But Nyxarion wanted her seen. "Come, Thalos," he drawled, catching her throat in his overlarge fist. Petting her pretty face, stroking her jaw. "Surely you're curious?" Shifting the girl in his grip, tilting her toward Thalos, Nyxarion grinned over her shoulder. Drunk on the victory he hadn't earned—for it had been handed to him. Byher."Touch her," he said, mocking. "See for yourself what my perfect girl can do when handled by a true sovereign."
Jaw bunching at the corner, Thalos' grip grew murderous on Cymareth's hilt. And there, behind his vent, where hiscock throbbed with traitorous heat, pressure. The drive to win. Compete.
Nyxarion's grin grew sharp. Predatory. And then, "It's alright to be frightened. Wouldn't want her to singe those pretty fins of yours.Again."
Thalos ignored the taunt. Letting it slip by him, uncontested.
Instead, his eyes drifted to… her. Noting every tremor. Every involuntary flex of webbed digits, where they clutched at Nyxarion's forearm. The way her delicate throat worked too hard, sending water gushing over delicate gills.
That she was leaking.
Slick and cum.
Nyxarion's seed oozed between overstretched lips, pulsing out in sticky globs, where his knot wasn't. Belly ripe and grotesque, inflated beyond any distant hope of dignity, beyond shame, pumped full of Abyssari seed.
And just there… beneath her skin… power. The shimmer of violet lightning, ebbing and growing dim without fading. Her veins a map of something forbidden stretched between her ribs. In the marks stretched across her breasts. The glitter of flexing thighs, so alien to what he'd known.
She'd been ruined.
Debased.
Magnificent.
The thought came unbidden. Making his fins flick, spread wide with his alarm. Spines exposed, he went rigid.
And his cock throbbed behind his slit. Pressure building in his vent as his gaze traced the long lines of her body. The way her strange eyes had grown half-lidded. As if she were… sleepy. Dazed. Fucked full and pliant.
Beautiful.
She was…beautiful, like this.
"Mine," Nyxarion whispered again, mouth curving against the creature's temple. His eyes fixed to Thalos' face as if reading the Shallow King's thoughts.
As if he knew.
And as Thalos watched, the last of the Queen's lightning faded. Extinguished as the Siren's lids drooped. Her exhaustion etched in her every line in the way no Pelagorn could possibly understand.
Working his shoulders loose, rolling the muscle, Thalos let Cymareth drift. Affecting an air of boredom for the spectacle before him, trying to hide his seething, bottomless greed. And then, at length, he murmured, "For now."
Nyxarion's grin only grew more wicked. Challenging.
But Thalos wasn't concerned with the graceless brute. No, his gaze drifted over the creature's body, one final time. Drinking in the grotesque way her cunt was stretched around his cock.
Her distended belly.
And then the current… shifted.
Subtle, at first. A barely noticeable shift in temperature. The black waters refreshed, sending the scent of citrus and lightning back. Filling Thalos' gills with the flavor of slick spoiled by his competition.
The current pulled, turning back on itself as the tide reversed. An inexorable turn older than any being could possibly remember.
Nyxarion stiffened.
A delicious jolt of awareness. Panic.
And it was Thalos' turn to grin.
All teeth—absent any whisper of diplomacy. "Time's up," he sang, slipping closer, moving against the tide. His fins spread. "Your claim on the creature has expired."
