The sun burns my skin where I lie on unfamiliar rocks. Not my island. The one I fled to in the dark, thinking distance might save me from this need.
I was wrong.
My body feels like it's eating itself from the inside. Every nerve ending screams for specific touch that isn't coming. The withdrawal from Aylth's secretions has progressed beyond discomfort into actual pain. My skin is too tight, stretched over bones that ache. The surface feels like it might split if I move wrong. My pussy clenches on nothing, over and over, producing wetness that does nothing to ease the hollow agony inside.
He hasn't come for me.
It's been a full day and night since I left his scale on that beach and swam here. The coldness of that abandoned scale matches the coldness of his absence. He knows where I am. Has to know. The water carries my scent, my desperation, broadcasting my location to everything that swims. But he's letting me suffer the consequences of running.
I crawl to the small spring I found, hands shaking so badly I can barely cup water to drink. It tastes wrong. Too clean. Missing the mineral thickness of the tide pools in his territory.My throat rejects it, wanting the water that tastes like him, but I force myself to swallow.
My reflection in the spring shows a stranger. Hair tangled with salt and dried seaweed. Eyes bloodshot and wild. My lips are cracked despite the humidity. But it's my body that looks most foreign. My nipples are dark, constantly erect, visibly swollen even from this angle. My breasts feel heavier, like the tonic has enhanced them somehow. Between my legs, my thighs are stained with dried arousal, evidence of the constant flow my body won't stop producing.
“Well, well. What do we have here?”
I spin too fast, lose balance, catch myself on the rocks. The sharp volcanic surface cuts into my palms, but the pain barely registers through the withdrawal.
A figure rises from the shallows near shore. Not Aylth. This one is smaller, maybe six and a half feet to Aylth's seven. His scales are green instead of blue-green, catching sunlight like emeralds. Pretty, in a decorative way. His face is younger, softer, almost boyish despite the predator's teeth when he smiles.
“Lost little female,” he continues, pulling himself onto the rocks. His tentacles spread possessively, claiming space that isn't his. “So far from her protector. And suffering so beautifully.”
“Who are you?”
“Reef.” He moves closer, and I smell sweetness. Too sweet. Like fruit starting to rot. “I've been watching. We all have. Waiting for the Ancient One to make a mistake.” His eyes are gold-green, but there's something calculating in them. Cold despite the warm color. “And here you are. Alone. Abandoned.”
“He didn't abandon me. I ran.”
“Same result.” Reef circles me slowly, tentacles dragging across the rocks, leaving wet trails that gleam in the sun. “You're here. He's not. And you're in so much pain, aren't you?”
My body responds to his proximity against my will. My pussy clenches harder, producing fresh wetness that I know he can smell. The biological imperative doesn't care that every instinct screams danger. He's male. He's here. He could provide what my body thinks it needs.
“I can smell it,” he says, moving closer. His tentacles spread wider, boxing me in. “Not just the tonic. You've had his secretions. Created dependency. Your body screams for what only a hunter can provide.”
A tentacle rises beside him, pale green fading to white at the tips. The suckers are smaller than Aylth's, more numerous, creating a different pattern. It hovers near my arm, almost touching but not quite. The anticipation makes my skin prickle.
“I could help,” he says. His voice drops lower, trying for seductive but achieving only oily. “I'm younger than Aylth. Gentler. I wouldn't make you beg. Wouldn't make you wait. Wouldn't play those cruel games he's so fond of.”
“I don't?—”
“Want my help?” He laughs, and there's an edge to it. Sharp like the rocks beneath me. “Your body says otherwise. Look how it responds to me.”
He's right. My nipples are harder, if that's possible. My pussy drips steadily onto the rocks. But it feels wrong. Like my body is betraying me worse than the tonic ever did. This isn't desire. It's mechanical response without genuine arousal.
“Just let me touch,” he says, tentacle moving toward my thigh. “You'll see. I can make the pain stop.”
The tentacle brushes my skin before I can pull away. The sensation is immediate but wrong. Pleasure mixed with revulsion. Like scratching an itch with the wrong hand. My nerve endings respond but my deeper chemistry recoils.
“Your body's fighting it,” he observes, pressing closer. His shadow falls over me, blocking the sun. “How interesting. You really are matched to him specifically.”
“Then why?—”
“Because matched doesn't mean owned.” His hand grabs my wrist when I try to pull away. His grip is stronger than expected. His fingers are slightly webbed like Aylth's, but the claws are longer, less controlled. “The Ancient One thinks he can leave you suffering as punishment. But suffering females are vulnerable females.”
His tentacle slides up my thigh despite my struggle. The secretions it leaves behind tingle wrong. Too cold. Too thin. “I could claim you right now. Your body is so desperate it would accept anyone.”
“No.”
“No?” His grip tightens enough to hurt, and his pretty face shifts into something uglier. The mask slipping. “You'd rather suffer? Rather wait for someone who abandons you for running?”
