Page 9 of Brine and Bone
Tethered to its queen.
“I need it,” she gasped, uttering a command through clenched teeth. Clinging to him. Hands twisting in his scalp. “Please. I… I need it. Make me c-cum." Hips rolling to meet his next thrust, taking him deeper, harder, she nodded. "Sh-show them. Give me your seed. Your… your knot. Please."
It was filthy.
Obscene.
His dainty little bride, demanding his sperm?
It humbled him.
Rhythm faltering, his vision went grey. Edged with the sparkle of darkness more profound than even the shadows in Vorynthar. The base of his cock ballooned, knot swelling. Growing thick and brutal in pulses as he fucked her.
Too long.
He’d gone too long without breeding her.
Lost in the madness of Thalos threatening to steal his spawn in the name of Caelith Mare. Countless tides lost circling the perimeter of his own kingdom, snarling at shadows. Afraid to touch her, that the territorial rage had poisoned his every impulse with something lethal.
Such a fool he’d been.
She was the quiet. The thing that tamed the beast. Pulled him… home.
“Fuck, Kore,” he snarled, fins fanning out as he filled her one last time. Cramming his knot inside her.
That silken grip was all it took.
Clamping down around his girth, milking his knot in clenching pulls as her spine twisted. Lips parting as she sobbed, Kore came.
Again.
Body rippling around him, she dragged him under. Forcing him to spill thick, scalding ropes of sperm inside her.
He came with a roar.
Thick, hot ropes of seed flooded her in surges that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Filling her. Claiming her. Painting every inch of her insides with a claim of lineage.
But her womb was full.
Already occupied. Already claimed by the life growing behind the wall of muscle and light. His seed had nowhere to go, and the pressure built until it spilled. Until she couldn’t hold it all inside.
Thick and white, leaking around the seal of his knot in obscene ribbons that curled through the dark water. Catching the glow of the reef as it drifted.
More.
Another pulse.
Another flood.
Jerking inside her, Nyxarion emptied himself. Great, shuddering spasms that wracked his entire body, and still the excess wept from where they joined. Drifting upward in luminous threads that the reef's current caught and carried through the chamber.
The Raskoril drank it down.
Every polyp along the walls opened, tendrils extending toward the cloud of seed and slick. Feeding. Vorynthar pulsed brighter with each tendril that found purchase.
His forehead dropped to hers. Breath ragged. Knot still locked, still pulsing, Nyx rode out the last of it. Palms cupping her little belly. Cradling it. Holding her like something sacred and profane all at once.
Whether or not its blood sang with his name.
