Crimson Waves and Crimson Chains

Tricks, Tails & Tequila

Saltwater always felt different near the human world — lighter, tainted with oil, plastic, and regret.

Aeaid, now full-grown, tail powerful and scales flashing purple-blue, swam up toward the foam line, ancient spell whispering on her lips.

She’d waited centuries. Tonight, her plan was reckless: find her destined mate among humans or supernaturals — anyone who could help fill the raw wound inside her.

The spell pricked like needlefish teeth: bones popped, scales split. Her tail dissolved into two pale, trembling legs. Pain arced up her spine.

Before she could breathe, a wave dumped her face-first into the wet sand. Her newly minted ass stuck up in the air as she tried to get her knees under her.

A crab scuttled across her bare breast. She shrieked, slapped it away, and ended up rolling down the beach slope, legs flailing like drunken eels.

She lay there, salty hair in her mouth, and saw them:

A roaring party, firelight dancing across the sand. Neon signs winked: "Vampires Welcome," "Fangbang Happy Hour," "Witch, Please."

Bodies half-dressed or fully naked, music pulsing like a heartbeat. Sulfur, fur, old blood, moonlight magic — unmistakably supernatural.

She stood, breasts bare to the sea breeze, salt crusting her n*****s. Aeaid tried to walk — her legs wobbled like drunken jellyfish.

Every eye turned to her.

She stumbled, nearly fell. Someone wolf-whistled (probably an actual werewolf). Heat licked her cheeks.

Clothes. She needed clothes.

Spotting a rainbow sarong draped over a witch’s chair, she tiptoed over and tugged it free. The witch, too drunk to notice, kept chatting with a horned demon.

Aeaid tried to tie it. She’d watched humans knot things before.

Right over left? Left over right?

She ended up with a lopsided bundle bunched around her hips, the slit showing more skin than it covered.

First step: tripped over the hem.

Second step: stomped on a half-buried beer can.

Third step: slammed her shin into a cooler.

Pain burst up her leg; beer geysered into the air, showering a circle of stunned partygoers.

She stood, dripping, clutching the sarong. “I meant to do that,” she mumbled.

A werewolf let out a bark of laughter; someone clapped.

Aeaid flipped her wet hair over her shoulder, heart pounding, and kept walking toward the volleyball court.

At the net, four sweaty bodies moved under torchlight. One in particular made everything else vanish.

Tall. Shirtless. Muscles chiseled like drowned marble. Moon-kissed skin, tattoos crawling up strong arms, black hair pulled into a messy knot. And the fangs — long, sharp, flashing white as he grinned at a teammate.

Aeaid’s stomach fluttered. Her pulse skipped.

When he turned, his eyes locked on her.

Something snapped inside her chest — a golden thread pulling tight, impossible to ignore.

POV: RONAN

Ronan felt the tug the instant she appeared from the surf — like a hand around his c**k and heart at once.

He dropped the volleyball. “f**k,” he whispered.

She was wet, wild, and radiant. Hair tangled like seaweed, skin glistening salt-silver, bare except for a crooked sarong that barely hid the delicious curve of her hips.

Her eyes met his — fierce, wary, lust-struck. Aeaid felt the bond snap tight; so did Ronan.

“Oi, Ronan, you serving or what?” a werewolf teammate barked.

Ronan ignored him. His fangs had already dropped, blood humming thick in his veins.

---

She stalked closer, stumbling once as the sarong slipped down, nearly flashing a tuft of blueish pubic hair. She yanked it back up, face flushing.

“f**k,” she cursed under her breath.

He chuckled. “You’re new.”

“And you’re pointy,” she shot back.

“Ronan,” he offered, stepping forward, voice low and silk-dark.

“Aeaid,” she returned. Her tongue played on the strange human sounds.

Silence stretched, hot as the firelight.

Suddenly a drunk werewolf tripped over his own paws, crashed into her. Aeaid stumbled, caught herself on Ronan’s chest.

Her hand pressed against his bare skin — a hard plane of muscle and ink. His n****e brushed her palm. Sparks raced up her arm.

She yanked her hand back, slipped on spilled beer, and landed on her ass in the sand.

Ronan crouched, grinning. “Need a hand, guppy?”

She smacked his offered hand away, scrambled upright, sand sticking to her wet thighs. “Don’t call me that.”

“Fair enough,” he murmured, eyes locked on her cleavage, which the sarong had failed to cover again.

Their eyes locked, bond pulsing.

Aeaid swallowed, heat pooling low in her belly. She didn’t even know his soul yet, but her body already knew him.

“Why are you staring?” she demanded.

“Because,” Ronan said softly, voice rough, “I think you’re mine.”

Aeaid’s breath caught. Her n*****s peaked against the thin cloth, skin pebbling.

“f**k,” she whispered.

“Hmmmm yes, soon,” he said, stepping closer, until only inches separated them. “But first, I’ll buy you a drink.”

They stood at the beach bar, torches flickering. Ronan ordered two shots of crimson: half blood, half rum.

Aeaid sniffed it, nose wrinkling. “Tastes like fish guts?”

“Better than kelp wine, I bet,” he teased.

She shot it back, coughed, and nearly fell off the stool. He caught her, hand warm on her thigh.

Heat shot up her spine. She clenched her legs, wetness already slicking the insides.

“f**k,” she mumbled again.

“You say that a lot,” Ronan noted.

“Want me to show you instead?” she shot back, braver than she felt.

His pupils blew wide, nostrils flaring.

The music thumped. She twisted to get off the stool, but her sarong snagged on a nail. The knot came undone; cloth pooled around her ankles.

Gasps. Laughter. Applause.

Aeaid flushed, scooped it up. Ronan’s eyes devoured every inch of exposed thigh and hip.

Before she could retie it, a drunken werewolf stumbled past, knocking into her again. She lost balance, slammed her knee on the bar rail.

Pain flared — and blood welled.

Ronan’s hand shot out, gripping her calf. His gaze locked on the bleeding scratch.

“Don’t,” she warned, breathless.

“I can’t stop myself,” he rasped. Fangs long, eyes black as deep water.

He dragged her leg up across his thigh, lips brushing the cut. Heat and danger.

Then — a sharp bite.

Pain exploded, edged with impossible pleasure. Hot tongue lapped her blood.

Aeaid gasped, nails biting into the bar top. Her p***y clenched, liquid heat gushing.

The bond pulsed, raw and undeniable. Sparks danced in her vision.

An orgasm ripped through her, thighs shaking, breath choking in her throat. She came, pulse hammering and legs spasming in estacy.

Ronan lifted his head, mouth stained red. “Mine,” he breathed.