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"Mine," he growls against my throat, teeth grazing the sensitive scent gland that makes my vision blur with submission chemicals. "Say it."

"Yours," I gasp, the word carrying none of my usual reluctance because pretense seems pointless after nearly being murdered. "I'm yours, Neros."

Using his name instead of his title changes something fundamental between us. His pupils dilate completely, his knot swelling faster than ever before as biological recognition triggers responses beyond mere physical compatibility. When he locks inside me, the sensation feels less like claiming and more like... coming home.

Afterward, still joined by alien anatomy that keeps us connected whether we want to be or not, I confront an uncomfortable truth. What began as straightforward captivity has evolved into something considerably more complex. Merin'sattack revealed dynamics neither of us expected—that Neros sees me as more than just breeding equipment, while I see him as more than merely my captor.

"No one else will touch you," Neros promises, one tentacle tracing the luminescent patterns that map my transformation. "I'll eliminate anyone who attempts it."

The possessive vow should sound like another claim of ownership. Instead, it feels like protection—the devil I know defending me against devils I don't. In a world where I'll always be someone's prey, I've apparently chosen my predator.

As his knot gradually subsides, I face a realization that probably should disturb me more than it does. In the complicated space between captivity and choice, between violation and protection, something unexpected has begun growing. Not love—that would be premature and possibly delusional—but understanding. Recognition of mutual benefit. Partnership born from biological compatibility but evolving into something neither of us anticipated when the ghost smuggler first entered kraken waters.

Magic, fate, and biology make strange collaborators. But their combined efforts are apparently creating something that transcends the simple categories of captor and captive, predator and prey.

The universe, it seems, saves its best jokes for last.

CHAPTER 15

THIRD HEAT'S CHARM

Isla's POV

I wake to fire in my veins.

My skin burns with such intensity that even the cool water surrounding me feels like molten metal sliding across my flesh. The luminescent patterns beneath my skin pulse with frantic, desperate rhythm—bright flares of blue-white light that match the racing of my heart.

This is nothing like the previous heats. This is devastation.

My third heat arrives exactly when Neros predicted, my biology now perfectly synchronized with his rut cycle. The precision of it should disturb me—this ultimate evidence of how completely my body has betrayed me, how thoroughly it has rewritten itself to complement his. Instead, I find myself grateful for the predictability. At least I had time to prepare for this dissolution of self.

I curl into a fetal position on the claiming platform, sheets soaked through with slick that my body produces in humiliating abundance. The scent of it fills the water around me, sweet and heavy, unmistakable evidence of my readiness. Of my need.

When Neros enters the chamber, I sense him before I see him. The water currents shift with his approach, carrying hisscent to me—salt and brine, oceanic depths, and something darker, more primitive. His rut pheromones hit me like a physical blow, triggering another wave of heat that has me gasping.

"Alpha," I whisper, the word escaping before I can trap it behind my teeth.

He stands in the chamber entrance, his massive form silhouetted against the bioluminescent corridor beyond. His skin has darkened to near-black, a sign of intense arousal I've come to recognize. But there's something different this time—the patterns across his midnight-blue skin pulse with aggressive intensity, flaring with territorial warnings I've never seen him display before.

"Mine," he growls, the sound reverberating through water and air alike.

The single word sends a shudder through me. Not fear—though perhaps it should be—but anticipation so acute it borders on pain. My inner walls clench around emptiness, demanding his fullness with an urgency that obliterates thought.

Neros moves toward me with predatory grace, his golden eyes never leaving mine. Tentacles emerge unbidden from his forearms and torso, no longer the controlled few I've grown accustomed to but a writhing mass of appendages seeking connection. His control, always so precise, seems thinner now, stretched taut across the primal instincts rising within him.

"Your scent has changed," he says, voice deeper than I've ever heard it. "Richer. Perfect for breeding."

The first tentacle reaches me before he does, snaking across the platform to wrap around my ankle. The touch is electric—cool, slightly damp skin against my fever-hot flesh. A second tentacle follows, then a third, winding around my other ankle and wrist with deliberate purpose.

He reaches the platform and traces a finger along the luminescent patterns that spread across my collarbone. A broken sound escapes me as more slick rushes from my core, my body's immediate, shameless response to his simplest touch.

"Please," I whisper, not knowing exactly what I'm begging for.

Neros inhales deeply at my neck, shuddering as my scent hits him. I watch more tentacles emerge from his darkening skin, reaching for me with single-minded purpose. His rut is fully upon him, evidenced by the darkening skin and the tentacles that now emerge not just from his arms but across his torso, each appendage seeking contact with my heated flesh.

"I need to mark you first," he says, more to himself than to me. "Make sure everyone knows you're claimed."

He turns me with surprising strength, positioning me on my stomach with my hips slightly elevated. The claiming platform shifts beneath me, adapting to support my body in this new, vulnerable position. I feel exposed, my entrance displayed for his inspection.