The storm hit two hours before midnight, and I knew it was now or never.

Six months. Six months of scrubbing decks and mending sails, of forcing my movements into clumsy human rhythms when every instinct screamed to move with the predatory grace bred into my bones. Six months of searching every corner of this ship except one.

The captain's quarters.

I pressed myself against the corridor wall as the Serpent's Mercy pitched violently to starboard. Thunder cracked overhead, so loud it seemed to split the sky. The scent of ozone mixed with salt spray, almost enough to mask the other smells—tar, gunpowder, the sour-sweet reek of rum from the crew quarters.

Almost.

But beneath it all, I caught what I was looking for. Leather. Amber. Gunpowder.

Kael.

My pulse quickened, and I hated myself for it. This was a mission. The artifact Thessa sent me to retrieve was somewhere on this ship, and after six months of searching, only one place remained. The fact that my heart raced at the thought of confronting the captain had nothing to do with the way his storm-gray eyes tracked me across the deck, or how his presence made my skin prickle with awareness I absolutely could not afford.

The ship lurched again. I heard shouting from above—all hands on deck, fighting to keep us from capsizing. Which meant Kael would be at the wheel, where he always was during storms. Commanding. Controlled. Completely focused on keeping his crew alive.

It was the perfect opportunity.

I moved down the corridor with deliberate human awkwardness, one hand on the wall for balance. The performance had become second nature, even when no one was watching. Especially when no one was watching. The moment you got comfortable, the moment you let your guard slip, that's when someone like Bones would materialize from the shadows with those too-knowing eyes.

The captain's door was locked, but I'd expected that. I pulled a hairpin from my dark hair—currently showing more blue than black in the lamplight—and worked the mechanism. Another skill Thessa had insisted I master. You're not strong enough to fight them, she'd said, black pearl eyes cold as the deep trenches. So you'll have to be clever instead.

What she'd meant was: You're weak. Prove me wrong or don't bother coming back.

The lock clicked. I slipped inside and shut the door behind me.

Kael's quarters smelled like him—that intoxicating combination of leather and amber that made something low in my stomach tighten. I forced myself to focus. Maps covered one wall, marked with routes and territories. A large desk dominated the space, papers weighted down with a wicked-looking dagger. The captain's bed was surprisingly neat, dark sheets pulled tight.

I very deliberately did not think about that bed.

The artifact would be small, Thessa had said. Unassuming. A tarnished silver compass that didn't point north but toward the thing you desired most. Dangerous in human hands. Catastrophic in the wrong siren's.

I started with the desk, working quickly through drawers. Navigation instruments. More maps. A leather-bound journal I didn't have time to read. Nothing.

The wardrobe next. I ran my hands along the interior, checking for false bottoms. His clothes hung neatly—another surprise. Several white shirts, dark leather jackets, the long coat he wore when we made port. Everything carried his scent, and I had to fight the urge to bury my face in the fabric like some lovesick fool.

Focus.

A trunk at the foot of the bed. Locked, but my hairpin made quick work of it. Inside—

The ship pitched violently. I grabbed the edge of the trunk to steady myself, and that's when I felt it. A presence behind me.

I turned.

Kael stood in the doorway, dripping wet, his dark hair loose from its usual cord. Water ran down the scar that traced from temple to jaw, following the sharp line of his cheekbone. His storm-gray eyes were absolutely calm as they took in the scene: me, kneeling before his open trunk, clearly not where I was supposed to be.

"Lost, Miss Tideborn?" His voice was low, controlled. Dangerous.

My mind raced. I could talk my way out of this. Spin some story about seeking shelter from the storm, about the door being unlocked. But looking at his face—at the complete lack of surprise there—I knew he wouldn't believe it.

He'd been expecting this.

The realization sent ice through my veins.

"I—" I started, but he was already moving, crossing the space between us with predatory grace that matched my own. He shut the door behind him. Locked it.

The click of the bolt echoed like a death knell.

"Six months," he said, leaning against the door. "Six months of watching you search my ship. You're very thorough. Very patient." He tilted his head. "What are you looking for?"

My mouth went dry. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" He pushed off the door, moving closer. "You're good, I'll give you that. The clumsy act is nearly perfect. But I've been sailing these waters for fifteen years, and I've learned to spot when someone's playing a role."

He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, could smell rain and salt and that amber-leather scent that made my head swim. I was still kneeling, and the position put me at a distinct disadvantage. I started to rise, but his hand shot out, gripping my shoulder.

Not hard. Just enough to keep me in place.

"Stay." It wasn't a request.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I had one option left. One weapon that had never failed me.

I looked up at him through my lashes, let my lips part slightly. Drew on the power that lived in my bones, in my blood, in the salt water that called to me even through the ship's wooden hull. The song rose in my throat—not words exactly, but something older. Something that bypassed human reason and went straight to the most primal parts of the brain.

Want me, the song whispered. Need me. You would do anything for me. Tell me your secrets. Give me what I seek.

I sang it softly, barely more than a breath. It should have been enough. Men had thrown themselves from cliffs for less. Had betrayed kingdoms, murdered brothers, burned cities to ash.

Kael's hand tightened fractionally on my shoulder.

Then he smiled.

"That's an interesting trick," he said, conversationally. "How long have you been able to do that?"

The song died in my throat.

No.

No, this wasn't possible. The song always worked. It was the one certainty in my world, the one thing I could rely on. Sirens were many things—predators, deceivers, killers—but our song was absolute.

"I—" I couldn't form words. Couldn't think past the roaring in my ears.

"Let me guess," Kael continued, his voice still that dangerous calm. "You've been using that on my crew. Small suggestions here and there. Nothing too obvious. Just enough to make them overlook inconsistencies. To forget questions they might have asked." His eyes bored into mine. "It doesn't work on me."

"That's not—" I tried to stand again, and this time he let me. But he didn't step back, which meant I was suddenly pressed against the trunk with his body a hand's breadth away, blocking any escape.

"What are you?" he asked softly. "Because you're sure as hell not the shipwrecked merchant's daughter you claimed to be."

I could smell the rain on his skin, the salt spray in his hair. Could see water droplets caught in his lashes. My pulse was a wild thing, trying to escape my chest. This close, I could feel the rise and fall of his breathing, could sense the coiled tension in his frame.

He was angry. But there was something else beneath the anger. Something that made my skin flush hot despite the danger.

"I could have you thrown overboard," he said. "Right now. One word to my crew, and you'd be in the water before you could scream." He leaned closer, and I felt his breath against my cheek. "So I'll ask one more time. What are you looking for?"

The smart thing would be to tell him. To bargain, negotiate. But Thessa's voice echoed in my head: If you fail, don't come back. There's no place for weakness among our kind.

And beneath that, older and more painful: the memory of the other sirens' contempt. Human-lover. Soft-heart. You'll get us all killed with your sympathy.

I had nowhere to belong. Not with the sirens who despised me, not with the humans I was betraying. The loneliness of it crashed over me like a wave, and I did something supremely stupid.

I told the truth.

"A compass," I whispered. "Silver, tarnished. It doesn't point north."

His eyes widened fractionally—the first crack in his composure. "How do you know about that?"

"I was sent to retrieve it." The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "Six months ago. I was supposed to find it and bring it back."

"Sent by whom?"

I couldn't answer that. Wouldn't. Whatever else I was, I wasn't a complete traitor.

Kael stared at me for a long moment. Then he reached past me, his arm brushing my shoulder, and pulled something from the trunk. When he straightened, he held a small object wrapped in black cloth.

"This?" he asked.

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

Slowly, he unwrapped it. The compass was exactly as Thessa had described—tarnished silver, unremarkable except for the strange symbols etched around its edge. Kael held it up, and the needle swung wildly before stopping.

Pointing directly at me.

His jaw tightened. "Do you know what this thing does?"

"It points toward what you desire most," I said.

"It does more than that." His voice had gone rough, almost raw. "It shows you what you want, then it takes it from you. It twists desire into obsession, obsession into madness." He looked at the compass, then back at me. "It killed my brother."

The pain in those words was a physical thing. I felt it like a blow.

"He used it to find the woman he loved," Kael continued. "Followed the needle for three months, through storms and naval blockades and waters that should have killed us all. When we finally found her..." He stopped, swallowed hard. "She was married. Happy. Wanted nothing to do with him. But the compass had shown him she was his greatest desire, so he couldn't accept it. Couldn't let go."

"What happened?" I asked, though I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

"He tried to take her. Her husband fought back." Kael's hand clenched around the compass. "My brother killed him. Then she killed my brother. And I..." He laughed, a bitter sound. "I kept the damned thing. Thought maybe I could use it, control it. Thought I was stronger than him."

"But you're not," I said softly, understanding dawning.

"No." He looked at me, and the intensity in his gaze made my breath catch. "Because for six months, this compass has pointed at you. Every. Single. Day. And I have no idea why."

The air between us felt charged, electric. I was acutely aware of every point where our bodies almost touched—his chest nearly brushing mine, his hand braced against the trunk beside my hip, the heat of him surrounding me.

"You should throw it overboard," I managed. "Destroy it."

"I can't." His voice was barely above a whisper. "It's cursed. Bound to whoever uses it. The only way to break the curse is..." He stopped.

"Is what?"

"Siren magic." He said it flatly, watching my face. "According to the witch I consulted, only a siren can unmake what sirens created."

My blood turned to ice. "What?"

"So you see my problem, Miss Tideborn." He leaned closer, until I could see flecks of silver in his gray eyes. "I need a siren to free me from this curse. And here you are, in my quarters, using some kind of enchantment that no human should possess, searching for the very object that's been poisoning my life."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. He knew. He didn't know everything, but he knew enough.

"What are you?" he asked again, and this time it wasn't a demand. It was almost pleading.

The truth sat on my tongue, heavy and dangerous. I could tell him. Could explain what I was, what I'd been sent to do. Could offer to break his curse in exchange for the compass.

But Thessa's warning echoed in my mind: Humans can't be trusted. They'll use you, then destroy you.

And yet.

Kael had been carrying this curse for months. Had watched it point at me, had felt desire twist into obsession, and instead of taking what the compass told him he wanted—instead of using his position as captain to force me into his bed or worse—he'd simply watched. Waited.

Tried to figure out what I was before making his move.

"I can help you," I said finally. "Break the curse. But I need something in return."

"The compass."

"Yes."

He studied my face, and I couldn't read his expression. "Why? What's so important about this cursed piece of metal?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Can't or won't?"

"Does it matter?"

The ship pitched again, throwing me forward. Kael's arm came around my waist, steadying me, and suddenly there was no space between us at all. My hands had landed on his chest, and I could feel his heart racing beneath my palms—as fast as mine.

His other hand still held the compass, trapped between our bodies. I felt it press against my ribs, cold even through my shirt.

"It matters," he said, his voice rough, "because I need to know if I can trust you."

"You can't." The words came out more bitter than I'd intended. "I've been lying to you from the moment I stepped on this ship."

"I know." His arm tightened around my waist. "But you're telling me the truth now."

"Am I?"

"Aren't you?"

We were so close I could count his heartbeats, could feel the tension thrumming through his frame. His eyes dropped to my mouth, and I saw him fight the urge to close that final distance. Saw desire war with control.

The compass had told him I was what he wanted most.

And looking at him—at the sharp line of his jaw, the scar that made him look dangerous and beautiful at once, the way his wet hair fell across his forehead—I realized with horrifying clarity that the feeling might be mutual.

Which was impossible. Sirens didn't feel this way about humans. We used them, manipulated them, killed them. We didn't ache for them. Didn't want to trace the line of their scars with our fingers, didn't wonder what they'd taste like, didn't feel our carefully constructed walls crumbling at the sound of their voice.

I was compromised. The mission was compromised. Everything was falling apart.

And I couldn't bring myself to care.

"Captain—" I started.

"Kael," he interrupted. "If we're being honest, use my name."

"Kael." It felt dangerous on my tongue. Intimate. "What happens now?"

His eyes met mine, and I saw my own conflict reflected there. Want and suspicion. Desire and distrust.

"Now," he said slowly, "you're going to stay where I can see you. Every hour of every day until I figure out what you are and what you want." His hand moved from my waist to cup my jaw, tilting my face up. "And you're going to help me break this curse. Because if you don't..."

"What?" I challenged, even as my pulse raced at his touch. "You'll throw me overboard?"

"No." His thumb brushed my cheekbone, and the gentleness of it was somehow more terrifying than any threat. "I'll keep you. Lock you in this cabin if I have to. Because the compass says you're what I want most, and I'm tired of fighting it."

The possessiveness in his voice should have frightened me. Should have triggered every survival instinct I possessed.

Instead, it sent heat flooding through my veins.

"That's the curse talking," I whispered.

"Is it?" He leaned closer, his lips a breath from mine. "Then why have I wanted you since the moment you stepped on my ship, before I ever looked at the compass? Why does the scent of jasmine drive me to distraction? Why do I watch you move and know—know—that you're holding back, hiding something wild and deadly beneath that clumsy act?"

I couldn't answer. Couldn't do anything but stare at him as my world tilted on its axis.

"Tomorrow," he said, his voice dropping to something dark and promising, "you're moving into my quarters. You'll attend me personally. Go where I go. Sleep where I sleep." His thumb traced my lower lip, and I shuddered. "And we're going to figure out exactly what you are and what we're going to do about it."

"And if I refuse?"

His smile was sharp as a blade. "You won't."

He was right. I wouldn't.

Because six months of searching had led me here—pressed against the captain's chest with his hand on my face and his curse-compass between us, with my mission in shambles and my carefully guarded heart cracking open despite every warning I'd been given.

Thessa was going to kill me.

If I didn't get myself killed first.

Kael stepped back, finally giving me space to breathe. "Get some sleep, Miss Tideborn. Tomorrow, everything changes."

He opened the door—a dismissal. I moved past him on shaking legs, hyperaware of every inch of space between our bodies.

In the corridor, I heard the lock click behind me.

And realized with sinking certainty that I'd just made everything infinitely more complicated.

The compass pointed at me. Kael needed a siren to break his curse. And I was a siren who needed his compass.

We were bound together now, whether either of us liked it or not.

I touched my lips where his thumb had been and tried to ignore the way my skin still burned from his touch.

Six months of careful planning, destroyed in a single storm.

The real question was: had my mission just become impossible, or had it only just begun?