“This one must speak truth,” he says, and his voice carries harmonics of distress. “Must apologize properly.”
“Aylth...”
“No. Female listens. This one listens after, but first, female hears truth.” He turns to face me fully, and I see something in his expression I haven't before. Shame. “This one promised three days. Promised control. Promised to wait until trust rebuilt.”
“The frenzy...”
“The frenzy is explanation, not excuse.” His hands clench and unclench, webbed fingers flexing. “Forty seasons, this one has maintained control. Forty seasons of choosing when to act, how to act. Never losing to biology. Never allowing instinct to override choice.”
A tentacle rises slightly, then drops back into the water like he stopped himself from reaching for me.
“Female deserved better. Deserved the choice to accept or refuse. The frenzy stole that choice.” His eyes meet mine directly. “This one stole that choice.”
The silence stretches between us, broken only by water lapping against stone. I can feel his distress in the water itself, chemicals releasing from his skin that the tonic-modified parts of me recognize as genuine anguish.
“You didn't hurt me,” I say finally.
“Physical hurt is not only hurt. Trust was broken. Promise was broken.” He looks away, toward the cave entrance where morning light filters through. “Female ran from this one just days ago. Was building courage to return. Then this one proves female was right to run. That this one cannot be trusted with promises.”
“That's not...” But I stop, because part of it is true. He did break his promise. The reason matters, but the break happened.
“The defeated rivals have retreated beyond this one's borders,” he continues, changing subjects like he can't bear the other topic longer. “Reef, Storm-Singer, Tide-Dancer. They nurse wounds. But they will heal. Will perhaps find others who think Ancient One grows weak.”
“You destroyed them.”
“This one delayed them. Young hunters have short memory for pain, long memory for humiliation.” His tentacles finally uncurl slightly, one moving through the water in an agitated pattern. “They might return. Might bring more. Female should know the danger.”
“I'm not afraid of them.”
“Female should be. If this one falls, they would not be gentle. Would not care for female's pleasure or safety. Would only take.” His jaw clenches, teeth visible for a moment. “But this one will not fall. Female is too precious.”
Silence again. I shift position, and my belly moves oddly, still full of his seed though much has absorbed overnight. The sensation makes me hyperaware of my body, of what happened during the frenzy. Not just the breeding but the complete loss of control, the absolute surrender to biological imperative.
“Show me,” I say suddenly.
His head tilts. “Show?”
“The difference. You said there's a difference between frenzy and control. Show me.”
“Female is still recovering...”
“I'm recovered enough.” I move closer to him, close enough that our skin almost touches. “I need to understand. Need to know what you're like when you choose, not when biology chooses for you.”
His pupils dilate, but not to the full black of frenzy. Just enough to show interest. “Female certain?”
“Yes.”
He considers me for a long moment. Then, slowly, one tentacle rises from the water. Not aggressive or desperate like during the frenzy. Deliberate. Careful. It hovers near my arm, close enough I feel water droplets from it hit my skin.
“This is choice,” he says. “This one decides to touch. Decides where. Decides how much pressure. May this one touch?”
“Yes.”
The tentacle brushes my arm so lightly I barely feel it. Just the faintest whisper of contact that makes my skin prickle. He watches my face, gauging reaction.
“During frenzy, this one couldn't ask. Couldn't wait for answer. Body moved without mind's permission.” The tentacle trails up my arm, still feather-light. “Now, every movement is deliberate. Every touch has purpose.”
“What purpose?”
