Only this.
Flesh remade to suit his needs. Tight and hot and ready to take.
Climax twisted his spine as he bottomed out. Spilling great, shuddering pulses of cream, he groaned. The deep drone of his purr gutturing out. Falling silent as ecstasy crashed through his skull. Echoing through his fins and spines.
Fingers biting into her flesh, he crushed her against his chest. Trying to stuff his knot inside, to drag every last drop of pleasure he might take from her willing cunt—but the angle was awkward.
But it was enough.
Its own kind of rapture to give her a bellyful without knotting her in place.
Pressing a croon to her temple, sluicing through a sheath gone slick with the abundance of his seed, he kissed her. "Good girl," he whispered, enjoying the pulsing aftershocks. Emptying himself inside her, this perfect creature who tasted like home. “My sweet, perfect bride. So good. So… so fucking good.”
Lips moving around some senseless plea, Kore tilted her chin and bared her throat.
Yielding.
Even now…
Giving.
CHAPTER 18
Pearlescent scales shone silver in the moonlight.
Flicking his tail, Thalos disturbed the glassy surface as he floated in the shadow of the island. That jagged, lonely outcropping of rock where Nyxarion had pulled a drowned priestess from the sea and remade her.
Where Thalos had won the Chain of Breath and succumbed to temptation, and decided to take her.
Where it all began.
Starlight gleamed across his scales. A taunting glimmer sparkling on the surface of something far deeper than the illusion of a one beautiful night. Murkier than the peaceful, still current carrying him through dark waters.
Kore had killed a Threnakar scholar before the king of the Deep Court.
With Queen’s lightning.
Scrubbing one pale hand down his face, Thalos exhaled. A measured hiss of water gushing through his gills.
The Accord of Nisyros.
Dead.
Dissolved by a pregnant Siren—herself not technically legal, despite the murky waters he’d created in losing the fucking Spiral and failing to kill her. Which would have been easier.
But…
Significantly less interesting.
His position—the one he'd fallen into as easily as he'd succumbed to that sweet, electric little cunt—was exceptionally delicate. Impossibly, for there would be no grand return to his seat in Caelith Mare.
No sweeping declaration that Sirens were legal. No way such an announcement might be met with celebration. Not when the seas had run red before his birth, and entire bloodlines had been extinguished to uplift that sacred doctrine.
Vireliistill sang mourning songs for those who’d died.
The scholars built councils and edicts around the preservation of that very Accord.
To the Pelagorn—long-lived and staunchly resistant—change was a poisoned tide.