Siren Salvation

Author's Note:
This story is pretty vanilla in the beginning, but as I continue it will likely digress into greater degrees of drama, violence, and pure unadulterated smut affiliated with BDSM.
As I continue to update the chapters I'll also update the warnings, so if any of the previous themes offend you please keep note of the changing warnings.
I am taking the proper preventative measures and am therefore not liable for your supposedly preciously innocent state of mind. If you're being honest then we're all consenting adults with a wide variety of choices on this site and I suggest you keep that in mind if you decide to flame me. (However, constructive critiscm, even harsh, is valued, appreciated, and noted.)

Other than that, on with the story- and enjoy!

Siren Salvation
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She ran. She ran without thought; insecurity, fear, self-hatred driving her to the point of distraction. At one point she was almost hit by a car as she darted across the main road, but she escaped intact and unphased.

She appeared at her doorstep without a single hitch in her breath, her feet had held wings for her. She suddenly remembered the clothing she’d left behind, including her evening’s wage and the key to get into her tiny hellhole. With a sigh she knocked for the manager.

As the door opened and she saw his face she suddenly understood just what a mistake not thinking actually was. Here she stood, skin glowing effervescent sea foam in the sunburst glow of dawn, wrapped in crimson silk which flowed around her body more intimately than a lover. Her crow’s wing curls fell in elegantly tousled waves and spirals to her ankles and her feathery-webbed lashes glittered with tears of crystallized bubbles. Her lovely high cheekbones were lined with iridescent scales in a dusty fuchsia; the first glimmer of the almost miniscule circles that shimmered in the light across her entire body, highlighting her features to their fullest effect. Her extra large eyes were tinted a Caribbean blue behind large ovals of night-kissed waves, and they glittered with diamond foam.

As his surprise started to wear off and his anger show, she raised gracefully long fingers to her pretty coral mouth. Knowing she wasn’t welcome anymore, per usual, she quickly hiccupped back another soft sob. Her voice took the manager by surprise, the words echoing and ringing around them like a perfect bell amongst the roar of waves, “Just let me get my things, I’ll leave immediately.” The poor confused man could barely nod as he let her past. Not as if he wanted to deal with removing her belongings anyway.

She hurried up the stairs to her apartment and fumbled for the extra key to open the door. Sliding inside she shut it quickly and flipped the lock. Taking in deep breaths she tried to still her heart and stomach, then looked up and saw herself in the tiny mirror that faced her over the stand-alone dirty porcelain sink.

Her lush bottom lip trembled as she looked at her appearance. To her it was the most despicable figure to’ve ever graced the earth, and of course it has her burden to bear the last one. Slowly she walked over to the mirror and touched the reflection with her fingertips, nails the color, shine, and texture of a sea pearl clicking against the surface. She knew in her heart of hearts that this was why they had all refused her, in the end. No matter the powers available to her to attract them, it was founded to destroy them, and since she refused, they destroyed her.

She sniffled and closed her eyes letting the mythical being slide back into the more ordinary, but still breathtaking human form. Opening her eyes she still saw every tint of the ocean, every scale, and every unnatural feature of her other form. This, still, wasn’t enough. Wrapping her fingers into a fist she turned and hurried to the pile of clothing and belongings she’d garnered over the past week of work.

Gathering it into a small suitcase, bought especially, was an easy task. Leaving without giving the manager the second key was not quite as simple. With promises of its dutiful return, she finally escaped into the late dawn. She walked along the streets of London until she found herself at the service door for the pub she worked in.

It was ironic really, she thought as she knocked for assistance, for the pub was named after her greatest fear and regret: “The King’s Head.” She had to wonder if she would ever be able to free herself, her heart, mind, and soul, from that man’s careless grasp. She reigned in her thoughts and smiled sadly up at Mike, the live-in cook. “Hi.”

He shook his head at her and sighed. “Summow I knew ye’d be showin’ up ‘ere soon. C’min, lass, ye ken share wit’ meh.” So saying he relocked the door behind her and brought her to a small room off the kitchen. Its contents were simple, but overall it was homey.

A small bed was pushed against the wall, a table beside it which served as desk, nightstand, and eating area. At the foot of the bed was another of those stand-alone sinks, this one in much better shape, and a larger un-cracked mirror above it and a shelf for toiletries. He even had somewhat lavish paper screens set up around the toilet and shower area, Japanese in design. She couldn’t help but smile at the black cranes as they winged their eternal path past water colored grey mountains and evergreen forests. She turned back and blinked in surprise as Mike moved half of his wardrobe on the small rack aside, leaving hangars bare for her, and shifting the contents of drawers so she’d have one for herself. “G’head an’ unpack, lass. Ah’ll mahk up a pallet fer ye.”

She smiled at his generosity, tears threatening to well behind her black lashes. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Nae need. Ratha’ ye be here wit’ meh, than ouddere wit’ scum. Nah, unpack, gel!” His adamant tone prompted her into action and she quickly had her few belongings settled comfortably in the spaces allotted. When she turned back she found Mike already asleep on the pallet, the bed obviously waiting for her. She bit her lip and couldn’t help but lean over and place a soft kiss on his bald head for everything he’d done. Then she tumbled into the sheets of the surprisingly comfortable bed, falling into a sleep of magical and emotional exhaustion.

She woke that evening as Mike brought in a plate of baked beans, toast, fried mushrooms, tomatoes, and sausage. “Though’ ye migh’ nehd a pick-meh-up, so’s ah mehd brekkist. Et up, gel, ye’ll need ye strength tonigh’. The boss is doin’ rounds wit’ the depar’men’.”

“The department?” Her nose was speaking volumes to her stomach and it grumbled right back, but his words were distraction enough.

“Yeh. The ‘ealth depar’men’. Didja naught know?”

She shook her head and took a small bite of her toast before closing her eyes in bliss. Mike really was a wonderful home-raised cook, it was a shame the more formal restaurants only hired those with culinary degrees- they were missing out on a gem of a chef. “Will I be expected to do anything special?”

“Yeh. Tons. Firs’ yer ‘uniform’ issn’ essactly legal. So's tonigh’ yeh get tae wear the other one, pants an’ a blouse. Betteh tae keep the men’s hands off ye anyweh. Make shah ye don’ lettem git away wit’ nothin’ tonigh’. Boss’ll ‘ire roughs fer the nigh’, but jus’ in case, keep a close eye.” He smiled as he watched her polish her plate clean in the few minutes it took him to tell her the special rules. “Nah, tae earn yer keep, yer need tae run sum errands fer me.” He set a shopping list down on the table and a notice of tab collection along with addresses.

“Firs’ run the tabs. They alwehs loike it betteh when weh sen’ a pretty young thin’ anyweh. Then hurrah cause tha’ market on fifth stree’ closes at noine, bu’ she’ll ‘ave everythin’ yeh need, an’ll make the trip quick. Be back at ten, ah’ll have Livy run set up fer yeh till then. Be ‘bout yerself, gel, no time tae spare yeh know.” He winked at her and slid back out into the kitchen as she hurried to get ready for the night’s work.

She had to admit, though, she was awfully glad that he had found something for her to do to return his favor. Charity was not a thing she took humbly or happily. In her head she tallied the addresses and realized she could make a nice clean line of her errands, as long as she moved one tab to after her market trip. She decided it was worth it so as not to backtrack and tried to tame her waist length banana curls into some form of updo. London was hot no matter the season, and she was a creature that preferred a chill.

Looking at herself in the mirror she wished, just a tiny bit, that she was back in the King’s palace, a servant of status. A hundred chores in his company was better than any day of freedom far from him- and this half life was worse than hell for the siren. When she had left she had also left her pretty things behind, seeing as he had bought them all for his pleasure and not her taste. But still, they were pretty; the King had impeccable taste, especially when it came to anything visual.

She shook off the weird feelings and picked up a satchel, sliding the papers inside and memorizing the many addresses. She waved to Olivia and James, the other staff, as she narrowly avoided their boss by sliding behind Mike’s rather robust figure. Slipping out the back way she headed down the alleyway to shortcut her way to the furthest point while it was still daylight and mostly safe.

Two hours later had her sliding the last pieces of market fresh food into her satchel carefully. The specially brought in pheasant eggs were for a special item of Mike’s which he made rarely, but they were extremely delicate and she used bubble wrap to settle them in place in her bag. Sliding it onto her shoulder she nodded to the sweet clerk and headed for the last tab run.

The others had been surprisingly responsive, and she soon realized that this was just a normal service for the pub to instigate. Not some sort of last-round, beat-to-death event to get their money in time. She found herself in the oddly familiar neighborhood that she couldn’t place and stepped into the building. Glancing at the paper she headed for the fifth floor in the old fashioned elevator. Walking down the hall her hackles started to rise and she truly noticed where she was.

Triple checking the address was no good; she now stood before the very door she had frantically run from the night before. And she had to knock- otherwise Mike would find out and never trust her again. She was not a woman of excuses and she liked to carry out her responsibilities to the fullest extent of her powers.

Although, on the other hand, raising her knuckles to the smooth surface of the door was almost beyond her varied abilities. Swallowing hard, she firmly knocked three times and prayed to whatever god would hear that he wouldn’t be home, and she could simply slide the notice under his door.

Never did she have such luck, the door swung open to show her the man she’d hurt. It was almost cruel because there he stood, glorious with the sun setting in the window behind him, outlining his golden skin in a satin glow. His jaw line tensed and her eyes followed the play of muscles from the one movement: down his neck to pulse with a shoulder twitch along his beautifully constructed arm. The bared skin was like a drug, so intense was her need to touch, taste, it. It didn’t help that all he wore was a pair of very well fitting jeans low on his spectacularly narrow hips. She followed the play of muscles in his abdomen back up his bared chest to look into his moss green eyes. They were surprised, but they quickly narrowed into steel as he looked at her. She exhaled painfully as his mouth opened, fearful of what he was going to say.

“Raven.”