Page 28

"She. Is. Mine." Each word carries subsonic harmonics that vibrate through the water between us like a very emphatic underwater earthquake. "My claimed mate. My territory. My bloodline."

Vexar retreats slightly, his posture shifting to submission display though his expression remains calculating like someone who's just had a very interesting idea. "Merely scientific curiosity, Lord Neros. The successful integration of human omega biology with royal kraken bloodlines has significant research implications."

"Research your own specimens," I respond, maintaining aggressive display. "This one is claimed."

Isla's hand touches my arm—an unexpected gesture that momentarily diverts my attention. Her expression combines revulsion at Vexar's suggestion with something more complexdirected toward me. Not gratitude exactly, but recognition. Understanding of protection offered against worse alternatives, which is probably the closest thing to appreciation I'm going to get.

Vexar notices the interaction, his remaining natural eye narrowing with assessment. "Fascinating bonding behavior. Almost like genuine mate-pairing rather than simple breeding claim." His artificial eye adjusts focus with mechanical clicks that are extremely annoying. "I wonder if?—"

"This audience is concluded," I interrupt, releasing pheromones that carry unmistakable territorial threat with the chemical equivalent of a very unfriendly eviction notice. "Return to your domain, Lord Vexar."

For a moment, tension builds in the water between us—his lesser status battling against opportunistic ambition. Then survival instinct prevails, which is probably the smartest decision he's made in decades. He inclines his head in formal acknowledgment, though his posture maintains insolent suggestion.

"Another time, perhaps." His gaze shifts to Isla once more. "When your prize has produced viable offspring and novelty has diminished."

He retreats into the darkness beyond territory boundaries, but the violation of his presence lingers like contamination. His interest represents more than casual scientific curiosity—the Morphos Initiative has been acquiring omega specimens through unauthorized channels for experiments that violate Sovereignty protocols. His attention to Isla carries implications beyond mere territorial disrespect and well into the realm of things that make me want to commit creative violence.

I turn to her, assessing her reaction. Her luminescent patterns pulse with elevated rhythm, stress response evident in her physiological indicators. More concerning is the shift inher scent—fear mingled with something else. Something that triggers primal alpha response beyond rational control.

"We're returning to central chambers," I state, encircling her with protective tentacles. The contact transmits security pheromones while establishing physical dominance—a dual message of protection and possession that covers all the important bases.

She doesn't resist the contact. More surprisingly, she moves closer within the circle of tentacles, her smaller body pressing against mine with unprecedented voluntary proximity. "What was that about? What's the Morphos Initiative?"

"A research consortium I'll explain later." I guide her away from boundary chambers, increasing our speed toward my territory where security measures keep us safe from unwanted visitors with scientific ambitions. "Now we should return to our private quarters."

The journey passes in tense silence, my senses hyperaware of potential threats despite the impossibility of incursion this deep in secure territory. The encounter has triggered a rut-adjacent protective response—not full breeding desire but something close. My inner alpha is demanding the immediate reestablishment of scent marking and territorial claim, preferably through extensive and thorough physical demonstration.

By the time we reach private chambers, my control has frayed to breaking point like a rope that's been under too much tension for too long. My cock strains painfully against its sheath, demanding release. My skin has darkened to near-black with territorial rage, and every instinct screams to reclaim what's mine, to erase any trace of another alpha's interest in my omega.

The door seals behind us, security protocols engaging automatically. I release her from my protective hold but can'tmove away. My tentacles emerge fully now, responding to needs beyond my control.

"His interest was more than casual," she says, surprising me with her perception. "He wants me for something specific."

"The Morphos Initiative experiments with unauthorized breeding programs," I manage, circling her with increasing agitation like a very large, very aroused shark. "Vexar wants to study how you've adapted to me."

Understanding dawns in her expression. "He wants to study me."

"Yes." My voice has dropped to a growl as rut chemicals flood my system with all the subtlety of a biological avalanche. "His interest threatens both you and my claim."

She watches my tentacles with wary recognition, clearly scenting the change in me. "And now you need to reclaim me. To remove any trace of him."

What happens next shatters expectation. Instead of submission or resignation, she moves toward me, closing distance with voluntary motion that makes my brain short-circuit for a moment. Her hand rises to my chest, palm pressing against the central pattern of markings where my royal bloodline signs converge.

"Then claim me," she says, voice steady despite the tremor in her smaller form. "Show him—and me—exactly who I belong to."

Something breaks loose inside me like a dam that's just decided to embrace chaos.

My tentacles snap forward, wrapping around her slender waist and thighs, lifting her effortlessly against my larger body. I crush my mouth against hers, not a gentle kiss but a claiming—my tongue forcing past her lips to stake ownership of that territory too. I expect resistance, but she yields instantly, her mouth opening, her tongue meeting mine with eager heat.

"Fuck," I growl against her lips. "Need to mark you. Need to fill you. Need everyone to know you're mine."

My tentacles tear away the thin covering she wears, exposing her completely to my hungry gaze. The luminescent patterns beneath her skin pulse faster, brighter—her body recognizing and responding to my rut state like a very efficient biological alarm system. I spread her wide open with multiple appendages, two wrapping around her thighs, pulling them apart to expose her most intimate flesh.

"Look how wet you are already," I growl, one tentacle sliding between her legs to gather the slick evidence of her arousal. "Your cunt knows who it belongs to."

She gasps as I drag the tentacle over her exposed clit, her back arching when I apply pressure to that sensitive bundle of nerves. Another tentacle circles her breast, the suction cups attaching to her nipple with precise pressure that draws a moan from her throat.

"Please," she whispers, her hands clutching at my shoulders. "Neros?—"