Chapter 25
K lari exploded through the dark like a spear thrown by the deep itself.
The echo of Greta’s scream still vibrated in his gills, pulling him forward with a desperation that burned hotter than any wound.
Blood streamed from the fresh gashes the Veyr’khal had carved across his chest and thigh, but he barely felt them.
Every powerful stroke of his tail sent shockwaves through the water. His markings flared erratically — silver threads stuttering across indigo scales, no longer smooth and controlled, but wild and fractured from the monster fight.
Then he saw her.
Greta was pinned against the scarred hull of the ancient wreck, her back pressed to cold, pitted metal. A rival — the one with the silver jaw markings — loomed over her, massive body crushing her smaller frame.
One clawed hand gripped her throat, the other forcing her tail down as he tried to wedge his hips between hers. His cock had already emerged, thick and aggressive, pressing against her as he snarled something ugly into her face.
Greta’s pink scales flashed in the weak emergency light leaking from the wreck. Her claws raked uselessly at the rival’s arm, but he was too heavy, too strong.
Her gills fluttered in panic. Her scream had been defiance, but now it was breaking.
Klari didn’t think.
He attacked.
There was no roar of challenge. No circling. No posturing.
He simply became violence.
He slammed into the rival from the side at full speed, shoulder-first, the impact cracking like breaking coral. The rival’s head snapped sideways with a wet crunch. Before the male could even register the new threat, Klari’s claws were already buried deep in his throat.
No hesitation. No mercy.
He ripped outward in one savage motion, tearing through scale, muscle, and artery in a single brutal stroke. Dark blood exploded into the water in a thick cloud.
The rival’s eyes widened in shock, silver jaw markings flaring bright for one final, useless second.
Klari didn’t stop.
He drove his other hand straight into the rival’s chest, claws punching through the protective plates over the heart. He felt the organ pulse once against his palm — hot, frantic — before he closed his fist and tore it free in a spray of gore.
The rival convulsed once, mouth opening in a silent scream, then went limp.
Klari shoved the corpse away with a contemptuous flick of his tail. The body drifted slowly downward, trailing ribbons of blood, eyes already glazing over .
It was over in less than four seconds.
Klari turned to Greta.
The moment their eyes met, the feral rage drained from his face, replaced by something raw and aching.
“Greta…”
She was still pressed against the hull, chest heaving, pink scales streaked with the rival’s blood. Her gills fluttered rapidly. But it was her hands that made his stomach drop.
The glowing vein patterns along her arms and fingers were pulsing fast and uneven — too fast. The beautiful rose-pink scales at her fingertips were already fading, edges turning translucent and soft, the webbing between her fingers thinning like melting ice.
The timer was burning through her faster than it should.
She saw it too.
Their gazes locked on her hands at the exact same moment.
Greta stared at her own fingers as the scales continued to recede, revealing soft, vulnerable human skin beneath. A small, broken sound escaped her — not quite a sob, not quite a laugh. Relief and terror tangled together so tightly she couldn’t name either one.
Klari crossed the distance between them in two powerful strokes.
He didn’t speak. He simply gathered her against his chest, one arm banding around her waist, the other cradling the back of her head. His tail wrapped tightly around hers, weaving them together until there was no space left between their bodies.
She could feel how badly he was shaking — exhaustion, blood loss, the aftermath of the Veyr’khal fight, and the pure, soul-deep terror of almost losing her .
His markings were still erratic, silver threads flickering and stuttering across his indigo scales like damaged wiring. Fresh gashes wept dark blood down his side and chest. One deep wound on his thigh looked particularly ugly, the edges ragged from the squid’s barbed suckers.
He looked like he had walked through hell to reach her.
Greta buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in — salt, blood, and that unmistakable briny warmth that was purely Klari.
She didn’t comment on the damage. She didn’t ask how bad it was. She just held on, fingers curling into his scales, tail tightening around his in silent gratitude.
“I heard you scream,” he rasped against her hair, voice rough and cracked. His claws stroked gently down her spine, careful even now. “I thought?—”
He cut himself off, pressing his forehead harder against hers. His markings pulsed once, brighter, then settled into a shaky rhythm against her skin.
Greta pulled back just enough to look at him. Her hands — still partially scaled, still partially softening — came up to cup his face. She could feel the reversion creeping higher, the scales on her wrists beginning to lose their shimmer.
“We’re both still here,” she whispered. Her voice trembled, but she forced it steady. “That’s what matters right now.”
Klari’s golden eyes searched hers, counting every second she was still safe, still with him. The same look he’d given her during that first desperate ascent when she had been reverting in his arms.
Like he was measuring the distance between her and disaster and vowing to close it with his own body if he had to.
He leaned in and kissed her — not fierce, not claiming, but deep and desperate, full of everything he couldn’t put into words.
Their tails remained tightly woven, the sensitive lengths stroking together in slow, grounding caresses. His blood mixed with the water around them, but neither cared.
When he finally pulled back, his gaze dropped again to her hands.
The scales on her fingertips had almost completely faded now. The webbing was nearly gone. The glowing vein patterns were flickering erratically, like a failing circuit.
“Timer’s almost out,” he said quietly.
Greta nodded, flexing her fingers. The sensation was strange — half aquatic strength, half returning human fragility. “Then we don’t waste what’s left.”
Klari’s arm tightened around her waist. Despite the exhaustion carving deep lines into his face, despite the blood still leaking from his wounds, his touch remained careful, protective.
He glanced once at the rival’s drifting corpse, then back to her.
“No more running blind,” he murmured. “We find a safe place. We finish the second claim before it takes you from me.”
Greta rested her forehead against his again, their tails still intertwined, bodies pressed close in the cold water outside the wreck.
She didn’t name the relief flooding through her chest — the bone-deep certainty that he would tear apart anything that tried to take her from him. She didn’t need to.