A/N: Implications of rape, sex, blah blah blah. Read at your own discretion.

There was an old wives tale that sirens were young, beautiful women that had been thrown overboard of ships with their ankles and feet bound. These women sought revenge for their unlawful deaths, and would harm any human that got in their way. Nora could sympathise with these beings. Drowning must be a terribly painful way to die, and being thrown overboard like luggage because a boat was too heavy – well, it was disrespectful, really.

Revenge was a terrible emotion, but it kept Nora in work. She flicked her journal closed after tabbing the correct page with a bright pink post-it, tapping her pen on her chin.

"Miss Gray?"

Nora looked towards her most recent customer. "Yes?"

The man looked unsure. He'd been unsure from the start – seeing a young woman and instantly assuming inexperience. Well, there was no one better for him to deal with, and in all honesty the guy had given no evidence that a supernatural was involved, so anyone less desperate for work would pretty much take him as a joke.

The only thing he had going for him was that his wife was a faithful woman who would never, ever cheat on him. Her vows said so. And look at her smile – she was so happy with him. Why would she ever cheat? She must have been under the influence of something she couldn't control.

"Have you – have you found anything?"

"I'll need to look around the house," she said, perhaps to humour him. There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary – nothing that screamed supernatural. The unfortunate thing about sirens was that they were very hard to distinguish.

Nora scanned the house, focusing on the bedroom. Her pH scanners, sulfur scanners all concluded the same thing: there was nothing out of the ordinary.

Well, Nora was getting paid a sold twenty an hour. She could deal with squandering time.

"Anything yet?" he asked, following Nora close by.

"Unfortunately not," Nora said, placing her scanners back into their respective boxes.

The man jittered on his feet, fiddled with his fingers, rocked onto the balls of his feet. "But you believe me, right? There-there's something going on here, right?"

It was terrible to see a newly married couple torn apart like this.

"It's always difficult to tell. You think a supernatural being is involved; I've ruled out werewolves, demons, vampires and shapeshifters. Which is bad news for you."

"Oh."

"Yes," Nora continued, "Because even though those are the hardest to deal with, they're the easiest to discover. If anything, I think we're dealing with a siren."

"B-but, sirens are women."

"Yes."

"My - my wife is straight."

"Sir, you have to understand. Sirens are supernatural creatures – it's natural to be attracted to them, whether as a friend or a lover. As I said: this could as easily not be nothing."

The man gulped. He seemed to have difficulty grasping the concept.

"I'll keep an eye on your wife. You have nothing to worry about."

…

Nora had spent the last eight days keeping tabs on Scott's wife. She had followed the same schedule; go to work between nine and five (with an hours lunchbreak at twelve thirty), and then head home to her husband.

Scott had reported her coming home late inconsistently for two months prior to requesting aid. Nora was yet to see any evidence for that, and something in her mind concerned her that Scott's 'case' was just a hoax. But why would he pay her for a lie?

In all honesty, sirens were difficult to track. There was a possibility that, if Scott's wife had been tricked by a siren, that they would never find that siren. Nora was sure that no hunter envied her position of siren-hunting. It was like attempting to get through a maze with no exit.

Not only was there a difficulty with tracking sirens, but they were manipulative. They would use any weakness owned by a human against them. They would seduce family members, kill children: they had no limits. Even though they were once human, they hated the species more than greenflies hated ladybirds (which was saying something, considering ladybirds were positively evil).

It was on the ninth day of following Vee (Scott's wife) that Nora noticed something peculiar. The woman had received a call at work, and had left the office to answer it. Through the window, Nora could see Vee's grey blazer (and beautiful red stillettos) – Nora could see Vee's fingers twirling a blonde curl. When the woman put the phone down, her red lips were drawn into a wide, lovesick smile.

Nora had only dealt with a handful of sirens in her time, but that smile? She was sure that the phone call Vee had just received was not from anything human.

Even so, Nora phoned up Scott.

Nora: Hey, Scott.

Scott: [whispering] Nora, I'm at work. Is something the matter?

Nora: Did you just call Vee up?

Scott: [scoffs] No, she's at work. She goes off the rails if I do that.

…

Phone number and address in hand (thank you MyPhone sims, for easy hackability!), Nora drove up to her house. Rookie error number 1: not dressing for the occasion. The phone call had been made to Vee from a mobile that belonged to a Charlie Smith.

Nora peeled off her dark jeans and wore some faded blue ones instead. She decided that her black shirt would do, and Googled 'Charlie Smith.'

The Facebook results all come up for people who lived too far away, or were too old. Or male. The Google Image results responded similarly.

Who the hell was Charlie Smith?

Fraud wasn't alien to Nora. The high-functioning supernatural creatures would always be frauding their items – but it was rare for them to just make up a name. They would use the credentials of a real person, and then charge it to their account.

Oh well. Looking on Facebook was a long shot, anyways.

…

When Nora arrived at the location the call had been made – Bo's Arcade – she felt a tingle slither down her spine. Her Sensor Necklace burned.

A supernatural was around.

She heaved herself out of the car, flashing her fake ID to the security at the entrance, dropped the twenty-dollar fee into his hand and strolled right into the arcade, gaining a lazy look from the man.

This was not the usual hangout for a siren.

Stereotypically, sirens stayed in strip clubs or drug dens. They weren't in a gambling arcade that smelt more of smoke than sex.

Nora could hardly go around asking for a Charlie Smith, so she picked up a cue and went to a nearby empty snooker table. She quickly scanned her surroundings, only to see Vee talking to a dark-haired man. So maybe she wascheating on Scott? Well, it was hardly with a siren – all sirens were women. Always.

The man disengaged himself from Vee and scanned Nora's body from head to toe. It was no longer just her sensor necklace burning: it was everything. Fuck.

Was this normal seduction, or supernatural seduction? Was this guy otherworldly?

He certainly looked it. Dark hair, sharp jawline, toned arms and a thick Adam's apple…

"How much are you betting?" he asked, approaching the table.

Nora began to arrange the snooker balls in the triangle placement. "One truth."

He laughed, and a quick flick in Vee's direction said that she truly was enamoured. "What would I want to know about you, Angel?"

"Plently, I imagine. I'm a very interesting person."

"With an accent like that? Wondering what you're doing here, doll."

"Great," she said. "Let's get started."

…

Nora spent her time focussing on her opponent's mannerisms.

He was a good player: too good, in fact. Nora had been raised around beers and pool tables, but this guy was clearly in the big leagues.

The game was over and he had won.

"You're pretty good," Nora observed. She was a little rattled by him; his nearness sent her hairs on end, and she had to bite her lip to supress an embarrassing moan too many times when he came close. What was she, a tweenager with her first crush? She tried to breathe it all down and out. Girls had it hard in the hunting business. To get respect she couldn't just fuck around and try to figure out the suspect's aftershave (which she was sure in a different realm than the Axe her father wore). Vee was quick to come and congratulate his win, giving him a sloppy kiss and smearing her lipstick further.

He smirked slightly. "So tell me doll, what're you doing here?"

Nora smiled toothily. His presence was so alluring that she felt on edge – she was sure that these were all of the symptoms of a siren but this being was a male, and she was so confused.

"I'm looking for someone," she said, leaning against the pool table. Her eyes flitted towards Vee and she wondered what protocol was. Should she tell Scott that she found him or what?

The man grinned. "Who're they? I could help you." He grinned and bit his lip alluringly, and her eyes homed in on it (it was like he was doing it in slow motion), one arm around a newlywed and his other gripping the pool cue, twisting it on the floor.

Nora shook her head, trying to rattle herself out of the haze. She opened her mouth to agree – anything to spend more time with this man, to get closer to that mouth – but instead she came out with a disappointing, "I'll figure it out."

"Well," he says, "if you want help, ask around for me. The name's Charlie Smith." And he grinned toothily as if he knew exactly why she was there, and something surprisingly cold clenched in her chest. He licked his lips and looked down her body. The trickle of heat had been replaced by something wholly unnerving. "I'd love to devour you, Angel. I've got a thing for redheads." Vee giggled from his side, pawing closer to him, and Nora felt a flash of jealousy that she knew wasn't hers but it was hers at the same time – she was sure he was putting on a glamour of sorts to get Nora to fight Vee for his attention, but fuck it felt more like a siren's allure rather than a vampire's glamour and the scanners at Scott's had ruled out vamps –

Nora would have to reseach sirens and come back.

…

Nora contemplated the possibility that perhaps she just encountered a very attractive male specimen and maybe she hadn't gotten laid in a while so her hormones were all over the place.

Maybe Vee was seriously just cheating on Scott? Maybe no supernaturals were involved.

Her texts on supernaturals all indicated that sirens were females, having no recorded male ones…Nora considered that perhaps some men were thrown overboard to drown also, but that didn't make sense – to drown someone and kill them in order for them to come back as a siren, there was a ritual. It wasn't a crazy paint-symbols-onto-my-body-and-throw-me-into-the-sea – it was a more I'm-a-woman-so-sexually-assault-me-you-disgusting-dogs-break-my-jaw-so-I-can't-breathe-throw-me-into-the-sea. She couldn't see the same thing happening to a guy, not because they couldn't get sexually assaulted but more because why would someone want to? Men at that time did not have the same sexual liberties as they had now; they couldn't commit sodomy without potentially getting hung or ridiculed.

But maybe it happened once – maybe this man, this Charlie Smith who had obviously goaded her had been thrown out to sea only to come back as a siren. And how easy would he have it? Not only was he practically undetectable, but many hunters would rule him out as he was a man. The way he had acted would imply that he knew of Nora's day job, but how could he?

Nora pondered her covert skills way into the night…she cleaned her guns and organised her tranqs.

She considered asking for outside help, but they hadn't been there – they would tell her to fuck off and stop wasting their time. Sirens were not men. Sirens were weak and sickly females who were thrown off ships after being sexually exploited. They were usually kept as sex slaves in the first place. Men don't fuck men…

What if there was a ship of women fucking a man? Practically impossible…it was against society's norms for women to even go on a ship as a sailor, let alone for them to have some walking dildo. If they were a pirate ship – then potentially…

Nora shook her head. All of her evidence was so circumstantial, based on a single encounter which may or may not have been so titillating because of how potentially horny she was.

Nora shook her head. She was working in circles.

…

Nora laid off tailing Vee for the next few days.

She was shut in her home, pouring over old texts and attempts to find more about Charlie Smith. But the guy was good.

And there was her clue.

If Charlie Smith was human, why would he be so careful to cover his tracks? Okay, perhaps he was doing illegal things. He was good at pool – he could have been a heavy gambler. But to have no records, to not even have an account to have your rent charged to? It was suspicious. Nora hacked into the CCTV outside Bo's Arcade and watched hours of footage, waiting for him to step out of a car.

A couple of hours of live footage later, he did. Nora noted down the numberplate of his car and scanned it through the police system.

It didn't exist.

The numberplate was a fake.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Usually they were stolen cars. Fuck. Nora fed the car information through police reports, looking for missing Jeeps – maybe Smith had done the car up and altered the hood so the police couldn't find it – but there were no records of a Jeep of that year and make going missing in a hundred mile radius.

This guy was in something deep. Usually humans who fucked around with the law kept alternate personas which they could blame their proceedings onto. They didn't just not have any records.

Nora considered that the guy was a siren. Her whole job was based on the notion that beings that other people didn't believe in did exist. How much of a stretch would it be to believe in a male siren? All of the evidence pointed towards it. Using sexuality to attract victims was something that sirens or vampires did, and Smith was for sure not a vampire.

Nora's phone gave her a notification – something from Scott. She opened it up.

A new Facebook page had been made three days before, when Nora had visited the arcade. Fucking shitting hell.

Charlie Smith. In a relationship with Vee Sky.

His profile photo was a clear image of his face, lips pulled into a condecending smile.

Charlie Smith photographed with Vee Sky at Bo's Arcade – 45 minutes ago.

Charlie Smith photographed with Vee Sky at Bo's Arcade – 1 day ago.

Charlie Smith photographed with Vee Sky at Bo's Arcade – 2 days ago.

Charlie Smith photographed with Vee Sky at Bo's Arcade – 3 days ago.

He was goading her – she knew it. Given time stamps and the exact location of where he was at every minute – oh he was good, he was so fucking good, so fucking confident, fuck, and to tag Vee in it, it was almost like he –

Fuck.

Scott had seen the account.

Scott knew where they both were.

Nora scrambled to get up. He was her client. Like fuck she was going to let his family get torn apart by this (siren) under her watch.

…

"Oh, Nora!" he sung after her. "Nora~!"

Nora turned to the parking lot outside the arcade where the noise was coming from.

"Funny what a little Facebook can do, isn't it Angel?" He crossed his arms and his biceps bulged. Nora gulped.

"Where's Vee?" she asked. Make sure she's safe, thenengage contact.

Smith smirked. "Took that picture ages ago, sweetheart. Knew it'd come in handy." He gave her the up-down. "Say, wanna go out for a…ride?" He leant forward at the last word, beckoning her closer…and who was Nora to reject the allure of a drool-worthy siren? She would go in his car…ride him anywhere.

Nora blinked and grabbed the handle of her dagger.

"Shut up, you filthy siren. Scum like you don't deserve to exist."

He laughed gently, tsking her. "That's where you're wrong, Angel. You see, I used to think that too…long ago." Patch leant against the side of the car, and Nora unconsciously started slowly stepping towards him. "Very long ago. But then I thought, well – why would I be given a second chance at life if I didn't deserve it? You humans are the ones that only have one shot. Is it my fault that God deems you unworthy for a second chance?" Patch smirked. "Tell me, Nora. Whose fault is it really?"

She was too busy trying to breathe to reply. His presence was so intoxicating. Nora was panting like a dog. One of her hands reached out to touch him. Her fingers were on the smooth contours of his clothed chest, teeth begging for a bite of smooth, tanned skin. She wanted to press her lips into his chest, she wanted to lick his whole body.

"That's it, Angel," he encouraged softly. He hummed and placed his big, hot palm on the back of her neck. "C'mon, pretty. How 'bouts you get in the car?" he said. Nora followed his instructions dutifully. Her phone beeped a notification and he stuck his hand in her back pocket for it, squeezing her arse and making her breath hitch. "Oh, you won't need that," he said calmly, dropping the device to the floor. Nora nodded desperately, just let him put his hands on me make him touch me everywhere please please please, and her request was answered when he started leading her to the car yes oh yes and then he was strapping her seatbelt on, his scent so strong when he leant over to buckle her in.

His lips pulled into an amused smile. "Everything okay, doll?"

She nodded desperately, placing her palm on the side of his face. There was humour in his eyes but Nora could only consider how attractive it looked there.

"You keep looking at me like that and I won't be able to wait until we get to my place." His smile was sinister and his tongue flicked out over his sharp teeth. Her eyes anchored to that tongue and she was sure she was drooling.

He shut the car door and fluidly hopped in on his own side. "When I start," he said, his eyes hooded, "The only name I want you to be screaming is Patch. Y'hear me, Angel."

"Patch," she repeated in a breath.

He grinned. "That's good, Angel. Seems like you've got practise with that."

Nora gasped. Her lips pulled into a thin line as she tried to stop herself from making any more noise. Her heart was hammering and he shifted the gear stick and rested his hand on her upper thigh.

His fingers started fiddling with her zipper. "You horny, Angel?"

She nodded feverhently.

"Mmm," he replied. "You smell horny. You smell…delicious."

Her thighs started quivering on the leather seat.

He squeezed her thigh. "I just wanna taste you," he hissed. "You all right with that?"

She nodded again, a crazy swirling in her head.

They were back in his apartment.

Nora had no idea of how they got there. All she was aware of was the stifling heat about her. His hands had touched her but not enough, not everywhere. She was hot for him in an otherworldly way.

"The bedroom's this way, Angel," he said, and lead her by the hand. They walked together in the darkness. Nora could see the curvatures of his strong back muscles, the smooth smile when he looked back towards her. They reached their destination and he pushed her onto the black bedspread.

"So hot for me," he complimented, licking over his teeth. "You hot for me, Angel?"

"Yes," she gasped when he moved to lean over her from between her thighs. Her head fell back on the pillows.

"I love this – power – I have over your body," he whispered seductively, nose skimming her neck. "You know that, Angel? I love it."

"I-I love it too-" she gasped, his tongue flicking out over the plane of her neck.

"Fuck," he said with a smirk. "When they beg – " He groaned and started sucking on her earlobe. One of his hands left her side and skimmed up her thigh. "Begging for me – just like I begged them," he says, "But now it's me – it's me."

She whimpered desperately, twisting on the bed. "Please, Patch –"

"Yes," he hummed. "Say my name, Angel. Say it."

"Patch, I need more, I want more –"

He giggled. It was out of place. He moved his face into her field of view. "And tell me, Angel…what have you done to deserve that?"

"I – I –" Nora thought desperately but she was grasping at straws -

"That's it," he hissed. "Try to justify yourself just like your faggot grandfather. Or great-grandfather." He laughed. "Fuck if I know. It's been hundreds of years." His hand went to her neck to hold her down – (breath play?) "Hundreds of years. Searching for you. The remaining lineage – of Angel the Strong. So strong he – " His face twisted at the memory. His grip tightened on her neck. "So strong he died. When I killed him."

Nora gasped on the bed, one of her hands clawing at his.

"I finally got you, Angel. I got you. And I've got two options." He let go of her throat and smiled at her teasingly. "I could…" his hand ran up her thigh as she coughed and twisted on the bed, "Fuck you till you can't think of any dick but mine. Or…" his tone quickly changed from violent to jovial, hand running up her body and he gripped her throat again, "I could eat you…all - up." He licked the side of her cheek, her chest aching in panic. "Foundation. Delicious."

Her chest was stilled in panic.

"Oh, you scared now?" he whispered soothingly, running his fingers through her hair. "My little huntress. Lost all that fight in you, sweetheart? Poor girl. Is the wittle siren being mean to you, Angel?" His fingers gripped her hair and angled her head upwards. "It smells so good…when they cry…" His tongue flicked out to capture a tear. "You taste good – it's like you're begging me to eat you. What was it you said before, doll? That you were all right with me tasting you – just one little taste?"

"No – no –" her feelings were so mixed up. She was hot – so hot at Patch's presence – but she was scared as fuck. She still wanted to pull him in closer, have him fuck her till she could barely walk –

"Nah nah nah," he tsked teasingly. "You don't get to choose. Just like – I – didn't get to choose. Sounds fair, right?"

"Patch – please –" her throat heaved – she was so desperate –

His jagged teeth glimmered in the moonlight. Two rows of rare pearls.

"You're beautiful on my bed. Beautiful." He jutted his hips into hers. "Mouth wide open just begging for my cock. Is that what you want?" His hand was on her neck again, "Well you don't get deserved to be fucked by me." Nora whined on the bed. "Oh – you don't like that, sweetheart? Kinky little slut. This is all just turning you on, isn't it?" He leant back and laughed. "Well shocker, sweetheart. Sex isn't supposed to feel good." He angled her neck to the side and her eyes bugged. "Just one little taste –"

Nora writhed on the bed.

"The last bloodline of Angel the Strong," he whispered softly. "It took me so long to find you. Stop moving, Angel. I want to savour this." His thumb pressed into her jaw roughly and suddenly everything stilled. "Such a beautiful ivory neck. I ache to taste you. To have my teeth inside of you. Do you want that, Angel? To have me inside of you?"

He laughed. Then he pounced. And red suited Nora more than ivory ever could.