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He doesn’t lock the door behind him.

This is your chance, I tell myself. Escape.

But the relentless orgasms must have done something to my head.

They’ve made me weak.

Damn it. I’m supposed to be the one seducing him and rendering him helpless through sex, not the other way around.

How did he manage to turn the tables?

I exhale against the chain, my eyes on the door. I don’t know where Priest has gone, but I can’t imagine he will be gone for long. Does he know he didn’t lock it?

I try to push past the postcoital haze and formulate a plan. I could get up and run. My legs work, and they aren’t bound. I could run, albeit naked, outside and keep running until I find help. The villagers would help me, I’m certain of it.

But Priest would probably hunt me down as he did before, and frankly, I wouldn’t mind if he subjected me to more angry sex.

Still, I have to remember why I gave up my fins to begin with.

I have to think about Maren.

I twist around and sit up carefully, trying to gather the courage.

It had been so easy to run the other day.

What happened to me?

Why do I feel compelled to stay this man’s hostage?

Because you like it, a tiny voice inside me says. Because you like being his captive. You like that he feeds on you and fucks you and makes you feel things you’ve never felt before.

Because you are like him.

And you like him.

I swallow uneasily. No. I can’t like him. I can’t like any of this.

I’ve been driven by the obsession of finding my sister for the last eleven years, my one singular purpose. I’ve survived the loss of my father, the loss of my kingdom, the loss of my other sister. I’ve survived abuse at the hands of rogue Syrens, survived years of loneliness and despair as I’ve searched the oceans looking for Maren.

I can’t give up now, even if I feel something for this man.

This monster.

This Vampyre.

But what if I’m never meant to find Maren?

What if I’m only meant to find him?

I hear footsteps outside the door, and I snap out of my thoughts, my heart racing.

Priest steps back into the room, shirtless but wearing his black trousers, carrying a bucket of water and a cloth.

He pauses for a moment, and hurt flits across his face as he looks me over before he continues walking.

“Were you planning on going somewhere?” he asks tepidly as he sets the bucket beside me.

I stare at him in response. I can’t answer anyway.