Chapter 30 Predator vs. Siren 1
The creature hit me with the weight of a falling boulder.
We crashed into a stack of covered crates, the wood splintering under the impact. Dust exploded into the air, choking and thick, mixing with the smell of dry rot and the creature’s rancid breath.
I didn't have time to think. Instinct took over—the frantic, thrashing instinct of a fish caught in a net.
I kicked out, my heel connecting with something hard—ribs, maybe—but the creature didn't even grunt. It was dead weight and pure hunger, a tangle of grey limbs and snapping teeth. Its claws shredded the sleeve of my abyss-silk dress, tearing through the fabric Leona had stitched with such care.
Pain flared in my arm, hot and sharp.
"Meat!" it shrieked, its face inches from mine. Its eyes were blown wide, glowing with a manic, chemical red. Saliva dripped onto my cheek, burning like acid.
It snapped at my throat.
I jerked my head back, hearing the clack of its teeth closing on empty air.
I shoved my forearm under its chin, using my bone to hold its jaw away from my jugular. My arm trembled under the strain. It was strong—stronger than a human, stronger than me.
"Get off!" I screamed.
I tried to summon the lullaby again. I tried to find the frequency of sleep, the heavy, drowning sound of the deep.
The sound left my throat, vibrating in the small space between us.
The creature didn't slow down. It didn't glaze over. If anything, the sound seemed to irritate it. It shook its head violently, like a dog shaking a rat, and growled—a wet, rattling sound deep in its chest.
It wasn't working.
Panic, cold and absolute, washed over me. The lullaby worked on minds. It worked on consciousness. But this thing... this thing had no mind left. It was a hollow shell driven by a biological engine that only knew one command: consume. You couldn't hypnotize a forest fire. You couldn't reason with an avalanche.
The creature’s drool hit my eye, stinging. Its weight was crushing my ribs. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think.
It lunged again, its strength doubling. My arm buckled. Its fangs grazed my collarbone, tearing the skin.
I was going to die. I was going to be eaten in a storage closet while the waltz played on the other side of the wall.
The word didn't come from my brain. It came from my blood. It came from the ancient, dormant part of my lineage that Klaus had tried to awaken in the music room.
I wasn't just a singer. I was a royal. My father didn't just sing to the ocean; he commanded the tides.
If I couldn't put it to sleep, I had to dominate it.
I didn't need a lullaby. I needed an order.
I stopped fighting the weight. I stopped trying to push it off.
I took a sharp, jagged breath, filling my lungs with the dusty air. I looked straight into those manic red eyes.
I didn't sing. I didn't hum.
I spoke.
But I spoke with the Voice of the Trench. I spoke with the pressure of three thousand miles of water behind my teeth.
"SIT."
The word wasn't loud, but it hit the room like a physical shockwave.
The glass in the high window shattered instantly, raining down on us. The dust in the air froze. The floorboards beneath us groaned, vibrating violently.
The creature stiffened.
It was mid-lunge, its mouth open to tear out my throat. But at the sound of the Command, its body locked up.
Its pupils contracted to pinpoints. A whine—high and pathetic—escaped its throat.
It tried to fight it. I could feel its muscles bunching, fighting the compulsion that I had slammed into its nervous system. It wanted to bite. It wanted to kill.
"DOWN," I commanded, pushing the power out of my chest, visualizing a heavy iron anchor dropping onto its back.
The creature convulsed.
Then, it collapsed.
It rolled off me, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. It scrambled backward, its claws scrabbling on the wood, until it hit the far wall. It didn't attack. It curled into a ball, covering its head with its arms, shaking violently.
I lay on the ruins of the crates, gasping for air. My arm was bleeding. My dress was torn. My heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
I pushed myself up. My legs were shaking so hard I could barely stand.
The creature was whimpering in the corner. It sounded like a kicked dog.
"Quiet," I whispered.
The whimpering stopped instantly.
I looked at it. Really looked at it.
It wasn't a monster. It was a vampire who had been starved. Its skin was grey because it was dying. Its madness was just pain.
It was exactly what Klaus was afraid of becoming.
I felt a sudden, sharp pang of pity. Vespera had locked this thing in here. She had used it as a weapon, knowing it would be put down like a rabid animal once it was found. She had sentenced it to death just to hurt me.
I walked toward it.
The creature flinched, pressing itself harder into the corner. It peered at me through its matted hair, its red eyes wide with terror. It recognized the alpha. It recognized the predator that had just crushed its will.
"It’s okay," I said softly, dropping the Command voice and slipping back into a normal tone.
I knelt on the floor, ignoring the pain in my arm.
"You're hungry," I murmured. "I know."
The creature sniffed the air. It smelled my blood. Its eyes flicked to my wounded arm, then back to my face. It wanted to lunge. I could see the desire twitching in its limbs. But the Command held it in place like iron chains.
I reached out a hand.
It snarled, barring its teeth.
I didn't pull back. I held my hand steady.
"I’m not going to hurt you," I hummed.
I started a low vibration in my throat. Not a command. Not a lullaby. Just a resonance. A purr. It was the sound we used to soothe injured seals before we healed them.
The creature stopped snarling. It tilted its head. The vibration seemed to confuse it, disrupting the static of its hunger.
It leaned forward. Just an inch.
Then another.
It stretched its neck out, sniffing my hand. Its nose was wet and cold.
It let out a long, shuddering sigh. The tension left its frame. It slumped forward, resting its forehead against my palm.
It was trembling. I could feel the rattle of its starved heart against the floorboards.