Page 29

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 his scent 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.

Without warning, Neros produces a sound I've never heard before—a deep, resonant call that vibrates through the water and seems to penetrate my very bones. It's not speech but pure communication, announcing his successful claim, warning away potential rivals, declaring his territory.

The sound triggers something primitive within me. My back arches involuntarily, presenting my entrance more prominently, my body offering itself without conscious thought. The omega in me recognizes this sound as the prelude to breeding and responds accordingly.

His tentacles move with synchronized purpose now, at least a dozen of them emerging from his transforming body.

They wrap around my thighs, spreading them wider than I thought possible.

Others curl around my waist, lifting my hips to the perfect angle for breeding.

Two more secure my wrists, pulling them behind my back in a position that forces my chest forward, my breasts presented for his attention.

I am completely immobilized, positioned like breeding livestock, and the most horrifying part is how my body responds to this treatment—more slick, more heat, more desperate whining sounds I can't seem to stop making.

"Perfect," he murmurs, hands joining his tentacles in their exploration of my body.

His cock presses against my entrance, impossibly thick and textured with ridges that I know will stimulate every sensitive spot inside me.

But he doesn't thrust forward immediately.

Instead, a smaller tentacle snakes between my thighs, circling my clit with deliberate pressure that has me whimpering.

Another probes at my entrance, sliding inside with sinuous grace, testing my readiness while spreading my own slick along sensitive tissues.

"So responsive," he murmurs, watching my body writhe against his restraining appendages. "Your body was made for this, for me."

Two more tentacles slide up my body to curl around my breasts, the slightly textured undersides creating exquisite friction against my nipples.

I feel surrounded, penetrated, possessed at every point of contact.

My skin burns where his tentacles touch, the contrast between my heat and his cool, damp flesh creating sensations that border on electrical.

When he finally positions his cock at my entrance, I'm already trembling on the edge of climax from the multiple points of stimulation.

There's no hesitation, no gentle preparation—we're both too far gone for such niceties.

He thrusts forward in a single powerful movement, filling me so completely that I feel the breath forced from my lungs.

I cry out, the sound more pleasure than pain. My body, once resistant to his alien anatomy, now welcomes him as though designed specifically for this purpose. My channel stretches around him, slick easing his passage while still allowing me to feel every ridge and contour of his inhuman length.

"Mine," he growls again, establishing a ruthless rhythm that speaks to the depth of his rut. "Say it."

"Yours," I gasp, the admission falling from my lips without resistance. In this moment, it's simply truth—my body belongs to him completely, shaped by his claiming, responsive to his touch in ways I couldn't have imagined before captivity.

His tentacles continue their merciless exploration, finding every sensitive spot with unerring accuracy.

One slides between my buttocks, circling the tight ring of muscle there before pressing forward with gentle insistence.

The intrusion should feel invasive, humiliating, but my heat-drunk body welcomes this additional penetration, nerves firing with pleasure I never knew was possible.

Two more tentacles snake around to stroke my clit from different angles simultaneously, creating a triangulation of pressure that has my vision blurring at the edges.

Others wrap tighter around my breasts, squeezing in rhythm with his thrusts while the tips flick across my hardened nipples with maddening precision.

"Good omega," he praises, the words sending another rush of slick around his invading length. "Taking me so well in every entrance."

The claiming continues with increasing intensity, Neros demonstrating stamina that exceeds even our previous sessions.

His rut grants him supernatural endurance, allowing him to maintain a pace that has me spiraling quickly toward release.

When my first orgasm crashes through me, he doesn't slow or pause but continues his relentless rhythm, forcing my body to accept pleasure beyond what seems possible.

The climax shatters me, fragmenting my consciousness into primitive receptors of sensation.

I am reduced to nothing but nerve endings and evolutionary imperative, my entire existence narrowed to the points where his body connects with mine.

My vision swims with bioluminescent patterns, his markings and mine blending in the water around us, becoming a single light signature announcing our mating to the depths.

A second orgasm builds immediately on the heels of the first, my oversensitized body somehow hungry for more.

The tentacle in my second entrance pushes deeper, establishing a counter-rhythm to his primary thrusts that has me sobbing with overwhelming sensation.

The dual penetration creates a fullness beyond anything I've experienced, pressure and friction multiplied across every internal surface designed for pleasure.

"More," I hear myself begging, the word torn from some primal place I didn't know existed within me. "Please, alpha, more."