would incur his anger. Instead she watched his face, looking for any crack in the smooth apathy of his features. Her hands began to tremble as she came to the only conclusion that made sense to her: he was going to execute her for killing the captain.

He noted her shaking with a firmer grip on her fingers, and little else. When he was satisfied that he had done the best he could on her left arm he dipped the rag back in the bucket and reached for her right. She didn't protest or try to pull away despite the dread rapidly building in her chest. How did pirates execute people? It must be worse than what the justices did back home, though she couldn't imagine how.

"No," he said finally as he moved the rag over her skin, pulling the red stains from her body. It took her a moment to comprehend that he'd spoken, or that what he'd said had answered her. Relief was brief. If he hadn't brought her here for execution then why? That answer was far more terrifying.

"Why then?" She asked anyway, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Again he chose not to answer immediately. The quiet in the cabin weighed on her. Her shaking did not subside. She cursed her weakness and lightheadedness when she needed to focus.

But her silence had been broken and fear worried her jaw. "You cannot mean to ransom me, as my dress attests I have no husband and can be of little worth to my family. There were other passengers of many more means than I and it seems unlikely that a pirate would be in the business of ransom as it would mean putting themselves into close contact with civilized ports in order to correspond with their victims' families. Then again, pirates are not meant to attack merchant ships sailing in naval waters, so perhaps yours is an unconventional crew. But it still serves to question why. Especially given the rubbish about a siren and fortune tellers. Though perhaps I am not equipped to fully comprehend the complexity of the pirate mythos, it does seem to be incrementally over the line of sense even for sailors." She was babbling, she realized it, but the silence had felt far worse. Though once she'd broken it she wasn't so sure that was true.

His eyes locked on hers and she saw him searching her face. She realized that she'd forgotten to play dumb, that her thoughts and language were not in line with the clothes and status, and he had noticed. She snapped her mouth closed. Too late, she scolded herself.

After a long moment he spoke again, "Do you sing?"

The question was so odd that she answered without thinking, "Yes."

His lips twitched into a smirk and he turned back to his task of removing the blood from her person. She wanted to ask more but she could see he was toying with her. She was smart enough to know that he would tell her only what he wanted and only when he wanted to. She would have no say in it. She focused on her overly fast heart, the shaking of her limbs. She tried to will herself to calm with limited results.

He was working on the crust in her fingers when he chose to speak again. "Sailors are a superstitious bunch," he began, the smooth sound of his voice made her jump a bit at how unexpected it was. "The captain had his fortune read last time we were in port and many of the crew witnessed the wench tell him that he would meet a siren whose hair was the color of the sun on the waves." He paused and looked at her intently, watching her face as she tried to understand. "She told him that he had to conquer this siren or die at her hands. And if he failed his crew would be cursed until she could be prevailed upon to lift it from them."

Kenna was fast catching up with him. "That is nothing more than a child's story. I am no siren." Her insistence bordered on panic. "There is no such thing!"

"Aye, you and I know that. But the crew believes. The captain liked the idea of the prophecy and encouraged it, said no man could kill him, only a siren with hair the color of the sunset." His eyes ran along her auburn curls as she gaped at him.

"This is madness." Her voice was shrill even to her ears. But the reality was sinking in; it didn't matter what was true. What mattered was that the crew believed it and this man would use that to his advantage.

He saw the understanding in her eye before she could mask it. "It does seem a minor inconvenience for me to keep you here, given that it so well sets me up to take our departed captain's place." His smile was cruel and she shook once more. "You must be prevailed upon to spare the crew and so they will not object to a siren's presence as long as they believe it keeps our decks above the deep." And it also meant that he held the keys to their fates, leaving no one to challenge his place as captain.

Her wide, green eyes clashed with his liquid brown and she let the horror of the situation seep into her. "How long?" She had to ask. Sooner rather than later the story would become a liability, and she would serve her purpose to him better at the bottom of the sea. She had to know how long she'd be locked away aboard a pirate ship so that he might rule by preying on the superstitions of a bunch of idiot sailors. She was fully aware of how temporary a solution this was for the new pirate captain, and how tenuous her position was given that it was tied entirely to a lie of mystical proportions.

He finished with her hand and threw the rag into the bucket. "We shall see." The way he looked at her made Kenna think he understood the ambiguity of her question and his answer, and that he too was aware that she would most likely live out her usefulness in this regard in short time.

He stood and pulled her to standing with him. Her body shook as she stared straight ahead into his chest, his presence overwhelming her already battered defenses. She felt the noose tighten at her neck and she was breathless.

When his fingers brushed the top of her stained shift she pulled away, fear wracking her body further. The promise of her own future murder suddenly became second to the imminent threat to her person. "You don't have to do this," she looked at him, hoping to stave off what she knew to be inescapable.

"That is true," he said as he advanced on her, crowding her retreat towards the bed. When she had backed up as far as she could go he came up against her, his hands catching her wrists and pulling them behind her. Shifting them to one of his large hands while the other began gathering the cloth of her shift. "But I want to," he said, voice low and cruel to her ears.

She tried to twist away from him and she cried out as his hand gripped her tightly enough that her bones ached. His other hand yanked the stained fabric over her head and drew the garment along her trapped arms. She fought harder, terrified and uncontrolled by the pain he inflicted on her restrained wrists.

He continued, unperturbed by her struggles. Kenna was never more aware of how pitiful her physical power was then when she lashed out at him and he barely moved. He managed to yank the shift from her arms and capture them again before she'd landed more than a glancing blow on his chest.

Naked now, Kenna stilled, her body tense and shaking. She did not want him to touch her, but there were other concerns she had to take into account. One hand was still restraining her arms behind her back, but the other was free to roam where it may. This could be much worse if she continued not thinking in her panic. He took her change of pace in stride and he ran his fingers through her hair as she stood stock still before him.

His free hand drifted down onto her shoulder and across her breast. She turned her face from him as his fingers circled her nipple lazily; her skin pebbled and tensed in the low light. She clenched her jaw tightly shut as he brushed the sensitive bud, tweaking it ever so gently and making her insides squirm.

His touch was so strange, so precise and gentle. Her husband had never handled her like this. Roland's hand traveled downwards, making its way to the apex of her thighs. She clenched her legs together to impede his progress. It didn't seem to bother him. Kenna grit her teeth against the sounds of distress she could feel teasing her throat. What was this lazy caress? Why was he toying with her? And why did it make her skin tingle and burn even after his touch had passed?

She was increasingly aware of his hand at her back and she was scared of that touch more than the wicked hand that cupped her breast, squeezing it gently as his thumb flicked the nipple. His lips descended on her neck and she gasped in surprise before snapping her mouth closed. She would not react to this man. The hand at her wrists loosened and she used the opportunity to slip from his grip and scramble back onto the bed.

She couldn't see his face in the shadows as the only lamp was behind him again but she could feel his ill intent, the easy grace of his movements attesting to the confident predator he was. Kenna pressed her back to the wall at the head of the bed. She had to keep him in front of her. This situation was out of her control, but perhaps she could manage to keep at least that in hand.

He took off his shirt and breeches as she watched his silhouette move, blocking out the light of the lamp with his large form. She tried to use those scant moments to calm herself. She was not some untried maiden. She had survived her husband. She could survive this.

He picked up a length of rope and began moving towards her. She wanted to bolt. She saw the opening and knew she could lead him on a merry chase around the room. But she stayed still. There was nowhere to run to on this boat, and it would mean forfeiting her mission to keep him in front of her.

"Are you not going to fight me again, Siren?" His voice was low and the mocking in it was cruel given her fear.

She made no response and he reached for her, his long fingers wrapping around her small wrist. He pulled her off the wall and she moved stiffly, resisting every forward motion with what little strength she had. He forced her down on her back, his larger body covering hers as he looped the rope around her wrists. With a speed only seamen could possess, he knotted the bindings and attached them to the frame of the bunk.

Her body thus secured against the bed, she once more began to squirm in his grip, the control she had managed to assert over her motions disappeared as her secret was shielded from his sight and touch. Her head felt strange and her heart pounded. She was reminded again that she had barely eaten or drank anything for days now and it made her weaken fast as she exerted herself.

His large hands gripped her thighs and pulled them apart, pinning them to the bed. Kenna braced herself, tensing up and squeezing her eyes closed. But no assault came, no bruising manhood to batter her dry channel. Her body shook in his grip, the events of the day wearing on her. She was confused and terrified and nothing seemed to make sense.

Despite swearing to herself that she wouldn't, Kenna felt tears well up in her eyes. If only he would finish with her and leave her be! She had survived so much until now, she could manage this with just a moment to gather herself. But no, if anything he seemed to have been waiting for her to crack. His warm lips were on her exposed neck as tears dripped down her cheeks and into her hair. The gentleness of his touch felt menacing, belying what he was in truth doing to her. His lips mocked the very notion of romance as they swept across her skin.

His hands were back at her breasts, the callused skin rubbing against her sensitive flesh. She wanted it to be unpleasant, wanted to despise his touch but she found it unnervingly stimulating, her breasts began to feel heavy and tingled as though they wished to be touched more. He cupped them, rolling the puckered nipples between his fingers. Kenna writhed on the bed, trying to pull away from him. She tried to close her legs only to find he had placed his knees between her thighs to hold them open to him.

His hands traveled downwards, tracing the curve of her body and the flare of her hips. She cried quietly as he stroked her legs, brushing her inner thigh. It was all wrong. Inside she felt horrible, helpless and violated by his actions. And yet there was no pain, in fact quite the opposite. Her head spun and she tried to wet her dried lips to no effect. Her skin seemed to hum pleasantly where he touched her, even as he teased the red curls that crowned her plump lips. She groaned in dismay as his heavy fingers played with her pink flesh, stretching her womanhood open to his perusal.

She choked on her sorrow even as her body wet itself, her channel shuddering as he stimulated her. What was he doing? Her bewilderment only allowed her body more free reign to feel the wonderful things he continued to inflict on her unwilling mind.

One of his fingers slipped inside her and she gasped. There was no burn against the sensitive walls, if anything the pressure he applied felt good, the stretch satisfying somehow—a novel experience for her. She could feel moisture cooling on her sex, the easy slide of his finger confirming that it was her own. She groaned again, agony mixed with arousal now. His other hand came down on her stomach, running along the smooth skin of her belly, kneading the womanly flare of her hips before his thumb slipped between her nether lips.

Kenna arched her back unthinking. There was something there and when he touched it her body jerked. She gasped in surprise as strange shivers ran up from her sex and into her body. The pleasure from before was nothing compared to what radiated upwards from his touch now. She felt waves of sensation sweeping through her. It was so strange, this need, this delicious pressure that welled up inside her. Her control slipped and she whimpered helplessly. She had no defense against this; whatever he was doing to her was beyond what she could fight against.

She turned her face into her arm, her shame burning as the fire inside her increased. Would the agony keep building forever? Would her skin burst into flames before he stopped? She wanted to tell him to get away, that he was hurting her, but it all seemed untrue. She gasped again as his fingers continued, increasing their pace, his thumb slipping across the spot he'd found that she had never known was there.

"What is your name, siren?" he spoke softly, coaxingly even as he ripped her apart from the inside.

She shook her head, small sounds of distress mixing with gasps as he continued pushing her somewhere she didn't want to go. His hands didn't cease their work but his thumb seemed to widen its path, keeping the direct stimulation away from her slippery nub.

"Tell me your name and I'll let you come," he said, the teasing in his voice hurt her pride as her control continued to elude her. She didn't know what he meant, but she resisted all the same. What more could she do?

A second finger joined the one in her channel making her moan, his thumb stroked the apex of her sex and she called out in surprise as fissures of sensation flicked across her limbs, filling her chest until he stopped, leaving her humming with some unspent need she couldn't define.