It was an order.
Clipped.
Bitten off and thrown into the dark.
There it was.
The grin cracked through Thalos' composure before he could stop it. Wide. Open. Genuine in a way that had nothing to do with kindness and everything to do with securing a victory. A prize.
He advanced.
A single, careful sweep of his fluke. Fins tucked flat. Each flexed muscle, every undulation of his tail was calculated. Intentional. Meant to displace as little of the current as possible.
Posture absent threat, for his presence alone was the devastation.
The truth.
That Nyxarion wasn't enough.
Thalos took a breath, closing the distance.
Close enough to reach out and touch the trembling creature locked against Nyxarion's chest.
Enough to taste her distress. Her need.
The perfume ignited his blood.
"Shhh," he hummed, the croon rolling from his throat with an effortless breath. A sound pitched low and warm, threaded with harmonics reserved for distressed mates. For brooding females. "Shhh, little Siren."
Kore's head turned toward the sound.
Grey-gold eyes glassed and reflective.
Instinct.
Pure, helpless need that bypassed whatever remained of her rational mind.
"There you are," he whispered, scarcely a murmur. One hand extended—pale fingers, webbed and elegant. Trailing through the heated water until they found the curve of her thigh.
A spot of skin, absent scales.
Soft. Warm.
He shuddered, scaled rippling as they lifted.
"It hurts," he murmured, falling into those bottomless, inky eyes. "I know. I know."
Drifting up, covering her back, Thalos' hand slid up to cup her jaw. Watching her as he bared a single spine. Translucent. Already beading with the evidence of the approaching frenzy.
He slipped it into her thigh.
Slow.
Gentle.
A single, precise puncture—clean, deep, angled to reach the femoral vein beneath.
Kore's reaction was immediate.