Sweat soaked her hairline as she gasped in the gloom and came apart at the memory of his cock inside her. Heart pounding between her legs, in the hush of the cave’s dark embrace.
Clarity ebbed as the fever of that heat began to clear.
Because thiswasn’ther. This all-consuming drive to reach that mysterious peak, to be stretched and stuffed.
It was the venom.
Slit still throbbing, she focused on her ragged breath. Matching it with the sound of the tide rushing in and out. Lulling her into the state of torpor she’d been trained to endure for another. That trance-like state expected of Apollo’s chosen few trained to catch glimpses of the future and deep, forgotten past.
There, she found calm in the heart of a tempest. The knowing of an Oracle in training.
The beast had a plan.
A mission.
Designs upon her body.
A claim to her mind and a stake in her body.
He meant to corrupt her—to what end, she couldn’t say. Only that it was devastatingly successful in driving her away from the heat of her Lord’s divine grace.
But Kore was a priestess.
Forged in suffering. Disciplined in the art of submission to a force greater than even the sea.
And so, her patience would become her weapon.
She was a vessel for the divine. A chalice designed to be filled, so the gods might drink. Her body hadneverbeen hers, not wholly.
The moon cast a silver light across the mouth of the cave, hinting at lush curves and puffy peaks concealed within.
She was an offering. Empty. Nothing but a lure meant to draw the creatures of the deep ashore. A sacrifice to the divine.
As she’d always been.
Understanding brought clarity, and with it, a sense of calm washed away the dread.
It was nothing to submit, not really. Not when the force she tried to fight was unbeatable, as undeniable as the coming tide.
He would come again, and this time, Kore would let him invade. Welcome his assault with parted thighs and a graceful smile that hid what lurked beneath the surface.
Rebellion.
Tracking the passage of time between breeding sessions, she’d surrender herself to the moon. Use the tide to mark the days, just as he used it to markher.
And then?
Her body was already lost, but her mind? It would stay sharp. Cutting and disciplined, as she’d been molded to be. A ceremonial blade meant for dark ritual beyond the comprehension of mortal vision.
Venom pulsed beneath her skin. Twitching in her muscles. Calling her to the shore.
She stood, piling stones beneath the surface of the water to mark the tide, then let the venom use her feet, bleary gaze fixed to the distant waves.
A plan. She had a plan.
The venom pulsed.
Her feet moved.
