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He grabs a container of the blue-green mixture, handling it with none of Neros' careful precision. The substance sloshes carelessly, droplets scattering into the surrounding water like liquid stars. Each wasted drop represents hours of careful preparation, now floating away because this bastard can't be bothered with proper protocols.

"He gets special attention from royal blood," Merin continues, moving closer while his tentacles writhe like they've got plans I definitely don't want to know about. "Pretty impressive honor for a piece of human breeding stock."

The deliberate emphasis on my species and status makes my teeth clench. "Lord Neros wants the best results," I reply carefully, using his title like it's some kind of magical shield. "The treatments have to follow specific steps or they don't work right."

"Rules get more flexible when the boss isn't around."

His tentacles snap forward without warning, wrapping around my wrists and ankles with bruising force that has nothing to do with medical necessity. The touch feels wrong on every level—too cold, too rough, his suckers attaching to my skin with painful pressure that speaks of dominance rather than care.

The contrast hits me like ice water. When Neros restrains me, even during our most intense sessions, there's always underlying awareness of my limits, careful attention to my responses. This? This is pure violation wearing the mask of medical procedure.

"This isn't how the treatments are supposed to work," I say, fighting to keep my voice steady even as panic starts clawing its way up my throat with teeth and claws.

"Lord Neros isn't here to enforce his precious protocols," Merin replies, more tentacles emerging to explore my body with invasive enthusiasm. One slides roughly across my stomach, another grabs my breast with enough force to make me gasp. "Command authority transfers to senior staff during extended absences."

His mechanical eye whirs loudly as it focuses between my legs, the sound carrying all the warmth of a surveillance camera. "I've been watching your little transformation," he says, his voice trying for seductive but landing somewhere closer to creepy stalker. "Watching those pretty patterns spread across your skin. Makes me wonder how far down they really go."

A tentacle forces its way between my thighs without ceremony, the touch nothing like Neros' careful preparation. This is exploration by conquest—crude, demanding, designed to take rather than give.

"Stop!" I twist against his grip, the luminescent patterns beneath my skin flaring with distress like a biological alarm system. "I am Lord Neros' claimed mate under territorial law!"

"A mere technicality," Merin hisses, his probing tentacle becoming more insistent against my entrance. "All territorial assets fall under command jurisdiction during leadership absence periods. Regulation seven-seven-alpha."

The casual way he quotes regulations while preparing to rape me sends ice through my veins. This isn't impulse or passion—it's calculated violation with bureaucratic justification already prepared.

Fear crystallizes into something sharper and far more useful. Rage, as it turns out, burns much hotter than terror.

"He'll kill you for this," I spit, struggling against restraints that tighten with each movement. "You know he will. You've seen what he does to threats against his property."

Merin's laugh carries all the humor of grinding glass. "Accidents happen during intensive integration processes," he says with chilling calm. "Specimens reject treatment unexpectedly. Tragic, but thoroughly documented in previous cases."

His intent hits me like a physical blow, the full scope of his plan crystallizing with horrifying clarity. He's going to rape me, then kill me, then cover it up as a medical failure. My murder already filed away under 'unfortunate but predictable complications.'

My heart hammers against my ribs as his tentacle pushes harder against my entrance, the tip forcing its way inside despite my body's desperate resistance. Another appendage tears away the minimal covering protecting my breasts, suckers attaching with enough force to leave marks.

"No!" The scream tears from my throat as I thrash with desperate strength, every muscle fighting against impossible odds.

But fury, combined with weeks of involuntary adaptation training, apparently comes with unexpected benefits. The patterns beneath my skin don't just flare—they blaze like emergency beacons, triggering responses in the chamber's bio-integrated systems that Merin clearly didn't anticipate.

Water currents shift abruptly, creating momentary chaos as automated defenses interpret my distress as a territorial threat. Barrier protocols engage throughout the sector, sealing passages and compartmentalizing chambers in emergency configuration.

His grip loosens just enough. I twist with strength I didn't know I possessed, the swimming techniques Neros taught me during our territory explorations becoming weaponsof escape rather than tools of integration. My transformed physiology responds with capabilities that surprise us both—enhanced muscle efficiency, improved oxygen processing, eyes that penetrate murky water where human vision would fail completely.

"Bitch!" Merin snarls, tentacles lashing out to catch only water as I slip through his grasp like something born to this environment.

I dart into a maintenance channel, my smaller human frame fitting where his bulkier kraken anatomy creates disadvantages. The adaptations forced on me through weeks of intensive claiming now serve as salvation—lungs that process water as efficiently as air, muscles that work with alien coordination, senses that navigate darkness where once I would have been helpless.

The luminescent patterns beneath my skin pulse in rhythms I've observed during security drills, automatically triggering territorial defense systems that recognize my biological signature as protected. Additional barriers slam shut throughout the complex, compartmentalizing the space with mechanical precision.

I swim through service passages with desperate efficiency, using knowledge gained during educational tours with my captor. The domain that once represented prison now offers temporary sanctuary from a predator whose hunger makes him infinitely more dangerous than mere captivity.

Merin crashes through obstacles behind me, his rage making him sloppy in ways that work to my advantage. His mechanical eye tracks my movement through barriers that would stop natural vision, but his enhanced strength becomes liability when applied with more force than finesse.

"The human specimen has breached containment!" his voice booms through territory-wide communications. "Implementingsecurity protocols alpha-seven! All personnel authorize immediate termination!"

The command sends liquid nitrogen through my veins. Alpha-seven protocols mean suspected hostile infiltrator—authorized for elimination on sight. He's manufacturing justification for my murder in real time, establishing his cover story before my death can contradict it.

I push deeper into the territory's mechanical guts, using narrow passages where his bulk forces awkward navigation. My lungs burn, muscles scream their protests, but my transformed physiology keeps going far beyond normal human limits. The ghost smuggler's endurance enhanced by alien biology—irony sharp enough to cut.