Page 27

RIVAL CLAIMS

Isla's POV

Fate, as it turns out, has a twisted sense of timing. And possibly a gambling problem.

"Three days." The words drop from Neros' mouth like depth charges, each syllable designed for maximum impact. "I must investigate personally."

My stomach performs an impressive acrobatic routine as I stare at the tactical display floating before us.

Each glowing point represents an omega torn from official breeding facilities—my carefully gathered intelligence now illuminating the scope of Vexar's black market empire.

The irony isn't lost on me that my former victims are helping me expose someone else's crimes.

The universe apparently loves its little jokes.

"Commander Merin will oversee territorial security during my absence," Neros continues, his concealed tentacles creating subtle currents that speak of barely controlled tension. "Your fertility treatments will continue under his supervision."

Merin. The name lands in my consciousness like a stone through glass.

Second-in-command with mismatched eyes—one natural, one mechanical replacement that clicks with predatory focus whenever it locks onto me.

His blue skin bears jagged, asymmetrical markings that look more like battle scars than the elegant royal patterns flowing beneath Neros' flesh.

Most importantly, he watches me during territorial briefings with the kind of hunger that makes my skin crawl.

"Is that a good idea?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady while every instinct I have starts screaming. "I mean, the patrol records show someone on the inside is working with Vexar."

"Merin's been loyal for decades," Neros cuts me off, though his tentacles go still for just a beat too long. "We've served together since I first claimed this territory."

I drop my gaze in practiced submission—a gesture I've learned opens more doors than direct confrontation. "Of course. My apologies for questioning your judgment."

His tentacle slides beneath my chin with familiar authority, lifting my face to meet those molten gold eyes.

The touch sends unwanted heat cascading through my transformed nervous system, my body responding to him with the kind of enthusiasm that would be embarrassing if it weren't so damn automatic by now.

"Your fertility treatments are the priority," he says, his voice dropping to that rumble that makes my insides do complicated things. "Keep to the schedule exactly until I get back."

I nod, understanding the command that lurks beneath his words like a shark under calm water. My body belongs to him even in absence—a vessel being meticulously prepared for his eventual return and the biological imperatives that will follow.

When he leaves, taking his presence and protection with him, the entire territory shifts like a predatory ecosystem suddenly missing its apex hunter.

The water feels colder somehow, currents moving with different rhythms. Guards patrol with less discipline, lower-ranking krakens venture into spaces usually reserved for royal blood.

Everyone sensing the alpha's absence and recalculating their chances accordingly.

Merin emerges from the secondary command chambers like he's been waiting for exactly this moment—a spider finally free to explore the web without interference from the bigger, more dangerous spider who usually runs the operation.

His mechanical eye whirs with obvious focus as it scans my body from head to toe, the examination lacking any pretense of professional detachment.

"The breeding specimen needs to be examined," he announces to the guards, trying to sound official but mostly just sounding like someone playing dress-up in daddy's uniform. "Get the treatment chamber ready."

Specimen . Not omega, not mate, not even prisoner. Just specimen—a clinical term that strips away any illusion about how he sees me. The word hits like a slap, reducing me to laboratory equipment with inconvenient opinions.

The treatment chamber feels fundamentally wrong under his supervision.

The water moves in unfamiliar patterns, the bioluminescent organisms responding to his presence with agitated flashing instead of their usual gentle glow.

I settle onto the examination platform with my heart performing percussion solos against my ribs, acutely aware that I'm about to be very, very alone with someone whose loyalty suddenly seems negotiable.

"You've made some impressive changes," Merin says, his mechanical eye clicking as it runs up and down my body like some kind of perverted scanner. "Lord Neros has been very... hands-on with your development."

His tentacles emerge all at once—eight thick appendages that lack the fluid grace I've grown accustomed to.

Where Neros reveals his alien anatomy with controlled purpose, Merin flaunts his like a crude display of dominance designed to intimidate rather than impress.

The difference between precision instrument and blunt weapon.

"The treatments need to continue," I say carefully, nodding toward the shelf where Neros keeps his glowing potions. "Today's supposed to be the deep tissue application."

"Ah yes, the famous treatments." Merin's good eye narrows while he grabs a container of the blue-green mixture. "Lord Neros has gotten pretty... personally involved in your conditioning, hasn't he?"

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.