Chapter 25

Even in the dead of night, this place shines with a haunted glow—colorful light spilling from the aurora strung across the sky outside. It filters through the crystal walls and the tiny, high-up window chipped through the side.

I look to the mound at my feet where Vicious is twisted in a ball, tucked under the heavy furs, her breath a summer breeze against my shin ...

Herspot.

Every evening without fail, once we’ve finished feasting on the fish she’s bashed to death, she burrows beneath, ruts the furs into a mound, curls up, and promptly falls asleep, her shallow breathing making me picture her with one eye open.

I usually use the soft beat of it against my skin to lull me under. A warm comfort I’ve grown too fond of. One I look forward to.

Achefor.

But tonight, it’s not working.

I can’t switch off, my heart hammering so fast it feels like something’s thrashing around in there. But it’s not him.

Zykanth.

Still silent. Still so deep I can’t feel a flutter or a coil of motion. I don’t want much—just a single scale. A frill.The smallest something to resecure our connection and prevent his essence from shriveling up inside me.

The thought of a life without him makes my chest and torso feel crushed by a boulder.

Two icebergs clank against each other somewhere in the distance, screaming their own language in cracking tones and eerie echoes.

Vicious scurries out from under the furs and bolts upright, on the tips of her toes as she grips the windowsill and looks out across the sea. Ribbons of colorful light stain the smooth angles of her elegant face, her hair a dashed cloud, tanned legs exposed from the stretch of her.

Her lips pull back, flashing those sharp teeth as a soft snarl saws free.

“Hey, it’s okay.” I tangle my fingers through the hem of her shirt and give it a tug.

It slips down, revealing the fine slant of a sun-kissed shoulder and the full, healthy swell of her right breast.

Fuck.

“Sorry.”

She doesn’t waver—that snarl growing louder.

Deeper.

I swallow, wrapping my hand around her slight ankle, teeth chattering. “V-Vicious ...”

Her bold, yellow stare stabs at me, and for a moment it’s hard to think under the force of her full attention while blinded by the wild, erotic elegance of her bared breast and pinched, pink nipple.

My heart trips over one of its hurried beats.

The colors of the aurora blend through her hair as she tilts her head, the motion almost predatory. For whatever fucking reason, I’m blindsided by a jolt of thrill.

She drops to a crouch and slaps her hand upon my clammy forehead, rinsing me in her sea-spray scent.

I groan for all the wrong reasons.

She inspects my perspiration now smeared across her palm, sniffing it.

I frown.

Why am I sweating? People only do that when they’re overheating—something I’m absolutely not doing. In fact, I’ve never been so cold in my very long life.

She nuzzles into my neck, draws deep ...

I still.

Fucking still.

Her exhale rattles against me, and for a moment I think she’s going to open that pretty little mouth and sink her teeth into my flesh.

“I’m fine.” I coax the shirt over her shoulder again, then grip her by the upper arm. “Just tuck d-down and go back to sle—”

She whips the furs away, baring my body to the crisp air.

“Sweet seas,” I mutter, reaching down to protect myself. “Avert your eyes. It’s cold.”

She settles her ear against my chest, eyes sweeping shut, snatching my breath as her hand flattens over my heart. She taps-taps-taps her middle finger, and I drop my chin, watching her with baited intrigue.

On she goes—speeding up, slowing down. She even drums little patterns that have me frowning.

Perhaps she’s timing those knocks to the beat of my heart? Maybe her concern is justified. That rhythm doesn’t sound healthy.

“It’s working, Vicious. I w-wouldn’t be breathing otherwise.”

Her other hand stamps over my mouth—a not-so-subtle way of telling me to shut it.

I groan, afraid of nipping her salt-stained palm with my chattering teeth.

A knock on the door has her head whipping up. Every bone in my body locks as I watch her leap off the bed with a burst of excited energy that sets me on edge.

I thought this island was abandoned. Has been for decades.

Maybe … maybe she has a mate. Maybe that’s his shirt she’s practically swimming in.

Maybe this is their nest.

I try to cover myself with the furs, the movement stabbing me with a strike of pain.

“Who is that?”

I’m not sure why the words come out thick. Even a little ... growled. I wish Zyke would slither up and offer me a spike or two. Maybe a spine fin. I’d settle for a fucking scale at this point.

Vicious rips open the door, and relief swirls in my gut when I see nobody’s there.

She bends, straightens, then comes back inside holding a weather-worn basket. She dashes toward me, ripping off the cloth covering the mound of contents: a stack of dried fish and a tiny jar that reminds me of Orlaith. I catch sight of the lucent powder inside, and a bitterly cold chill strikes my heart, pausing its frantic beat.

“Candescence ...”

She snatches the jar so fast her movements blur, and then she’s scooping a shell full of water.

“Who gave you that?” My voice is fractured with hesitancy. “Vicious? Please …”

No response as she sprinkles the powder on the water’s top and stirs it through with her finger, concentration dug deep into the iridescent swirl I can see from here.

Fear pulses to life—wild and unblinking.

If she drinks that … she’s not the person I thought she was.

Far from it.

“Vicious,” I growl, then curse this communication barrier staked between us as I try to sit up. Not sure why. Perhaps to bat it from her hand before it makes it to her lips.

I kick my leg off the edge of the nest—

She snarls, head snapping in my direction.

“I’m fine!” The words belt free, even as that ache inside my chest spears deeper.

Clambering onto the furs, she straddles my chest and brings the shell to my lips, her eyes wide.

Like a tail slap to the face, I realize what this is.

She wants me to drink it because she thinks it’ll heal me.

I squeeze my lips shut, hardening my stare.

Fuck. No.

Her eyes flash, then narrow as she tries to bore her finger between my lips, grunting at me.

Actually grunting at me.

I don’t care how sick she thinks I am, there is not one single part of me that will ever be coaxed into drinking the ground thorns of an Aeshlian ear.

When she manages to get the tip of her finger past my lips, I nip at it, almost hard enough to draw blood. She whips her hand away and stuffs the tip into her mouth while she studies me.

“No d-drink,” I berate, shaking my head. “No.”

She nods—a lot.

And fast.

I shake my head with the same vigor. “No.”

Her gaze shifts from my eyes to my mouth, then to my gills, brow buckling when it settles on my nose. She pinches it hard enough to stop any air from flowing in or out, and my eyes widen.

With a surge of adrenaline, I snatch her wrist, flip us both, and pin her beneath me, dashing liquid candescence over the furs as I bear my weight down upon her and grunt in her face—deep and fucking rough.

Her eyelids flutter.

She stills, hair a tousled halo, looking up at me with full-moon eyes. There’s something in their sunstruck depths, a shimmering lure I want to chase. Catch. Cradle.

Curl around.

Something in the way she’s spread beneath me, pressed against my nakedness—soft and supple and savage to the core.

Beautifully feral.

An unbuffed treasure.

The hot surge of throbbing pressure between my legs crumbles my resolve.

Fuck.

I tip sideways into a heap to shield her from the prodding intrusion, and a slash of pain strikes me like another bolt to the chest. Biting down the urge to scream or vomit or maybe both, I hear a slosh of water. A gentle tap of glass to shell.

Vicious straddles my waist, and my spine bucks as she rips the scale off my chest so fast another wave of vomit threatens, then she’s tipping the liquid onto my wound like a pour of fire.

She’s going to kill me. Then probably eat me.

At this point, that seems peaceful.

I grind out big, aching breaths while she smooths the scale and pats down the edges before battling with the buttons on her shirt. One by one they give way until all her curves are bared to me.

My heart skips a beat.

Several.

I take in her tiny waist, full breasts and hips that could make the sea scream. Her smooth stomach leading to a dainty, white tuft at the apex of her spread thighs that are wrapped around me …

I feel my hard, naked length pulse.

Look away, you fucking brute.

She peels the shirt off, dashes it over me, eyeing my ready shaft as she does so. A pink blush spreads across her cheeks, and I shift my stare to the far side of the room.

Don’t think. Or smell.

Don’t fucking move.

A long silence drifts by, and I dissect each of her short, sharp breaths like I’m going mad—trying to twist them into words. Trying to convince myself her silence means something it likely doesn’t.

She climbs over me, and I continue to stare at the wall, listening to her paw the furs, mounding the spot right beside me into a cushioned pile. She shifts my arm and balls up against my side, her breaths a warm patter on my ribs.

Slowly, her hand threads across my chest, settling on a spot near my hurt, and she taps, taps ... taps ...

They taper off with her deepening breaths, and I finally allow myself to observe her—balled up, naked, and untamed, hair cast to the side like a spill of bubbly water.

I pluck a twig from the tangles, gaze catching on something just behind her ear. The faint tip of three fine lines.

My heart splats against my insides.

I push aside her hair and swallow. Trace those lines with the tip of my finger, feeling her tremble against me with each tender stroke …

She has gills.

I stopped hunting years ago. Thought I was the only one left—that Zyke and I were all alone.

I was wrong.