A/N: This story is rated M for eventual sexual situations.

Disclaimer: Okay, wouldn't we all be more surprised if I actually did own Pirates of the Caribbean?

"I can save you. You need only ask." She bobbed in front of him, dark hair pooling out around her. He wanted to resist her, for surely only a creature of the devil could cause the destruction he'd seen that night on the lifeboat. Perhaps Satan himself had created her, crafted her in the perfect form to lure men with lust. Philip, a priest and missionary, knew of these monsters, and he tried to stop himself from falling into the devil's trap.

But man had never been immune to Satan's charms, and Philip found himself moving closer to her. Pain wracked his body, radiating outward from the wound in his abdomen, but he did not still until his face was inches from hers. "I ask for only one thing," he said.

Her eyes never left his. "What is that?"

"Forgiveness. If it weren't for me, you would never have been captured." He wanted to reach out to stroke her ivory skin, to press a kiss to her lips and die with the memory of her touch still vivid in his mind. For there was no doubt that he would die; with the wound he had sustained, it was inevitable.

Long seconds of silence stretch between them, punctuated only by the splash of the waves against the rocks of the grotto. She rose up so that their lips were a breath away before finally replying. "Ask."

He swallowed, but his eyes did not wander from hers. "Forgive me."

She closed the remaining distance between them, pressing a firm kiss to his lips, and Philip was lost. His entire world, it seemed, consisted of only him, her, and the pressure between them. When she slipped her arms around his neck, he had no argument. He brought his hand to the back of her head, bringing her even closer.

Syrena pulled him with her into the dark waters, and Philip followed willingly. She could drown him at any moment, force him to stay underneath until the life left his body and she could rip the flesh from his bones, but, somehow, Philip felt safe with her, more safe than he had felt since the attack of the Queen Anne's Revenge on his ship. Death was coming quickly for him now, but he would accept it with open arms. He pressed his cheek against Syrena's and felt his chest burn as his lungs screamed for air. Eventually, the pain grew too intense, and he could no longer resist the urge to breathe. Philip expected water to fill his lungs, but, instead, he breathed air. His eyes snapped open in confusion.

Syrena's dark eyes peered back at him. She smiled and brought her lips to his ear. "You're safe now," she whispered. In the water, her voice sounded different, as though it were coming from several directions all at once.

"How?" his voice cracked before he could say anything else. Philip had not expected to live this long, and having accepted death, the tremendous gift of life finally became clear. He was overcome with emotion, but Syrena held strong.

"A mermaid's kiss," she answered.

He nodded in understanding. Yes, he had heard the legends the pirates had told of soldiers saved from drowning with a kiss from a mermaid, but he had never believed them. Of course, until a few days ago, he had not believed in mermaids either. "Thank you." He gazed into her eyes as he spoke.

Syrena glanced down at his wound before covering it with her hand. "We must take you to shore. You are safe for now, but your injury is severe. It must be treated quickly if it is to heal." She began to swim faster, cutting through the water at a greater speed than Philip had believed possible. He could not help but admire the gliding motions of her body as she propelled them forward. The undulation of her hips drew his attention, and he found himself trapped in her sensual movements. His training as a missionary whispered to him that this was wrong, that he had been sworn to chastity, but he could not look away.

Only her voice was enough to drag him from the sight. "Can you walk?" she asked.

Philip realized that they were now in waters no more than four or five feet high. With Syrena's help, he rose to his feet, but he collapsed almost immediately, unable to support his own weight.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He could only grit his teeth in response. A fresh flow of blood ran between his fingers as he clasped his hand over the cut.

Syrena dragged him to shore as gently as she could, and placed him on the sand. Philip bit back a scream as she lifted his hips to remove his pants, leaving him clothed only in soaked undergarments. She squeezed his hand and murmured something into his ear, but he was too lost in pain to understand her words. He heard a rip as Syrena tore the fabric and forced his hand away from the wound so that she could press the makeshift bandage against it. "Hush, love," she said, kissing his cheek. "Keep pressure on the bandage, Philip, and I will return for you."

"My love," he said as she turned to crawl back into the water. Syrena stopped to look at him. "What is your true name?"

A smile came to her features. "I had none until I met you, but from this moment on I will be Syrena."

Philip's mouth opened in response, but no words were forthcoming. He did as she requested, pressing the remnants of his trousers against the cut. As he waited for her to return, he could think of nothing but her. The smile that came to her lips when she was amused, the soft strength in her voice, the way the sun shone against her perfect skin as she had tended to his injuries. It was her kindness, though, that truly drew him to her. Philip lied back against the sand as he thought of the compassion she had showed towards him time and again. Surely, she must be one of God's own creatures to show such selflessness towards another.