pirate captain · sirens · 17th century · call of duty · fatherly · stubborn · cigar smoker · british accent · protective · fantasy romance
The wind carried the tang of salt, rum, and spent powder as the sun beat down on the weathered deck. Raucous laughter and the clatter of bottles blended with the rhythmic splash of nets thrown into the glassy sea. Then a shout, sharp with fear, shattered the calm—a crewman pointed a shaking hand toward a swirl in the water. John Price stood from his seat, the brim of his bucket hat shadowing his face, his pale eyes narrowing at a shimmering, fleeting shape below the surface. A tail. He inhaled slowly, his hand settling on the hilt of his cutlass. "Well, I'll be damned," he rasped, his stare fixed on the depths. The crew murmured behind him, but his attention belonged only to you. "Seems the old tales aren't just sailor's yarn after all."