Another rumble escaped him. Something tender. Caught between fury and dangerous obsession. His thumb stroked down the column of her throat, pressing just hard enough to feel her pulse kick beneath the pad of his claw. "Dangerous little creature," Nyx breathed, and kissed her.
Deep.
Tongue sweeping between her lips, he exhaled a low, considering hum. Pushing it between her lips. Feeding her the weight of his breath.
And then, pulling back, head tilted as he looked upon her with a narrow, slitted glare, Nyx inspected her. "Manipulative," he murmured, edged with something that wasn't quite disapproval. "Kissing my wounds while you call me proud. Feeding me Siren song to get your way."
Teeth flashing, fins flicking, he paused.
"A baby shark," he said at length, thumb making another slow sweep across her throat. "Just learning it has teeth."
Kore pressed a smile against his throat. Letting him feel the curve of her lips, the smile she didn't bother hiding. "You like it."
A growl vibrated against her brow. Low. Resonant. Defeated and defiant all at once.
His answer, wordless and absolute.
Because he did like it. The challenge, her audacity and sharp edges. That she knew when to bend and when to turn his own instincts against him and make him grateful for the wound.
Then his tail flicked.
Displacing the black waters in a violent rush, Nyxarion gathered her against his chest and moved.
Slipping through the antechamber where he'd made a throne from the remains of what had once been her prison. Her cage. Deep inside the sheltered walls in Vorynthar's heart. Where she had thrashed and screamed, transformed into something new at the bottom of the Black Sea.
Now it was a seat of power.
Nyxarion didn't slow to admire the antechamber. Didn't stop to admire. He moved them away from Abyssari sentries, where sound traveled and secrets didn't exist.
Deeper.
Past the antechamber, through a narrow passage where the current was warm. Heavy.
Their den.
Nyxarion deposited her onto the bed of plush anemones. Where she slept, and no other current might reach her. Where she was cherished and secreted away.
Curling around her, fins locking around pillars created for exactly this, Nyxarion crowded her. Pressing close.
"The child ismine." Silver eyes found hers in the black. One palm moving to cover her belly, claws splayed wide across her scales, engulfing it. Resting against the shifting light.
Possessive and absolute.
"Whatever blood runs through it, whatever colors its scales, it ismine. Do you understand me, Kore?"
Kore's gills fluttered.
"I will not let Thalos or his scholars or his ancient laws take what belongs to me." His grip tightened, pulling her closer. "Say it," he breathed, forehead dropping to bump hers.
She nodded. Slow. "Ours," she said, correcting him. "Ours, Nyx. Whatever this child becomes, it belongs tous," she whispered and meant it.
And for a moment, there was nothing but the weight of a heavy silence between them.
Searching her eyes, Nyxarion held her gaze. Molten silver eyes traced the architecture of her face—the sharp angle of her jaw, the defiant tilt of her chin. Assessing. Weighing the steel in her spine against the fear still trembling beneath her scales.
Kore refused to look away.
Let him see it all. The terror she couldn't smother. All that bottomless fury that had replaced it. A clawing, desperate need to protect what grew inside her by any means necessary.
