Kneeling between not one, but two males baring spines and fangs, fighting for the right to stuff her womb full of seed.
Neither of them seeing…her.
Her next breath chattered through her gills.
Squelching and wrong.
Soggy.
As if she was choking on air. Smothered by too much.
Vision sparkling at the edges, sensitive eyes shying away from the dawn that had once brought her such joy, Kore coughed. Chest burning on the heels of another breath.
Ribs flexing as she pulled until her chest ached, searching for space she didn't have and couldn't invent.
And she knew… there would be no last-second burst of power. No divine intervention or unholy monster of the deep to save her this time.
There was only this.
The way her gills fluttered, ragged and desperate. The hollow behind her ribs growing soggy and damp. Too full.
Thalos said something cruel.
Something she couldn't quite hear through the crackling hiss of her own choppy breaths.
And Nyxarion.
He was her mirror.
Chest heaving, gills clattering. His every moment above the surface blistering agony. Suffering with a purpose.
And she looked, clinging to that fathomless scowl fixed to her face. Smiling when he reached. Cupped her cheek in a fist meant for murder. Palm rough, claws tangling in her hair.
Molten silver eyes filled with something tender she couldn't name, and he leaned in.
Pressed his forehead to hers.
Letting his thumb trace the blade of her jaw.
Sweeping back to cradle.
Just once.
A swipe that teased the edge of her gills.
And then he pulled away.
Coils flexing, he dragged himself back to the water's edge. Scales gleaming in the morning sunlight. Tight. Unfurling with every flex of his enormous length.
Lips parting, Kore tried to stumble after him, webbed fingers spread as she reached. Her voice a hollow rasp when she tried to use her voice.
He slid into the surf.
Didn't look back.
Not once.
And the Black Sea swallowed him down.
