Siren Son Novels & Stories

His exposed chest gleams in the sunlight, almost with a glittering glow. I may have been upset with Cherum for speaking ill of sirens, but siren men really are the worst. They can use their beauty and charms to manipulate a woman, even without using their magic. They are called sirens for a reason, and not often referred to as mermen and mermaids. Their seductive qualities are a temptation to all weak-willed individuals who look upon them. Being bred from the ancient fae kind who are known for their beauty, and with succubus or incubus demons, master at manipulation and seduction, my pack does not trust them easily. Not with our wars with demon kind of the North. Other packs will form treati

Escape. August is a month I can’t breathe properly through. Ironic isn’t it. It’s like even Father was psychic. One of my favourite people bearing the name of the month that took my breath and light away. Heavy Ironicness. I couldn’t help but feel animated. Like my creator’s one sick bastard. Like I'm a discount Disney character. Dead Mother. Bastard Father. Funny don’t you think.

The two of them aren't dressed for the occasion. "Another time, honey," the mother stops in the corridor, and while she speaks to the little daughter cradled in her arms, I get the sense she is trying to give me a warning. "When the storm arises, the sirens will sing and lure lost souls out into the sea. Their voices are beautiful and their promises sweet, but when they assure to reunite you with your loved ones, they mean in heaven or hell." A shudder travels up my spine, yet her words don't keep me from climbing up the stairs. Sirens don't scare me. I've never met one, but I'm a badass vampire princess!

[A soldier went to Captain Rian informing them] “Captain Rian, I am Scott, a Cannon Operator, the Psychopaths seemed to be dispersing and starting to retreat.” Scott informed her. [Scott is a Cannon Operator from the Defence Division. He is a tall, white-skinned, white haired teenager, he has tattoos around his neck and big earspools that made large holes on his ears.] “Good work on observing the situation Scott.” Praised by Captain Rian. [Scott smiled, bowed towards them and start walking away]

The sound is so infectious that I can’t help laughing too, still buried inside her. “That must have been horrifying,” she laughs. “Lock the door everything you come in here.” “I’m not always here to fuck you,” I argue. “And he should have minded his business, it was my name you screamed, not his.” Her lips part, mischief dancing in her eyes. “Would you prefer it if I were to scream his name instead? That’s a very weird kink but I can—” I slap a hand over her mouth. “I swear to God if you mention another man while I’m inside you, he dies, Siren.”

The ferry sliced through the Tyrrhenian Sea under a moonless sky, its engines humming like a warning. Amaro stood at the bow, his eyes fixed on the dark silhouette of Sardinia rising in the distance. The island looked different now—less like a sanctuary, more like a battlefield. Lucia joined him, her coat pulled tight against the wind. “Are you sure about this?” she asked. “No,” Amaro replied. “But we don’t have a choice.”

"So there is something that is making them risk attacking on the coast." "And we believe that it has to do with the irish sirens," says the scientist guy who was at the bar, speaking with burning eyes fixed on me. I feel fragile like a piece of glass about to break under his gaze, when he says the word "siren" I feel that he takes hold of me, of my secrets and my life. "Who are you?" Seila asks in a seductive tone, staring intently at her savior. "My name is Matias, and I won't forget you," he replies.

' she asked, and I nodded. 'I don't understand. I have never met a Siren in real life or heard a death song before because the people who hear it don't survive, but as soon as the siren started humming it, I immediately knew it was a death song, and I even unintentionally closed my ears. How did I know it was the death song? It was like a distant memory and my subconscious telling me to not hear it any further,' I said to her, and she hummed in reply, not saying anything else.

It quivered, holy and ridiculous. Tony ducked, peeked, crossed himself with the speed of a man who’d practiced both sin and forgiveness. “Thank you,” he whispered, and hauled on the bottle like a lifeline. The Siren bucked. Not a wave. Something else. The kind of jolt that rearranges organs. Cabin Stephen bounced off a bulkhead, breath gone. “Jesus Christ! What the hell was that?!” Compasses spun drunk. Radar snowed and stuttered. He grabbed the CB. “Base, come in—this is the Siren! Over!”

She opened it to a blank page. "Show me," she whispered to the echo. "Show me your story." The memory washed over them all. It was not a vision of destruction like Lytheria. It was a simple, domestic tragedy. A young woman, Maya, lived here with her fisherman husband and their baby boy. One night, a storm rose from nowhere. Her husband was at sea. She put her son to bed, singing him a lullaby. A wave, higher than any before, smashed into the cottage. It washed the cradle out to sea. She had searched the shore for days, but the ocean never gave her son back. Her grief had been so powerful, so all-consuming, that it had etched itself into the very fabric of this place. She had become the Siren