Page 5 of Craved By the Kraken Warlord

The air thickens. My skin prickles, hyper-aware of every shift in his posture, every ripple of muscle. His gaze drops to my mouth.

I swallow. “So what now? You keep me here until this… heat thing passes?”

*“No.”* He retreats abruptly, putting the pool between us. *“It does not pass. It grows.”*

“Great. So you’ll what, torture yourself staring at me from across the room?”

His jaw tenses. *“I will not claim you against your will.”*

The word *claim* sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine. “But you want to.”

His tentacles coil tightly. *“Yes.”*

The honesty disarms me. I hug myself, suddenly conscious of the thin fabric clinging to my hips, the way his gaze lingers on my bare shoulders. My cheeks burn.

“Why?” I rasp.

He hesitates. *“You are… new.”*

“New?”

*“Different.”* A tentacle gestures vaguely. *“Others before you screamed. Prayed. You fight.”*

The casual mention of *others* tightens my throat. “The sacrifices. They’re all here?”

*“Gone.”* His voice hardens. *“The bond requires strength they did not possess.”*

My stomach turns. “You killed them.”

*“The sea took them. I could not stop it.”* He looks away, and for a moment, the warlord seems… hollow. *“The bond is fatal unless sealed. They feared me. Their terror poisoned the magic.”*

“And me?”

His eyes snap back to mine. *“You are not afraid.”*

A lie. My knees are gelatin, my palms slick with sweat. But I lift my chin. “Maybe I’m just good at pretending.”

*“No.”* A faint ripple of amusement. *“You are terrible at it.”*

I huff. “Thanks.”

He drifts closer. I force myself not to retreat. The water barely ripples around him—he’s hovering now, tentacles moving with liquid grace. Up close, the bioluminescent markings aren’t just on his skin. They pulse beneath it, like galaxies trapped in ink.

*“You want to touch,”* he murmurs.

I stiffen. “I do *not*.”

*“Liar.”*

Heat floods my face. *Yes.* The thought slithered in, unwelcome. His skin looks like polished jet, smooth and cool. I want to trace the glowing lines, see if they burn.

My fingers twitch.

He goes preternaturally still. *“Do it.”*

“What?”

*“Touch me.”* The challenge in his tone is unmistakable. *“Prove you feel no pull.”*