Page 17 of Taken By the Leviathan King

I touch her, my fingers tracing the line of her collarbone, the delicate curve of her neck, the faint, shimmering scales that now adorn her skin. She shivers but doesn’t pull away. Her pulse quickens, a rapid flutter that echoes the frantic beat of my own heart.

“You are beautiful,” I whisper, the words raw, honest. It is not a compliment, not a seduction. It is a statement of fact, an acknowledgment of the profound effect she has on me.

Her eyes darken, her pupils dilating until they almost swallow the green. She reaches for me, her hand hesitant at first, then bolder, her fingers tracing the contours of my scaled arm, the ridges along my spine.

“Show me,” she whispers, her voice a husky murmur that sends a shiver down my spine. “Show me what you really are.”

She asks to see the monster, yet I fear showing her the beast I truly am. What if the sight of me, fully unleashed, drives that spark of defiance from her eyes? What if she turns away? But the request, the vulnerability in her voice, unleashes something within me. The control I’ve been maintaining, the careful restraint, shatters. I let my form shift, revealing more of my true Leviathan nature.

My scales darken; patterns of glowing scales emerge across my skin, dazzling with an intensity that rivals the crystals surrounding us. My tail lengthens, becoming more serpentine, the tip twitching with barely contained energy. Spines unfurl along my back, sharp and dangerous, and my fangs lengthen, fully visible now, even with my mouth closed.

It is a monstrous transformation, a display of raw power that should terrify her. I watch her closely, my silver eyes searching for any sign of fear, of revulsion. It is a vulnerability I haven’tallowed myself to feel in centuries, this need for acceptance, for…approval.

But there’s no fear in her eyes—only wonder.

She reaches for me, her fingers tracing the glowing patterns on my chest, the sharp ridges of my spines, the smooth, powerful curve of my tail. Her touch is light, tentative, but it sends shockwaves of sensation through me, a jolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure that makes me shudder.

“There you are,” she whispers, her voice filled with a strange awe that makes my heart ache with a tenderness I never knew I was capable of.

It is not fear she is showing, not a question. It is like she sees me, therealme, the monster I try to keep chained down. And at that moment, something inside me just…cracks. Everything I keep buried? It just floods out.

I pull her closer, my arms encircling her, my tail curling possessively around her waist. The contrast between us is stark—her soft, human flesh against my scaled hide; her delicate curves against my massive, powerful frame. Yet, it feels right, perfect.

“Imoogeen,” I growl, my voice a raw, guttural sound that vibrates through the water. “Mine.”

It is not a question, not a plea. It is a statement of fact, a primal claim that echoes through the centuries of Leviathan history. She is mine, bound to me by the venom, by the bond, by a force more ancient and powerful than anything in the Abyss.

She doesn’t argue, doesn’t resist. She meets my gaze, her eyes holding the same intensity as mine.

“Yours,” she whispers, the word a promise, a surrender.

And then, I kiss her.

It is not a gentle kiss, not a tentative exploration. It is a claiming, a fusion of two beings, two souls, two destinies. My fangs graze her lips, a deliberate reminder of the power I hold,the bond that binds us. But there’s tenderness too, a reverence that surprises even me.

She returns the kiss, her arms tightening around my neck, fingers sinking into my damp hair—fierce, demanding—a challenge that ignites the leviathan in me. This isn’t tender; it is a battle, a dance between what she wants to yield and what I need to claim.

The water whips around us, reacting to the storm inside. The crystals throb, their song rising, vibrating through the very bones of the Abyss. Everything bends to the heat between us.

I deepen the kiss, my tongue claiming hers, tasting the salt, the sweetness, the metallic tang of my venom now coursing through her veins—addictive—a constant reminder that she is changing, that she is mine.

My hands roam, staking my claim: waist, hips, the delicate line of her spine. Her skin is soft, so incredibly soft, yet beneath it, I feel the subtle shift, the scales emerging, the hum of power building within her.

She moans, a soft sound that drives a spike of pure lust through me. I drag her closer, crushing her against me, feeling the frantic thrum of her heart against my chest, echoing the beast inside me.

Without thought, my tail wraps around her ankle, a possessive act. I don’t even realize I am doing it until I feel the faint tension in her muscles—primal—a need to bind her, to possess her, to protect her from everything.

I lift her, her legs clamping around my waist, her softness a shock against my scales. Every inch of her body pressed to mine is a brand. The thrill of it is a jolt—raw and possessive.

She gasps, her fingers digging into my shoulders, nails scraping my skin. A primitive part of me wants her to draw blood, to leave a mark as permanent as the one I left on her neck. I can feel her resistance breaking, the fight leaving her. This isn’tsurrender; it is an acceptance. She knows, on some primal level, that she is mine.

“Krak’zol,” she breathes, my name rough and needy on her lips—a plea and a challenge, all in one breath.

I move within her, slow and deliberate at first, savoring the feel of her body surrounding me, the tight, delicious friction that sends waves of pleasure through me. She responds in kind, her hips meeting my thrusts, her body moving with a natural rhythm that seems to anticipate my every move.

We find a rhythm, a dance of pleasure and surrender, of dominance and submission, of two souls merging into one. The water around us swirls, shimmers, responding to the intensity of our emotions. The crystals in the walls pulse with a brighter light, their gentle hum deepening into a resonant chord that seems to vibrate through the very fabric of the Abyss. I don’t waste words. I answer the unspoken demand, my fangs dragging against the sensitive curve of her neck, right over my mark. She arches, offering herself—giving herself, finally.

And then, I slide inside her. No gentleness, no prelude—just a deep, possessive thrust that steals her breath and makes her cry out, a sound that fuels the leviathan in me. I fill her completely, stretching her, claiming her. She is so tight, so hot, it is almost unbearable.

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