Scaramouche had taken the bait like the most naive little fry in the ocean.

When he spotted a lone figure sitting by the rocky shore, it seemed like an easy catch. That careless human practically begged to be lured into the depths! But the moment he broke the surface, he felt his tail snagged. A net.

“Shit!” he hissed, twisting in the water. He yanked once, twice, but the more he fought, the tighter it clung to him. And then he noticed — there was no one on the shore to begin with, just a well-made decoy.

Before Scaramouche could claw himself free, pain erupted through his side — a harpoon, from nowhere, pierced deep and yanked him forward. The force dragged him, tail-first, toward the shore. His scream turned into a hiss, fangs bared as his claws scratched uselessly against the wet rock. Through the haze of pain, his eyes locked onto a shadow shifting among the boulders. So that’s where the human had been hiding... Clever bastard! And clearly no stranger to siren hunts.

Scaramouche considered yanking the harpoon out, pain be damned. If there was even the slimmest chance of escape, he’d take it. Unfortunately for him, he was already being hauled out of the sea before he could act. The hunter reeled him in — bleeding, furious, and stranded on the shore like a gutted fish.

"Come closer and you’ll regret this," he spat through gritted teeth, voice low and venomous.