He should have known better.

That was what he kept telling himself, over and over, with increasing aggravation as he made his way to the surface once more. It was spectacularly stupid after all. Nothing good could could come from the surface dwellers, it never had. Yet there he was, night after night, making the slow ascent upwards, to where the waves crested over a narrow jetty. Where she would be.

He should have known better.

The girl was a tiny thing, it seemed to him, her strange white limbs awkward and ungainly. The first time he saw her, she was perched on the stones, her long hair whipping into the wind. She had the same beguiling smile of the females of his kind: lithe and lissome creatures who dwelled in the warmer waters and avoided the darker, deeper depths and the monsters who lurked there. His domain.

In his youth, many moon seasons past, he had indulged in going to hear the females sing. Glittering, rapturous voices, curling around each other and him too, raised in song. Songs of love and desire, whispering across his long neck and skating down the sinews of his abdomen; Songs of death and despair that shivered across his back, raising his dorsal spines.

From a safe distance, in some dark, shaded corner he would watch: a voyeur to something that would never be his, admiring their beauty and the haunting melodies they'd created.

Watching them from afar - with their wide emerald eyes and silvery hair, soft curves designed to titillate and attract their kind and land dwellers alike, and luscious, glorious tails - had long ago lost its appeal, knowing, as he did, that he would return to the dark alone. Their songs, those wrenchingly beautiful lines of music that seemed to sink beneath his inky skin and caused his tail writhe of its own volition, were not for him. Would never be for him.

It was a particular form of torture he'd long since abandoned. None of them would ever take him as a mate; he didn't belong in their waters and they would never survive in his...and even if they could, to them he was a monster from the deep.

The girl had the same sort of smile, he'd seen at once. Dazzling in the fading sunlight, secretive and soft.

In the light of that fading sun on the surface, a place he didn't belong, he was a voyeur once more, he thought sadly. Desperately coveting what could never be his before returning alone to the darkness.

.

.

The first time he'd heard her, he'd been in pursuit of food. The sea had grown colder, and he'd been able to travel up from the depths without discomfort, stalking his prey through what had previously been intolerably warm waters. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so close to the surface - too close. Too close for safety, too close for sense.

He'd been poised to strike when the sound of her had moved down through the water, sending a tremor up his spine that had nearly snapped him in half and made the spikes on his dorsal fin stand out on end.

It was the ethereal voice of one of his own kind, silvery and sweet, calling to him directly, but it was- impossibly! -above him.

The pod had already made good their escape as he'd hung there, suspended in the wavering light that cut through the water's surface, dumbfounded and frozen.

That sound. That voice!

It had done something to him, made his stomach clench, made him feel as though he were being seared on the spot, made the small bioluminescent orbs that bobbed above his scarred face shiver and dance.

He'd remembered stories he'd heard many moons past from the old crone he visited occasionally. Stories of strange winged creatures above the surface, whose songs were so distressingly beautiful that the surface dwellers would be compelled to follow them. Ships would crash upon rocky shoals; would be steered down dark, dangerous channels, inevitably to their doom, allured away by those unnatural voices.

The crone had also told him that their own kind would know their true mate from the sound of their song.

He liked the sea hag, valued her wisdom and her magic, although he regretted his visit to her cave that day. Happier he would have been not knowing that particular bit of information, he'd often thought. He didn't like to admit that part of the reason why he would go to hear the females singing was to listen for the voice that called to his cold heart.

It had never happened, of course.

That sort of life bond was not meant for one such as him. He found their songs compelling, admired their beauty wistfully, but he'd never heard the voice that was meant for him, and had come to accept that it simply didn't exist.

The voice he'd heard that day beneath the surface, distorted as it was, made his body writhe, made him feel as though his innards were being forced up his throat. He wanted that voice, needed it. The breathlessness he'd felt made his head spin, and he simultaneously wanted to find the source of that shimmering silver sound and wrap his arms around it for the rest of eternity, or else flee back to the black depths where he belonged.

He needed to see what kind of creature possessed such a voice, he'd thought, thinking of the bird-women above who lured the human sailors to their end. He needed to see so that he'd know what to avoid, and would be able to stay away...away from whatever it was, to prevent the warring sensations of agony and ecstasy that roiled through him.

It was rare that he ventured up to the surface waters, rarer still that he actually breached the surface itself. He was adapted to the dark, to the cold, and the warmer waters above were uncomfortable, the light piercing. His vision took longer to sharpen here, and he disliked the temporary blindness.

His head broke the surface of the water carefully that day, although he was not able to prevent the sharp gasp he'd sucked in at the light that blinded him and the foreign, uncomfortable sensation of breathing dry air.

As spots clouded his vision, he'd waited in apprehension for it to take him, to press its advantage of having incredibly stupid prey presenting itself dizzy and disoriented. The expected attack, although he braced himself for it, did not come.

The light had been blistering. It had taken him several long, gasping moments to remember how to breathe outside of the water, for his vision to be restored, although he'd still squinted painfully. Eventide for the surface dwellers, he'd realized, taking note of the way the sun had sunk in a smear of crimson at the horizon. Eventide, and still so painfully bright.

It had still been singing.

He could not understand the tongue, but the melody it wove was lilting and sorrowful. Beneath the water's surface, his powerful tail had thrashed as he arched against the sound; sound that had seemed to dance across the water's surface to him, shimmering around him in a silky caress.

He needed to see, he'd thought, lifting himself carefully, keeping close to the shadows of the rocky ledge from where he'd emerged, needed to see it.

It was a girl.

A girl! A girl, just a girl, a human girl!

He could not comprehend how such a thing was possible. The girl had sat perched on the rocks, her delicate, heart-shaped face resting atop those foreign appendages. Her hair was long and dark, coils that whipped in the breeze, so unlike the silvery hair he was accustomed to. He wished to see her eyes, the upturn of her small nose and curve of her lips, but the damnable light made everything indistinct to his normally sharp gaze. When her song had finished, the girl had smiled softly.

It was her smile that had nearly undone him, even moreso than her voice. Like the melody she sang, there was sadness there, sadness and secrets, secrets he wanted to learn before taking her in his arms.

When she'd begun to sing again, after trailing her her hand lazily through the water, the response he'd felt in reaction jolted like a current surging through his body. He was reminded of a time he'd unfortunately tangled with a ray that had thrown him off with a painful shock.

This, though...this was different. Sexual, protective, primal. His stomach bunched and that spot where torso met tail heated in arousal. He wanted to swim to the girl and spirit her away, to hold her close and absorb her foreign heat, to feel her hands upon him.

His

He had swum home that night gasping.

.

.

An echo of the girl's voice had teased at his ear in the following days. A soft whisper of song against his neck, a curling presence at his side. The darkness of his cave had never seemed as empty as it did in those few days, his arms had never ached to hold and possess so desperately.

He told himself he was merely satisfying his curiosity several evenings later, when he found himself carefully traversing the dark waters to the surface once more, unable to exist without knowing if he might catch a glimpse of her again. If the girl was there, he would stay to listen to her song. If she was not, well... he would never again return to the surface if she was not there.

It was later this time, the horizon was awash with brilliant color. The sun had already sunk beneath the edge of the world, leaving a violet sky in its wake, and in its absence he could see her clearly.

She was breathtaking.

Her skin was alabaster smooth, her dark ribbons of hair grazed the ground as she raised her face to the sky. Her soft curves were hidden beneath the coverings the humans wore, but he knew her skin would be impossibly soft to his touch. She'd just been finishing a song when he'd emerged from the water, sticking close to the same craggy ledge as before, his dark head invisible in the shadows. The last few crystalline notes hung in the air and his eyes slipped shut, letting the silver net of sound she cast drop over him, her willing prisoner.

When she began to sing again, his own voice rose with hers, unbidden.

He had never failed to have mastery over his voice before. He didn't intend to sing with her, had only planned on listening quietly, but his own voice could not be contained, was compelled to join with hers. The girl's voice faltered, her head whipping around, seeking the source of the unnatural sound of his singing.

He was unsure if it was because he was adapted to the dark waters or it was simply nature's way of making up for his freakish appearance, but his voice had always held a richness, a resonance that the others of his kind did not possess. His deep, echoing call would reverberate around the bowels of the sea, bouncing back to him and telling him exactly where food was, and it did the same now, the rocky ledges that surrounded them providing him a cavern of echos that hid the source of the sound.

He lapsed until the girl took a deep, shaking breath and began to sing again. This time, when he joined her, it was softer, smoother, leashed power. The smile that split her face was a barbed harpoon, lancing him to the spot. He knew in that moment that he would do anything for this girl, this little slip of a human, who smiled so sweetly for him. The oceans could burn, the surface world crumble to the sea, and the stars drop from the heavens...he would keep her safe.

.

.

He could make her his.

Night after night he returned, and night after night she was there, singing into the wind, waiting for him. Their voices would twist and join, mingling together the way their bodies did in his fantasies. Pure, silver sound, tone meeting tone. Their voices belonged together.

He didn't know how it was possible, he didn't know why, only knew that it was his terrible, dumb luck to have finally found his true mate, and for it to have been a human.

The thought had infiltrated his mind sometime after the third or fourth night he'd gone to sing with her, and once there, it could not be quieted.

He could make her his.

His kind were able to mate with humans and often did, not that he knew from any type of experience. He could surprise the girl as she sat at the water's edge, blissfully unaware of the dangers that lurked beneath the placid surface, and pull her in. He could take her there, against the jetty, could take her repeatedly until he'd slaked the ravenous lust that had plagued him since the first night he'd heard her singing. His body begged for the release that only she could provide, and it would be easy, so terribly easy to make that fantasy a reality right then and there.

She would be frightened. She would be terrified and would scream, and he would be compelled to silence her either by force or by dragging her beneath the water with him.

The thought of hurting her in any way, of her being frightened or in pain twisted his heart, and he knew he could never do it. In his fantasies, she enjoyed their coupling as much as he did, loved him as he loved her...a fantasy that could never come to be, one that was best forgotten. His body's demanding urges were merely a biological impulse, one that would pass. After all, he'd felt lust before, had lusted after his own kind before. It had always passed.

Besides, merely mating with the girl would not fill his cave with her warmth, would not make his arms be any less empty when he awoke in the darkness. He wanted her, wanted her to be there with him, wanted to keep her close.

He imagined her hair wavering beneath the water, imagined that soft smile being directed at him.

He could make her his.

He could go to the crone. He alone hunted the leviathan beasts of the darkness, allowing her to come and go freely, he would remind her of that, would remind her of the food he occasionally provided. Would remind her that she was as alone and forgotten as he was, that only he came to her cave to visit, purely for the enjoyment of her stories and wisdom, never expecting anything in return. The others came to see her often, but those visits, he knew, were transactional: ill-thought bargains struck in fits of pique or desperation. The sea hag always took her pound of flesh in the end, and the others would whisper fearfully, keeping a good distance until the next time one of them needed something.

She could make it possible. He would sacrifice whatever she asked: his sight, his voice, it would not matter...as long as he got to hold the girl in his arms and call her his, any price the crone wished to name would be deemed a fair sum. As long as the girl was not hurt in any way, as long as the price was his alone to pay...the crone could make it possible.

The thought cheered him, and he hunted that afternoon with renewed zeal. He had lined his cave with hundreds of glittering stones taken from chests he'd found on sunken ships, surely she'd like that. The small orbs of light above his scarred, sunken face that lured food in his world of endless night were rendered obsolete in those clearer, brighter waters of the surface, but she would be able to see the stones by their light: sparkling crimson and green and blue.

He would see to it that she had a bed of the softest seagrass on which to rest, would make sure she never went hungry. None of the terrifying creatures that lived in those deepest, darkest parts of the sea would ever harm her, he would make certain of that. Caring for her, providing for her would be his top priority for the rest of his days.

He passed a small cluster of silvery-haired females as he traveled home after his hunt, dragging a tuna carcass for the crone. It wouldn't hurt his cause to remind her that he was a friend, he'd thought as he'd speared the fish. Three high pitched gasps sounded at the sight of him before they'd taken refuge hiding amidst some swaying seaweed. Such an interaction would have pierced him once, would have left him feeling despondent over the unrelenting loneliness that stretched before him, over the rejection and horror from those of his own kind.

On that day, all he'd noticed were the pretty baubles worn in their hair-shells and sea stars and draping strands of pearls, and he wondered if his human would enjoy being gifted with similar trinkets. The thought of her - curling dark hair wavering in the water, her soft white skin ending in a glorious, colorful tail - warmed him, and he swam on happily. He would find the most beautiful pearls in the sea for her to wear in her hair.

.

.

She was a pleasant weight in his arms as he slept, the alert part of his brain keeping a vigilant lookout on the mouth of their cave, aware of the ever-present dangers beyond. She'd been waiting anxiously for him the day before, slim fingers pressed together nervously until he'd returned from hunting. Had let him love her until his body was satisfied, had curled against him in the cold night. Long tendrils of her silken hair tickled at the cavern of his nose, and he awoke fully with a smile.

There had been a time, in his youth, when he'd traveled widely, crossing the length and breadth of the entire sea, from the cold, comfortable waters of the north to the aquamarine waves of the south. Her eyes were the same color as those warm waters, endlessly blue and beautiful.

His own glowing, yellow eyes opened slowly as he stirred, tugging her close, seeking the breathtaking blue he loved so dearly.

Milky white, sightless eyes met his, her curled ribbons of hair still wavering in the water. It was always cold in the dark heart of the sea, but the coldness of her arms was unnatural, as was her stillness. Panic seized him, panic and horror as he shook the dead girl in his arms.

He woke with a start, gasping into the darkness.

The girl was dead. He'd gone to the crone, had struck a bargain to have the girl survive in their world, and claimed her. He'd been so happy, happier than he'd ever been in the entire length of his existence, perhaps for the first time, truly. He'd done all he could: had provided for her every need, had showered her with gifts, sang with her every day, had loved her as fiercely as he was able. And still the girl had died.

Too dark, too cold. The crone had made no guarantees. The girl had died in his arms, and he was alone once more.

She was not able to be a part of his world, would never be. The gift of prophecy was not a given trait for all of his kind, but he knew not to ignore his dreams. If he tried to take her down to the depths, the girl would die, and he would be alone. Worse off than he'd been before, once the joys of loving and being loved in return, however briefly, were familiar to him.

If he could not bring her to him, he would need to go to her. He'd always been pragmatic, had always felt better when he had a plan.

The crone could make it so. He knew the price, had heard the stories. Once his tail was split, every step on the dry earth would feel like the thrust of a million spears, the pain unceasing. His voice would be sacrificed, to allow the change in his lungs to take place, to allow him to breathe the dry air above day in and day out.

His voice would be sacrificed.

He would never be able to raise his voice in song with her, would never be able to wrap her in the silver of his own melody, to let her feel what he felt when listening to her.

He could still sing to her, he resolved, turning tail to the surface with determination. He could sing to her one last time. The was a sandy shoal he could go to, far enough away to prevent her from having to see him, far enough for him to unleash the full power of his voice for her.

He could see her there, as he squinted across the surf. She was there, trailing her fingers through the water, waiting for him, when he'd pulled himself up to the sand. The story he told in song was one of love, of devotion, haunting and dark, and he poured every bit of himself into the melody. The jagged cliff to her back shook with the reverberation of his singing, as deep and dark as the story he told her. Singing into the wind, he willed the girl to love him, to understand.

When he left the shoal to circle back around to his rocky ledge, he saw her clearly.

She was weeping, and she'd never looked more beautiful.

"Please," she cried plaintively, the wind whipping her lovely hair. "Please, please come back!"

He could go to her. He could go to her then, he knew, and she might not even scream. He could go to her and try to make her understand how much he loved her, that he was going to see the crone on the morrow, that they could be together soon.

In that moment, just before launching himself back to the water to swim to her side, he made a single grave mistake. Glancing down to the glittering surface before sliding down the mossy rocks, he saw his reflection there, and he paused.

A monster stared back.

He forgot, occasionally. He shouldn't have, should have remembered every day why he was so alone, so rejected by his kind. Inky black skin, designed to disappear into the shadows and catch prey, a task that was accomplished, in part, by the bioluminescent lures atop his head. Sharp spikes and fins, whip-thin, scarred from head to tail. The creatures of the deep were massive and monstrous, and he'd had encounters with them all, his scarred body a testament to such. His face was comprised of sharp angles, the effects of repeated depressurization over the years giving him a sunken, cratered appearance, making him even more monstrous.

He had nothing to offer her, could not guarantee that the crone's magic would affect his appearance. He would sacrifice his voice, the one thing of beauty he could give to her, and she might still shun him for being so alien and hideous.

He stayed on the rocks. He had never wept before, wasn't entirely certain it was something his kind could do, but just then he understood her tears and wished he could join her.

He could not go to her. She could not come to him. She was right there, he could take her in his arms in just a few short strokes, but they were worlds away.

They could never be together, and he was a fool for wishing it so.

He should have known better.