The Siblin and the Siren

He heard a husky giggle that went straight through him as she got to her feet and ran down the rocks parallel to the pool in full flight, her hair bouncing, her feet bare, Isidor following her and splashing, sometimes hitting her. He got her good once, a quick indrawn breath from her. She almost made it when Winter surged out of the water and caught her ankle.

She jumped back and Winter let go, not holding her, staying where he was. She stared at both of them, backing away and stopping, breathing fast, that strange stillness, her cheeks flushed, her red hair falling in long waves to her hips.

She turned and began to walk away, but she glanced at each of them over her shoulder, sidelong, the dress clinging to her little round butt where he'd gotten her wet, both of them still watching her. That glance went through him, shooting down to his belly and lower. He looked at Winter, seeing the same, Winter's eyes narrowing after her, that look he got when he was hunting women in the towns.

"Are you hungry?" Winter said, leaning back in the water, ignoring all of it.

"Yeah," Isidor answered.

Hungry and aroused, thinking of Soule naked with that hair, the pink flush in her cheeks and lips. Wondering if between her legs would flush as pink. His cock hadn't caught up and realized nothing interesting was happening soon. Winter seemed to be having similar difficulties.

Neither one of them could bed her, not if she were going to live on The Singsong with them. That would become a very bad tangled mess quickly. She was practically their sister. But he could see what she was like, Winter could. They were Siblin. Regardless, he couldn't touch her, Winter couldn't. They'd just have to get used to it.

When they got back, Soule already had water on the fire and Isidor set about making food, glancing at her. Soule was in the garden, her back to him. Isidor glanced at her again, her hair still down, flaming the deepest red as she moved in and out of the sunlight. It was so difficult not to watch her.

She still didn't talk much. He thought maybe it was being alone for so long, or maybe that was just her way. She was picking peas off the trellis, putting them in the basket she held on her arm.

Winter came and sat beside him by the fire, also watching her. She glanced over her shoulder at Isidor, seeing him, looking down, facing forward. It made him a little crazy when she did that, a wave of desire going through him. She glanced again a little later at Winter, a sidelong glance, long lashes, facing forward again, his brother muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

Then it happened. A pea pod fell from the crude trellis with the tugging. Soule bent down to pick it up, the dress riding up, stretching over her butt and hips.

Isidor's jaw clenched, suddenly very aroused. He tensed, watching Soule as she straightened, putting it in the basket, watched her body under the shapeless dress, remembering what she looked like under it, thoughts in his head that moved down to his cock, tightening, a sense of pressure. He could hear his own breathing, his heart pounding.

He looked at Winter, uneasy at the suddenness of it. Winter's eyes were fixed on her the same way, his eyes narrowed, leaning back on his elbow, his manner casual, almost careless, and under all of it coiled tension, that way he had when he was fully aroused. They both were.

Isidor didn't know what to do with the urgency of it. He shifted. He couldn't stop the thoughts in his head, couldn't distract himself, hot thoughts, rich and wicked. Another wave took him, Winter breathing as heavily beside him. Sága, Isidor had never been so aroused. He clenched his teeth at the rawness of it, breathing, a flash of surprising her, pushing her onto her back with that red hair all around her, opening her legs, of spreading her pussy with his fingers, of tasting her, fucking her.

Something shifted in him, his arousal so keen he was almost panting. It didn't stop, getting worse, his cock aching and hard and sensitive, the realization coming to him all at once.

Anthata.

Isidor sucked in his breath sharply. Winter turned his head, meeting his eyes, the knowing between them, absolute certainty.

Siblin and the Siren

Chapter 4

Four days later, early evening, Isidor went out the front door, letting it fall behind him, clattering down the steps. He had to do something for himself. They had been told Siblin arousal for their anthata was strong, but this was a torment.

He found a tree, leaning against it. Winter knew what he was doing because Winter had already done the same. Isidor spit on his hand, pulling his cock out. He was achingly hard. Visions went through his head immediately, some of them violent, all of them pleasurable.

Having Soule over his lap, her round butt under his hand, his fingers in her cunt. He grunted, feeling his pleasure rise. Even his fantasies about his anthata were more pleasurable than any sex he had ever had, now that he knew her.

Biting her red nipples, smacking her little pussy, the images flashing one after the other, spreading her legs wide and pushing his cock into her. Isidor came, grunting. The pleasure was still muffled, the relief of it stronger, but he could feel how ready his body was. His cock softened a little. Not much.

His feeling for Soule were confused, predatory and tender, impatient and so fucking regretful he'd hurt her, and over it all this desire to touch her that bordered on a need.

Isidor closed his eyes, breathing.

They needed to bed her, and soon. But Soule was so innocent that he didn't think she even knew what the tension was about. Any woman who had ever been around men would have known, but she had just gotten even more quiet, watching them with those honey eyes. He couldn't imagine what she thought. She had to sense how badly they wanted her.

*

Soule was puzzled.

Isidor was tense. He looked unhappy. He'd hardly smiled for days. Winter's dark hair fell across his eyes, sitting on Maren's bed, sorting things. He never smiled, but he didn't usually look so tense and angry either.

Isidor was sitting at the table sharpening his knife, his eyes on the task, large hands. Father used to do the same thing in the same place. Both of them had gotten so strange, like they had fought. But they spoke easily to one another.

The silence was full of unspoken things. They didn't look at her anymore. She didn't know if she'd done something wrong. They said things to her sometimes. They didn't seem angry with her. But something was different.

Winter and Isidor fascinated her. Since that first terrible day, and especially since they'd agreed to take her to live with them on their ship, they'd been friendly with her. Kind. They included her. She tried not to let it show how much it meant to her. How much she thought about them. How aware she was of them. They had always interested her since she was a child. But the reality of them was so much more.

They did make her nervous. Her skin tingled when they touched her, and when Winter stood so close sometimes a whole flush went through her body. Isidor teased her, and he put his hands on her casually. He would lean past her to get something and his hand would go to her waist, touch her arm or her cheek to get her attention and wherever he did her skin felt alive, too sensitive.

She was drawn to them. She felt excited, on edge all the time. She was too aware of her own body, restless.

And there was that morning Isidor had touched her ear. She'd been sitting at the fire chopping and her hair kept coming forward in her face so she had reached and put it behind her ear. Isidor had put his hand out and touched the tip, running his fingers all around it, looking curious. She hadn't drawn away, but she knew she'd flushed, the sensations so strong.

Yesterday, when Isidor had left suddenly, Winter had followed her down to the river to check her traps. One of them had bent. She had watched Winter's fingers as he examined it, his face intent, then his arms when he set the trap on his lap, using his strength to bend it back into place. Both he and Isidor were strong, their hands beautiful and sure.

She had looked up and realized Winter was watching her watch his hands, his eyes on her face, his glance knowing. She had looked down. When she had looked up again, Winter was a great deal closer to her, on his feet, in front of her, his eyes intense again, not smiling. She had been surprised, startling, stepping back, but he followed, sending another wave of tension through her belly. Then he had gone around her back to the cabin.

Now Isidor was sharpening his knife and Winter was sitting across the room.

Soule went to her bed, there being nowhere else left to sit. She took up her dress, which she had washed in the river and put on the line to dry. She only had two others. She threaded the needle, glancing at the open door, the light fading quickly. She'd braided her hair so it didn't get in her way. The front of the dress was split straight down the center, the sleeves cut.

None of the material was missing from the dress, but she was trying to figure out how to repair it so it didn't bunch. She could put material behind it, but she didn't have any left. She decided to just secure it for now so it wouldn't be damaged further, flattening the material and pushed the needle through, weaving it in and out and drawing. On the second pass, it popped through and into her finger.

Soule flinched and put her finger in her mouth, pulling her finger out and looking at it. It welled with blood.

"Let me see," she heard.

Winter was standing right beside her bed. She looked up, and then up more, the man so big, looming over her. He squatted, taking her hand. His hand was large and rough and warm. Her heart began to pound. He rubbed the tip.

"This is the dress we ruined?" he asked, glancing at it.

"Father didn't have time to get clothing in Dorsa so he got me a bolt of material," she told him. "I made it."

He released her hand and picked it up carefully, folding it and setting it aside.

"Isidor and I will get you more clothes, little siren," he said.

It gave her a warm feeling when he called her that. But when she looked up at him, his eyes weren't kind like they'd been before. They had the same intensity. Her eyes shifted. Isidor was looking at her as well and in the same way. It was like they wanted something from her but couldn't tell her what it was. She looked between them again.

"What?" she said.

Winter took her hand, raising her to her feet, drawing her to the center of the room. He looked at Isidor, who flipped the knife in a fast, practiced move, putting it in its sheath at his waist as he rose. Isidor approached them, behind her. Now she was between them. She looked over her shoulder at Isidor, who had the same look on his face. Neither of them was smiling. She turned back to Winter. She hesitated.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked him.

Winter shook his head, but his face didn't change. She began to breathe faster. Isidor touched her hair. She turned her head and looked at him again. He wasn't smiling either.

"We're not angry with you, Soule," Isidor said behind her, his voice husky.

Isidor took her braid up, untying it, beginning to loosen the strands. Winter stepped closer to her. She looked up at him, not able to retreat, Isidor behind her. They were so close. She didn't know what they were going to do.

Winter bent and slowly touched his lips to hers. She drew back, surprised. She raised her hand and touched her lips, tingling there, Isidor running his hands through her hair behind her. That was kissing. Winter had kissed her.

She was turned around, Isidor in front of her now. She felt Winter's hands running through her hair behind her. It felt good. Isidor cupped her face, his hands large and warm, and kissed her but more, his mouth staying on hers, moving over hers. The feelings in her belly were back, the sensations strong.

His tongue touched hers, a confusion of feelings, her heart going faster for different reasons, Winter's hands behind her going to her waist over the dress. She raised her hand and rested it on Isidor's chest, going on her tiptoes, returning the kiss tentatively. He made a deep noise from his chest, the kiss becoming more urgent. She could feel his heart pounding under her hand.

Isidor withdrew and she was turned again. She was facing Winter.

She suddenly realized what they wanted, the knowledge coming to her. She just hadn't understood. She felt herself flushing, unable to raise her eyes above Winter's chest, her belly tense. Winter tipped her chin and she dragged her eyes up.

"Are we scaring you?" he asked her.

"No," she answered. "A little."

He leaned down and stopped, his lips near hers, waiting. He had such dark eyes. He smelled like the sea, like sunlight. She put her hand on his chest now and met him, putting her lips on his, going up on her tiptoes again, his mouth gentle, the kiss slow, a wave going through her belly that was almost painful.

She heard herself make a small sound. Winter's arm came around her waist, pulling her closer. Her arms went up around his neck, her heart pounding, his body warm and hard against hers, so aware where they touched.

He withdrew slowly. His breathing was heavy, his arm falling from her waist as Isidor came up behind her close. Isidor drew her hair aside and his mouth came down and kissed her throat, her head falling to the side to allow it. She shivered at the sensation, goosebumps on her arms, feeling a twinge in her nipples, aching, her eyes half closing, a wave going through her, wanting feelings.

She had always had these feelings, since she was grown. She had touched herself on her sex in her bed at night before they came, wondering what it would be like to have someone else touch her there, curious, imagining it, vague and restless feelings, very strong. Hungry feelings.

She had mostly wondered how it would feel if Winter and Isidor touched her, did sex with her. Her father had told her about Siblin. She thought they might want to do that with her, and then not because she was a siren, but she had thought about it, thought about them this way a great deal, especially at night, flushed and breathing, her heart pounding in her bed.

She felt strange, suddenly afraid they knew, that they could somehow tell. She jumped when she felt Isidor's large hands at her waist behind her. He was bunching her dress at the bottom, lifting it, the material coming over her knees. Winter's eyes went down to the steadily rising edge, over her thighs now.

They wanted to do sex with her, she understood that. Father said Siblin men would always stop if she said no, but to be careful because other men might not. But Isidor and Winter were Siblin like her father. Sex was a good thing, a pleasurable thing. She had imagined doing this with them even before they came here. And ever since they had taken their shirts off at the cave, she had thought about it all the time. And at the pool. She wanted to. She was nervous.

Winter stepped closer to her, his right shoulder falling, his hand running under the edge of the dress, then his other hand, going up her legs and over her hips to her waist on her bare skin, moving up her ribs, well under the dress now. Everywhere he touched tingled and was sensitive. He met her eyes. He touched the bottom of her breasts, caressing there. It felt good.

His large hands moved to cup her breasts and she held her breath, sure he could feel her heart pounding. His thumb brushed her nipple. Pleasure shot through her. Her breath caught, her head falling back onto Isidor's chest behind her as Winter did it again, both her nipples now. She didn't want it to stop. She squirmed, feeling Isidor's hands go to her hips, bare, the dress raised above them, the feelings in her nipples going straight between her legs.

She knew it would feel good, but she hadn't known it would feel like this.

"Do you like that, my beauty?" Isidor said in her ear, his breathing rough.

"Yes," she answered.

Isidor was right behind her. She was unable to stop her hips from squirming against him as Winter began to squeeze her nipples. She arched, wanting more, her hand going to his arm, holding on. Isidor's hand moved from her hip to the hair between her legs, running his fingers through it. A deep twinge came there, her hips squirming more. His hand moved lower, his fingers pushing between her thighs to cup her sex.

She wanted him to touch between her legs, aching, Winter's fingers on her nipples. She opened her legs a little, making a small noise, Isidor's fingers moving to touch her. She could feel how slippery she was, feel his finger move down to her opening and press into her slowly, filling her. It felt so good, all of it so good. He began to move his finger, slipping it in and out of her. She squirmed around his hand.

"She's slick, brother, and so fucking tight," Isidor breathed behind her, his mouth going to her throat again as she felt her sex pulse around his finger, unable to stop.

Winter hadn't planned it. He just couldn't stop it. His head was hazy with lust, his cock aching, her skin warm and so soft, finding her curves, touching Soule's breasts, pinching her hard, jutting nipples, smelling her heat. Soule was beautiful, yes. But the way she was responding to them was making them crazy. Isidor was barely in control and he was no better. They'd be too rough if they didn't do it soon. But they couldn't take her until she understood, until they got her answer. Isidor knew it as well as he did.

Winter clenched his teeth, breathing, letting his hands drop, stepping away from her, the dress falling. Isidor did the same, pulling his hand away gently from between her legs. He and Isidor were quiet, tense and aroused, Isidor coming around to stand beside him facing her.

Soule was looking at them, her eyes wide, surprised. She looked down. Winter touched her cheek, wondering what she was thinking. She looked up at him. She was flushed. He realized she was embarrassed.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked them.

Winter almost groaned. He wanted to touch her badly, but if they started they wouldn't be able to stop.

"No, Soule," Isidor answered. "We need to talk to you."

Her eyes shifted between them, nervous.

"All right."

"You know that we are Siblin, Soule, like Maren was," Winter said.

She looked at him. She seemed puzzled, like it was an obvious question. He supposed it was.

"Yes."

Winter just lost it all for a moment, looking at her beauty. There was a smattering of freckles across her nose from the sun. Isidor's shoulder hit Winter's, who turned to frown at his brother.

"You know that we are brothers, Winter and I," Isidor put in.

"Yes," she said again the same way after a moment, waiting.

Winter took a deep breath.

"When Siblin brothers find a woman we can be with for our lives, together, both of us," Winter explained, "we call that woman an anthata. We've been looking for our anthata since we were grown."

Soule was staring at him. She looked at Isidor. She seemed entirely dismayed, unsure.

"You want to go look for her now?" she asked them carefully.

"No," Isidor said, frowning, Winter shaking his head.

"When we find her, we know it's right because we feel it," Isidor continued, Soule watching his face. "Both of us."

She was still looking at them like she didn't understand.

"Yes," she said.

"You're our anthata, Soule," Winter said.

"No," she said.

Winter's gut clenched. Soule didn't feel what they did, didn't know they were right together, the three of them. No anthata ever did. She might not agree to it. It was possible she wouldn't, especially after what they'd done. He could feel Isidor's tension beside him, both of them turning over the implications. And he still couldn't tell if she was refusing them or not.