Fall in Deep: Deep Sea Chronicles, #1

By Aleera Anaya Ceres

This seemed forbidden somehow.

Dangerous.

"I intend to take my time with you," he whispered. "To thoroughly enjoy every inch."

Detective Tyler Marx thinks the legends surrounding Blood Island are ridiculous. There were no such thing as mermaids, and there were certainly no sea creatures lurking in the water. When men start disappearing, he's sent to work the case, and all evidence leads him straight to Aeliana.

She is the most alluring woman on the island, and he's not entirely immune to her charms, but there's something dangerous and ethereal about her that makes him think she could be the one behind it all...

Aeliana has a secret.

She's a siren of the deep, sent by her Queen to sacrifice humans in an important blood rite. But when a detective is sent to thwart her plans, she has no choice but to include him. The fact that he awakens desires in her is irrelevant. Because Aeliana cannot let him live.

Will Marx discover what secrets this woman holds, or will he fall deep into the trance—and passions—of the siren's call?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aleera Anaya Ceres
• Release date: Feb 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201102890

Book preview

Prologue

The night was dark, ominous and full of music. Not with the music of modern day instruments, but music of another sort. The kind that erupted into a cymbal of bloody waves crashing to the shore, of the beating of savage heartbeats, the soft melody of a humming voice, and the low baritone of men begging for their lives.

She frowned at the last sound, as she always frowned when they broke out of the trance she’d put them under. It was always just a brief moment when the men saw the real faces that had awed them. The glamour would wear off and gone would be the immaculate skin and luscious lips. In its place they’d find dagger sharp teeth and black, soulless eyes. It was in that brief glimpse that they’d open their mouths to scream.

The sound never got very far. Not when their throats were suddenly ripped out with those same teeth and their cries became gurgles. And that, in her opinion, was a much sweeter melody.

She laid leisurely against a slippery mountain of rocks, her hand running across the surface of it as she sang. Her hand went between the spaces of two rocks and she pulled out an ivory human skull. She held the thing in her palm and looked through the holes of the eyes. Remnants of human kills were scattered around there, like pirate treasure buried in plain sight.

With a soft snort, she discarded it, not caring that it bounced and buried into the sand below. Soon, the white-red waves would haul it back into the ocean, where it would sink to the seafloor and become the home of a little fish.

This was their feeding grounds. It had been for centuries. The hundreds of skulls that littered about was the only proof of their existence. Sirens. Creatures with beauty and cruelty in equal measure. The proof of the latter was in the cracked skulls and bones beneath her.

Humans. Such fragile things. They fought endless wars over race, religion, and sexuality. In the end, all of humanity was the same; they bled the same, they screamed the same, and their bones were the same.

Soon, the screaming stopped altogether, as her melody and enchanting voice slowly began to fall towards its end. As her song faded into the waves, she watched them. Red and white crashing against the sand. And in the water, her sisters finished grazing on their meals, pulling flesh from bone and smacking their lips as they chewed.

She slid off the rock, the jagged edges of it catching against her scales. As soon as she touched the ground, her magnificent blue tail became a pair of long, slender legs. Myths and legends said that if drops of water touched her skin, her tail would appear as if by magic. The legends were wrong. Her tail could appear in the ocean or even out of it, if she so wished.

She walked along the edge of the shore, to a place where the water didn’t quite touch her, and looked out as her sisters began to disperse, discarding the flesh and bones they did not desire for the sharks before diving back into the water. Only one siren remained, her body bobbing above the surface.

Aeliana, the siren in the water whispered. Her voice was enchanting, a whisper and a command. Her hair was the bright color of a human flame, and a crown of coral and bone adorned her head. In her hands, she held a similarly made Trident, attached to it, tied together with thin strips of kelp, were the remnants of her kills. A tooth, an eyeball preserved in glass, the jagged bones of a ribcage…

My Queen, Aeliana replied, inclining her head in a bow. She did not dare speak her name. The Queen’s name was too powerful for anyone to speak, even her. I trust tonight’s feast was to your liking.

It was. Her Queen rose slightly and Aeliana held her breath, wondering if she would come forth to land. When she did not, Aeliana chastised herself for even thinking it. As if her Queen would ever sully her tail by coming on human lands.

That was reserved for the lesser sirens.

Sirens like her.

Do the humans suspect? the Queen asked.

They do not, Your Majesty.

Good. I expect you to continue to be discreet.

Always, Your Majesty.

There was silence after that. A silence in which the Queen stroked her pointed chin in thought before she set her sharp, blue eyed gaze on Aeliana once more. The Blood Moon approaches, she commented softly. You know the traditions. You know the stakes.

She did. The Blood Moon was a sacred time for their race. It marked the path of their future, it told them what their lives would be. Or, it could end their lineage drastically. I do, my Queen.

Go and find them, then. And we will see each other again soon.

Aeliana nodded her assent, but the Queen was already diving back into the water and leaving her alone. She stared at the surface of the water for a moment longer before she turned and began walking away into the night.

There was much to do.

And so very little time to do it.

Chapter 1

The legends surrounding Blood Island, Maine were rather ridiculous. Or so Detective Tyler Marx thought. He wasn’t a man of legends and mythology, fantasy and the like. He was a man of science and investigation. A man of, ‘if you can see it and touch it, it’s real.’ So, he thought it was a waste of time that he’d been called to the island to solve the mysterious disappearances of tourists.

Of course, it wasn’t a waste of time to discover the why or the how they’d disappeared. He was rather looking forward to that part. What he did not enjoy was what the locals told him each and every time he had tried to ask questions. They’d thrown mystic mumbo jumbo his way as if it were fact and he’d been left at square one, not knowing how to solve this mystery.

Men were have said to go missing around these parts, every month for the past three years like traditional clockwork. From what he’d gathered, it was either because they were being sacrificed to the ocean, the mermaids took them, or they were simply lost to King Triton.

A load of shit, if he said so himself.

There was no such thing as magic, and there was no such thing as mermaids. It didn’t matter if their island was famous for those things. They were in the twenty-first century. Adults should not have been believing in that sort of hocus pocus.

He’d already interviewed the local police, to see how far they’d gotten in their own investigation. Instead of saying anything, they’d chuckled. Sheriff Bayard had reached his short, chubby fingers into a filing cabinet and pulled out a thin manila folder, tossing it onto the desk in front of Marx.

As if that were answer enough to his inquiries.

Marx had taken the folder and gone out of that police station. It hadn’t really been a welcoming environment, and he thought better in the great outdoors anyway. So he went to pick up some coffee and a quick to-go meal at a local fast-food joint, and drove the truck he’d rented down by the beach.

He sat in the back, legs dangling off the sides of the vehicle, to eat and go over what the police had. Which was, he saw bitterly, nothing. Nothing but the names of the few people who had gone missing. A few locals and tourists. He wondered, a little cynically, if they would have even called him here to solve this if the tourists hadn’t gone missing.

He tossed the near empty file aside and pressed his elbows into his knees as he looked at the scenery before him. The parking space ended just at the edge of crisp, brown sand that sloped down and expanded for what looked like miles. The ocean met the sand in white and blue waves. There was nothing beyond that except the tall tower of a lighthouse near the end of the island’s lonely, rocky curve.

Marx couldn’t imagine it. Living by a beach, waking up to this view every morning. He’d been born and bred in the city, could barely fall asleep without the sound of the rushing subway outside of his door. He enjoyed going outside, though. Enjoyed walking around and hiking occasionally. His AA sponsor had recommended it, and he found it was a bit of advice that had stuck with him the most whenever he found himself craving a drink.

He always found himself wanting something to drink and smoke in stressful situations. He’d given up those bad habits years ago, but the craving was still there, stuck tightly in the back of his throat. Unfortunately, he couldn’t give in to his cravings. He would be forced to push through the day, reminding himself that the alcohol was not something he needed. Even if his body betrayed him, telling him otherwise.

It was something he’d trained himself to live without, and though a big part of him still longed for it, to have a bottle within reach, he was able to push it aside, inhale, and go on with his day. Nothing but the memory of how it tasted on the tip of his tongue.

And that would have to suffice.

Inhaling the salty, warm air, Marx leaned back on the palms of his hands. The beach was active today. Then again, it was a Saturday so that shouldn’t have been surprising. He watched almost absentmindedly as—obvious—tourists began taking pictures of the ocean and scenery, while the locals enjoyed their current freedom with a game of beach volleyball.

He turned his eyes to the game with sudden rapt attention. There was a mix of male and female players. One female in particular caught his eye. A young woman of about twenty-five. Her legs were long and muscular, her skin tone a rich, golden brown and her hair long, dark, and wavy. And she was a beauty. Probably the most beautiful woman Detective Marx had ever seen, and he was from the city. Beautiful women came in abundance. Her skin was perfectly unblemished and smooth, her hair looked like it was made from liquid night and would run smoothly through his fingers. Her eyes were wide, though he couldn’t discern what color they were from where he sat. Dark, he imagined, as dark and as beautiful as the rest of her.

He found himself smiling as he watched her lips curl up to do the same. She ran around, concentrating on the game. She was so into it that when she dove into the sand to hit the ball, she didn’t notice the passing man stumbling along the edge of their space when she ran into him, both of them falling into the sand.

Being from the city, Detective Marx had a sixth sense. He always knew when things were going to go sour. Being a cop in NYC had taught him to recognize the signs, at least. He was off the truck in a blink, stuffing the file quickly into the back of his jeans before making his way down the slope of sand. Just in time, because the angry man who’d been knocked over was standing up and yelling at the woman, getting impossibly close to her face.

Marx didn’t know if he ran or walked, but he suddenly found himself near them as quickly as if he’d blinked. The man didn’t notice his arrival, still yelling at the beautiful woman. Behind her, her volleyball team stood around, shuffling their feet like a bunch of incompetent fools.

He schooled his face into a mask of seriousness and prepared to use his, what his wife used to call, cop voice. Is there a problem here, sir?

The man abruptly stopped talking and turned his sharp gaze to Marx. The woman finally acknowledged him, even if it was with a frown on her face. Who the hell are you? the man asked, his voice guttural, and much to Marx’s disdain, breath reeking of alcohol.

He could feel everyone’s attention raptly turn to him, but he didn’t falter. He knew small town folk were territorial and wary of strangers. He’d been told as much when Chief Whitman had prepared him for his temporary transfer. He knew he wouldn’t be welcomed. It was just a matter of preparing for when that happened. Which would obviously begin now.

He pulled out his badge from his back pocket and flashed it. Detective Tyler Marx, NYCPD. He pocketed his badge again and crossed his arms over his chest. What’s the problem here, sir?

The man’s chest puffed out, all haughty arrogance. This bitch knocked me over! he accused, pointing a finger at the beautiful woman.

Maybe you should be more attentive to your surroundings. When the man gave Marx a furious look, the detective pointed to the make-believe lines in the sand marking the volleyball area. Everyone should know that a beach volleyball field measures sixteen meters long and eight meters wide. Okay, maybe that wasn’t something everyone knew. Marx only knew because a year ago, he’d been in charge of solving a murder that had occurred on a volleyball court. Surprising, what one learned on the job. You invaded the space as they were playing. Besides, it was also an accident.

The man’s face flushed angrily under the bright glow of the sun. He was red faced already, so he looked rather sunburnt with his ruddy cheeks and long curved nose. He sputtered, fuming. I don’t give a rat’s ass if it was an accident or not. She nearly broke my back. I’ll probably need to go to the doctor because of her.

Marx fought not to roll his eyes at the man. He’d seen his type before, had dealt with it on more than one occasion. Drunken money grubbers were the worst. No real damage had been done to him, but he felt like she owed him and he would spout his rage until he intimidated her into paying. Money he’d probably blow on alcohol and drugs.

He wasn’t impressed. And he wouldn’t let this man bully her into anything.

If you hurt yourself, I’d say it’s your own fault. And I could have you arrested right here and right now for being a public disturbance and for harassment.

The threat hit the spot. The man staggered back in the sand, his eyes widening to an impossible fraction. He looked from detective Marx to the woman and her companions. No one said a word, leaving his fate up to him. Finally he scoffed, kicking up a bit of sand. Marx didn’t move.

Screw all of you, he grumbled unhappily and turned and marched away.

Marx let his lips twist into a small smile of satisfaction. Finally, he turned to face the crowd. The first thing he noticed was that, up close, she was even more beautiful than from far away. Her eyes weren’t dark at all, but green mixed with the golden color of sunlight. As if she’d stared at it too long and had trapped a bit of sunshine into her depths.

The second thing he noticed, was that she was glaring at him.

Not quite the reaction he was expecting from her.

He kept his expression neutral, but the woman’s glare could have pierced daggers in his chest and killed him. Finally, she spoke and his head nearly reeled from the enchanting sound of her voice. It was musical, tempting, it was seduction packed into a lilting, angry melody.

Detective Tyler Marx, was it? she asked, lacing her words was the slightest hint of a foreign accent. Her judging gaze assessed him entirely, pretty eyes flicking from his black T-shirt, to his leather jacket, jeans, and thick soled boots. None of what he wore was appropriate for their current weather and location, and she was so obviously judging him for it.

He tried to keep his composure, tried not to let her voice and body distract him from the anger in her posture and eyes. At your service, ma’am. If he had a hat, he would have tilted it.

She crossed her arms against her chest, and with a bit of trepidation, he avoided looking at the way the movement pushed her ample bosom up in delicious distraction. He stared into her eyes instead. They seemed to spark and blaze, the bright unique colors dancing and flickering.

Right. She smiled, though there didn’t seem to be any joy in the gesture. "Look, we all appreciate your service,