Vallin honestly preferred the cells to this. At least there, he could converse with his crew, make jokes, keep his wit sharp. This room was dull and dark and above all, boring. He was hungry, too, and he had been for days, which was a terrible feeling. Like any sailor, his body was his most trusted weapon, and feeling it waste away was heartbreaking. Last night, he'd woken from a dream of eating raw potatoes. He'd do anything to have one.

He leaned his head against the wall, his wrists on his knees. He wanted his quarters, with the soft black duvet. He wanted a good bottle of liquor and his hat. His wheel and his coat. A bucket of clean water.

"Morning, Captain."

His head snapped up. No sound of the key, no sound of the door. "You're like a ghost," he said. "All creepy and quiet."

She locked the door behind her and tossed him something. He just managed to catch it—a single, raw, potato.

"You read minds, do you?" he asked, running his thumb over the skin.

She glanced at him and caught his eye. For the first time, she took a moment to reply. "You talk in your sleep," she explained.

"I do not," Vallin said, peeling away the skin of the potato to make sure it was real.

"You were mumbling about potatoes all night."

"I'm halfway to fifty," Vallin said. "I would know if I spoke in my sleep."

She laughed, reaching up to the window to check the locks. "If I went to bed with the King of the Sea, my first words in the morning probably wouldn't be that he talks in his sleep. Maybe the second night, but rumours are you don't do many of those."

Vallin frowned. Was she right? Did he talk in his sleep, and no one had bothered to tell him yet for fear of setting off his ego?

She laughed again at his expression, shaking her head. She nodded to the potato. "It was the first thing I saw in the mealroom, love. I have better things to do than press my ear to your door all night, and some things are simply coincidences."

Vallin put his potato down on the table. He'd save it. He rolled his shoulders forward, getting to his feet. "You must love coincidences."

"I do. They're fun."

He lifted his chin to the ceiling, trying to bottle up his annoyance and refocus them. "I want out, stunner," he told her. "I want my ship."

"I want the map," she replied.

"I don't believe you do," he said. "Somebody wants you to get the map, and you're doing it for them."

"Call it a collective goal."

Vallin rolled his eyes. He scaled back to the one possible plan he'd come up with in his time alone "I don't have the map on me," he began, "and it's not necessarily on the ship—which is not a situation you accounted for, probably because the words were fed to you. Therefore, I don't pick either of the two remaining options; I pick my own. I'll tell you where the map is when you let me out."

"Can't do that," she said.

"Then there'll be no map for you." He spun slowly and settled into the chair.

She watched him move, amber eyes clear and focused. "Should I get something sharp?" she asked. "Would it change your mind?"

Vallin shrugged. "Probably not."

There was humour in her eyes, maybe, but it didn't reach the rest of her face. She glanced down at her hands, where her knife appeared. "Are you sure?"

He lifted his brows. "Yes, but I am bored. Cutting me up would at the very least be something different."

She took a long inhale, seemingly deciding something. She spun the knife twice and pushed off the desk, making her way over to him. She knelt in front of him slowly, eyes still downcast on her knife.

"What else can I give you? To get you to tell?"

"You gave up on torture quickly," he noted.

"It'd be a shame to ruin that beautiful face." She switched her gears quickly, and now she was at peace, relaxed with her destination firmly set.

"Thank you," he said, tapping his finger against his knee. "And you can give me my ship back."

She watched his finger. "Pick something else."

Vallin sighed as he looked over at the wall. This was just a huge stalemate. They weren't getting anywhere.

"Come on, love," she pushed. She rolled forward onto the balls of her feet, resting her forearms on his knees. There was a lot of weight to her and a sharpness to her elbows, almost like she wanted to cause just the slightest bit of discomfort. She raised her chin, eyes up to see him. "There must be something," she said, voice a little quieter than before.

Vallin watched her. He could lean forward in the chair, push her little game further than she was surely willing to play, but he played it safe first. "I want to speak with the leader," he said. His voice had fallen lower in the proximity of her, as if speaking too loud around her wasn't allowed.

"I'm not the leader," she said. "Not in name, but I do make the calls. If you want to change your fate, it's me you have to convince."

Vallin held her gaze. It was sharp, sure, but it was just too pretty to be as intense as she wanted it to be. He glanced at the knife entwined in her fingers; he could try and reach for it, but that was just a fickle game.

He frowned, looking closer at her fingers. He leaned forward, hooking his pinky around the ring finger of her free hand. There was a black band tattooed around the base.

"You have Siren blood, then," he noted. One could not have a tattoo like this if they didn't.

"Why, do I seem like one?"

When she spoke, he realized how close his movement had put him to her. He glanced down at her. "No, not at all. Your name."

There was a little tug near her brow as she searched his face. "What?"

"Your name, stunner. That's what I want."

She held his gaze, but she had faltered, just for a second. She'd been too close, lost her words like a port girl.

"I can't give you my name," she said.

"Because I'd recognize it."

Vallin hadn't realized she'd never properly smiled until she finally did. She grinned, an objectively dazzling expression, with two sharp canines on display.

"You're a smart man," she told him, seemingly cool and calm again. "That's far more points in my book than those eyes."

Vallin kept his attention on her. Before, it could've just been circumstance that put them so close, but now it was her clear attempt at seduction. It was peculiar to him that he hadn't really seen her as a romantic possibility until she made herself appear that way. It should've been obvious, maybe, considering how she looked and how he was, but she'd been too high of a threat right from the start for him to contemplate it.

"Are you flirting with me?" he asked, holding tight to her finger. "You're a little young for me, no?"

She let her eyes fall for just a fraction, then brought her gaze back up. It was a subtle display of submission, something she knew he'd find desirable on her. "I think you like them that way," she said, her voice very quiet. "You like the power it gives you."

He remained still, for he didn't like that at all. Sure, he'd mocked her first, but hers was worse, and it was also better. Insinuating he was so insecure he used someone younger to combat it was a brilliantly manipulative way to make him feel like a fake. If he'd been any other man, he might've fallen for it, but he had his clear head still, and he was well aware of the fact that he'd never once gone after someone significantly younger than him.

"I know women like you," he said, taking his time. He might not snap out his replies as fast as her, but he would do the same damage. "You play your little games, you smother me in your faux confidence, but it's all hollow." He twirled a long black strand of her hair around his finger, forming his words. "I usually keep my distance from the young ones, because most of them are like you—pining for older men in a desperate attempt to have control over something in their lives. If you can get an authoritative man on his knees, then you'll feel a little bit of the power you both crave and can't seem to obtain any other way. Is that it, stunner?"

And he hit the nerve, he knew it. Something deep in her eyes was not so in control, was not so calm. She held his gaze for a very long time.

"You're right, love," she whispered. "I can admit I have a thing for authority. But that's not you, not now. You're captive, hoping for a saviour. Your ship is mine, your crew is mine. There is no power of yours I don't already have."

He leaned back a little, rolling his eyes. So he'd had her for a second, and now she was all collected again. He'd never win this.

"Hey," she said, moving her arm until it was parallel to his thigh. "Don't give up, love. Tell me what you want—other than your ship, other than my name."

He shook his head, annoyed at the powerlessness, at the frustration.

"What's your first name, love?" she asked, rolling onto her toes, reaching for his face to turn his attention back. "Vallin? That's it, right?"

He did turn to look at her, but he wished she'd take her hand away. She was so pretty, and now that she'd put the idea in his head, it wouldn't leave without a fight.

"Vallin," she said, so personal and intimate it was borderline ridiculous. "Come on, love. Tell me what you want."

He felt her long fingers on his jaw. This was just so unfair; why couldn't he have met her under different circumstances, where he could play this game and enjoy himself?

"Don't play Siren with me," he told her. "It won't work."

She grinned again, canines wickedly sharp. Vallin could only imagine the kind of cuts she gave her lovers. For a night with her, one would have to bleed.

He felt her put more weight on his legs as she leaned forward. She slid her fingers behind his neck and whispered, "Oh, they bleed." He felt her push away his knee so she could get closer. "But they never seem to care."

He could feel the warmth of her body, the brush of the words against his jaw, the movement of her forearms from his knees to his thighs. Her mindreading trick was dizzying, and although he knew the pressure of her fingertips was calculated, it felt graceful and effortless to him.

"Tell me that it won't work once more time, love," she said. She moved her fingers down to the collar of his shirt, her face disappearing from his view as she tilted her head down. He felt her lips touch the skin under his jaw. "Say it again," she said.

Vallin could, of course. He had every ability to push her away and make a fool of her, obviously, but he really didn't want to. He'd just let her go a little further, get more of her before he stopped. He lifted his hand to her waist, let her go on with her little game.

She leaned into him more, up his neck, over his jaw. He felt a little bit of vertigo come on, so he closed his eyes. That wasn't her causing that, was it?

Her hand was around the back of his head, threaded through his hair. He felt the nick of one of those canines near his ear, heard her let out a long breath. He should stop her now.

He lifted his hand to her shoulder, trying to get his balance again. His head felt clouded, his fingers like lead. What was the test happening? He couldn't remember. He felt impatient about something, though. Right, she was there, her lips were there. Oh, he was failing this test, wasn't he?

Whatever. It wasn't this big of a deal. He curled his thumb over her throat, pulling her back just an inch so he could get his chin down to meet her.

She was standing before Vallin had the chance to realize what he was about to do. His skin was cold where her hands had been, but his neck felt hot. She walked back to the table, glancing over at him.

"Say it now, then, because you had trouble saying anything before." She turned to face him again as he caught his breath. "Tell me again how this game won't work on you, love."

"You're a Siren," he breathed.

She laughed, glancing away.

"You're a Siren," he snapped, getting to his feet. He was sure of it now—the tattoo wasn't the only reason he thought so; no normal woman could make a perfectly controlled man flail as he just had.

"Does it make you feel better to believe that?" she asked. "To believe it's not a lack of control on your part or a talent that I have over you, it's just magic?"

"You're a Siren," he snapped again, not daring to take another step.

"I'll say it one last time," she insisted, matching his tone. "I have some of their look, and I play a bit of their game when it suits me, but there is not one singular part of me that contains anything magical. What happened to you was nothing more than a performance I'm good at that you fell for."

Vallin let out a scoff. "You think I've never had a woman kiss my neck before? You think I've never been around a pretty girl? You're a Siren."

"Look at that," she mused. "I've got you all riled up, and I barely touched you. Imagine what I could do if I laid it on thick. Imagine what I could get you to tell me, Captain. Are you following?"

Vallin was most assuredly following. She thought she could get him to talk about the map if she got him in that position again. She probably could. In fact, just now, she probably should've. He blinked.

"But you didn't," he said.

Her eyes snapped to him, all the confirmation he needed. He smiled at his edge, his newfound perfect angle. "You didn't," he repeated. "You and your Siren-thing—"

"Siren-thing?" she asked, her last-ditch attempt at deflection.

"Don't cut me off. You had me where you needed me and yet you didn't ask me anything about the map. It's just a hollow threat."

She lifted her chin and said nothing, but her eyes said plenty.

He laughed, feeling surety return. "There it is," he announced. "There's your damn weakness. All the Siren power in the world and you refuse to use it." He sputtered out another laugh.

She was losing more of her face as the seconds went by, the thin cords in her neck flexing as she swallowed.

Vallin was so amused that he didn't notice. "Who are you trying to impress?" he asked. "You've got a man that you're desperately in love with? A father who abandoned you?" He paused, tilting his head. "No, no—your mother?"

Her jaw was set, her eyes like stone.

"Oh, it's your mother. That's who you're trying to impress," he concluded. "Hard upbringing? Refused to offer you praise, taught you the Siren tactics. By the Devil, how did I not see this? What woman looks like you and doesn't choose seduction as a first resort? You're desperate to prove your worth; everyone thinks you're a better fuck than you are a mind."

She hardly had to step forward to reach him. She drove her elbow into his throat, reaching for his shoulders when he stepped back, choking. He went to push her away, but she'd already curled her fingers around his throat, pulling him down so she could knee him in the stomach. When he folded, she slid her thumbs into his trachea, digging in. He felt around for her wrists, struggling to get a hold of her.

Her face wasn't vicious or angry, it was only her eyes that displayed even the hint of frustration. She lifted her chin as she pressed harder and harder, the skin on his neck breaking, a place on him that she'd been so kind to just seconds ago.

Vallin tried to kick, to push, to do something to stop the dreadful feeling of being deprived of air. His head hit the back of the wall with a crack and lost his footing, falling to his knees.

She let go as he did, leaving him gasping for air. He clutched at his throat as though he couldn't breathe enough, other palm flat on the ground in front of him.

"You look good like that," she told him, kicking at one of his fingers with her foot.

Vallin took a ragged breath, looking up at her as he leaned back. He let out a strangled laugh, his eyes watering. "You make everything look good, stunner," he said. "Even that." He'd been giving her too much respect, focusing on her mind, her cleverness. He should've been reducing her down to a pretty face all this time.

Her eyes were dark as she leaned down to him, resting her forearms on her knees.

"It's not that I won't do it," she murmured. "It's that I'm desperate not to. And if you force me down that route, you'll get your five minutes in heaven, and then I'll have the map. I'll kill you, I'll kill your crew members—but I'll make you watch me burn every splinter of your beautiful ship before I burn you. I promise."

She didn't wait for a reply as she left, and he just shook his head, knowing he was the winner, knowing she knew it too.