You'll be the Death of Me

Chapter 82

There once was a time when the sea roared and the dragons flew freely. A time when sirens ruled the waters of the earth. Their song freely dancing on the breeze, enticing men who dared to travel the open sea over to meet their deadly ends. Dragons were never found to be slayed and land was left unclaimed.

These sorceresses of the heart, goddesses of the sea, basked in their world, in the sun's rays on their blood-soaked thrones of stone. They were so beautiful, so enticing in their songs that men did not notice the ruby color of the stones they sailed to. They were too transfixed with the oceanic eyes; the wild, tangled hair; the darkened, sun-kissed skin and sinful naked bodies to realize they were sailing to their deaths. All who came near died with a smile on their lips as they sunk to their watery graves to feed whatever creatures lurked on the bottom of the ocean floor.

There was no contrition, no empathy for the poor souls that met their ends, just a sense of duty. A belief that by killing man there would be preservation. Man was cruel. Quick to strike. Impulsive to take—whether it be land, treasures and even living beings—and too stubborn to adapt. It was believed necessary to kill them if they wandered out onto the sea. But necessity soon was not the only reason for killing. It became sport. And when it became fun the sirens turned careless as well as cruel.

They no longer were the guardians the gods demanded they be, they were just frivolous killers. And so the sirens fell. They fell to man, united by a common enemy. Wizards had joined in man's plight, wanting to explore the world themselves and tired of the shackles sirens placed on them.

The Veela were the only ones to take pity on their kind, offering their lands and families to their cousins of the sea, and so the sirens of the world adapted. They hid with their cousins, taking on their ways and losing themselves, the sea and their ways for their sins against humanity. Generations of marriages found them hidden in Veela, their eyes the only telltale trait in human form. They were becoming rarer and rarer with each generation. It wasn't often the gift was passed down.

Wamil thought of these tales as she slowly flexed her hand, allowing her other form to take over the one arm, hidden by her robes that billowed out around her fingers. She could kill with this arm, easily. Her talons could rip through flesh and bone with hardly an effort on her part. It was a sobering moment the first time she had transformed. The first time she saw for herself how inhuman she truly was; how dangerous she could be. She never saw the danger in the ability to draw in men's hearts, but she saw the danger in this form. She was deadly in this form.

She had restrained herself last night when Graham attacked her, too scared to bring her claws for fear of killing him. She had no experience with this form. Her father had made it clear that she should never take it. Taking it endangered them all, it revealed the secret that they still existed. Apparently that secret wasn't so secret though.

It wasn't true. You're not one. His words echoed in her ear all through the night. Someone told him what she was and that meant people knew. And if people knew...

The darkest of times were coming. She could feel it. She could see it in Graham's eyes, in the mark that stained his skin. And there would be no hiding from the storm that was brewing. And she didn't have interest in hiding anyways.

She saw him long before he saw her, but she didn't allow his feigned disinterest to throw her off. She stormed forward and before he, or the Malfoy twins, could even appreciate what was happening she slashed him across the face with her talons. There was a deafening silence that followed. Both twins stood frozen, staring at her hand still raised and exposed, and Graham met her eyes with a fear that did not come from self-preservation as he took in her arm and her eyes that Professor Flitwick had restored earlier this morning.