The hunter hesitates, uncertain. That moment is enough. I dive under his reaching tentacles and swim hard for our chamber.
Aylth is sitting up when I arrive, still wounded but aware. His eyes are focused now, tracking my movement.
“How many?” he asks.
“Six. Storm-Singer leads them.”
“The toxin spears?”
“Used or lost. I've been using the palace itself.”
His tentacles move slowly, testing their strength. “Smart. Female has done well.”
“I can't hold much longer. They're learning the passages, destroying structure. Eventually they'll get through.”
He considers this, then gestures me to his side. “Come here.”
I swim to the ledge, and he pulls me close. His skin is burning hot, even hotter than the fever that's been building. The heat transfers to me where we touch.
“This one can help,” he says. “Cannot fight, but can give female what she needs.”
His mouth covers mine, and he breathes into me. But it's not the usual breathing kiss. This is something else, something that makes my blood burn, my muscles feel suddenly fresh, my exhaustion vanish like it never existed.
“Battle secretion,” he explains when he pulls back. “Female's body will be stronger, faster, more resilient for the next hour. Use that hour well.”
I feel it working through my system. The aches disappear. My torn muscles knit. Even my mental fatigue clears.
“Now go,” Aylth says. “End this. Show them what female has become.”
I grab the last remaining weapon, a net soaked in paralytic compounds, and dive back out.
Storm-Singer has reached the central chamber. Three of his hunters remain, the others driven off or injured. They're tearing through the palace, destroying structure, looking for me.
“Here!” I call out, drawing their attention.
Storm-Singer turns, sees me floating in open water instead of hiding. His patterns flash satisfaction. “Finally ready to face consequences?”
“Ready to finish this.”
I don't wait for his response. The battle secretion makes me faster than I've ever moved. I shoot toward them, not away. The unexpected aggression breaks their formation.
The first hunter reaches for me. I twist around his tentacles, using his own momentum to spin him into the second hunter. They tangle, confused.
Storm-Singer comes at me directly. He's faster than the others, stronger, more experienced. His tentacles spread like a net, blocking every escape route.
So I go straight at him instead.
The move surprises him enough that I slip under his guard. My hands find the old wounds Aylth left, wounds that healed wrong, and I press hard. Storm-Singer howls, his tentacles spasming involuntarily.
While he's distracted, I throw the net over his head. The paralytic soaks into his gills, his eyes, his damaged wounds. He crashes into the coral below, movements already slowing.
The remaining two hunters see their leader fall and lose their nerve. They retreat, swimming hard for the territory boundary.
I let them go.
Storm-Singer struggles on the coral, wrapped in netting, paralyzed but conscious. I swim down until we're face to face.
“Tell them all,” I say. “This territory belongs to the Ancient One. And his mate defends it.”
