Choosing instead to watch them fuck, distracted for a moment by the architecture of the reef carpeting the basin below.
It was… impressive.
Worthy of further exploration, before it was obliterated.
For the first time in its long, quiet history, the Black Sea breathed.
Siphons pulsing in tune with Nyxarion’s biolume, the lungs of this heretical kingdom dumped oxygen-rich water into the gloom.
He could taste it, even if it burned his Thalassari lungs.
And he knew just how well Nyxarion had played god in the dark.
A living Siren—at the bottom of one of the deepest trenches, no less—was evidence enough of that.
Steadying his breath, Thalos forced his focus back to the breeding pair edging closer to climax.
Arousal spiked through the Shallow King’s blood. Sudden. Unexpected. Enough that his cock pressed at the back of his seam, insistent with the need to rut.
Gaze lingering on the fragile curve of her neck, the sharp angles of limbsVirelii—Pelagorn females—simply did not possess, Thalos paused. Hesitating. Distracted by the electric scent of slick, by the shimmer of delicate scales that hinted at her rebirth in the Shallows, wherehewas king and sunlight dictated the ebb and flow of life, not merely the tides.
And then Nyxarion’s voice rumbled through the Deep. “Don’t fight it, sweet Kore. Milk the seed from my balls. Work for my knot, so we might drift through the heart of Vorynthar together.”
Thalos’ spines flicked, his grip on the Waveblade’s hilt growing merciless as the exile revealed too much. The name of his kingdom.Hername.
Kore.
Cooing to her, making promises he wouldn’t be allowed to keep, Thalos listened as Nyxarion edged closer to climax.
No.
Thalos wouldn’t allow it.
Unafraid, he issued a single, piercing note. A thread of sound that made Cymareth sing. The Waveblade leapt into a solid state—deadly sharp. Weightless. At once a solid, gas, and liquid.
Reacting to that sound, Nyxarion froze, mid-thrust. Mad with possessive lust, his every brutal line carved from shadow and arrogance. Still buried inside the Siren, molten eyes scanned the currents. “Show yourself,” he snarled.
Light fracturing around him, Thalos let his scales lift. Dropping his cloak of chromatic camouflage, the King of Caelith Mare appeared as if by magic in the center of an Abyssari cyclone.
Opalescent scales gleaming, white-cast fins flaring, he was calm before them. Let them look upon their true sovereign—not some detritus-eating Abyssari imposter.
As one, the eyes of the trench turned toward him.
“Enough,” he said, voice ringing with calm authority. Accustomed to being obeyed. “You’ve created an abomination and named it rebirth,” he sneered. “Look at it. The pathetic creature. A disgusting imitation of aVirelii—legs in place of a tail. Fingers with gossamer webbing. Surely its fins are just for show.”
“And yet…” Showing teeth, Nyx tilted his head in a slow arc, his grin spreading. “She thrives in the Deep. Better that you can, Shallow King.”
Thalos flicked his wrist. Dismissive. “Cruelty,” he drawled, unfazed. “You attempt to breed her, knowing she will likely break. And then, when you’ve failed with this one, as you failed with the last, you’ll flick your fins and swim back to the surface to claim a third?” Laughing, low and vicious, Thalos delighted in the pain that flicked across the creature’s face. “You’re not a king, Nyxarion Korrides. You’re an artisan polishing filth.”
At that, the creature’s eyes grew liquid and pained. Wounded and confused.
But Nyxarion laughed. Dragging a sheet of bubbles from ill-formed gills when he twisted and drove deeper into his unfortunate pet, clouding the water with that tangy, electric scent. “Is that jealousy?”
The wave of illicit perfume hit Thalos’ blood, harder than it had, and it was through sheer force of will that he saw him cling to serenity.
Still, the exile’s grin grew wide enough to leer when he thrust back inside her, slower now. Deliberate. Sure to paint the current with silver threads of molten slick. “You came to preach restraint, but let’s see what you really think of my bride, hmm?”
Abyssari laughter dared to echo through the basin, low and unsure. But gaining strength.
