Page 6 of Taken By the Leviathan King

Krak’zol moves faster than I can track, his massive frame suddenly looming over me. But instead of feeling trapped, I feel protected—sheltered. His hand comes up to cup my face, the gentle press of his claws against my skin sending sparks of awareness through me.

“You are not a prisoner here, Imoogeen,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. How he pronounces my name sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. “You are my equal, my mate. I brought you here to keep you safe, yes, but also because I sense something in you—a fire, a strength that calls to me.” His thumb traces the curve of my cheek, and I have to fight not to lean into the touch. “I’ve seen how you assess every situation, how your mind works. Together, we could face whatever threats come our way, be they from my brother or beyond.”

I want to argue, to push him away and demand he take me back to the surface. But the heat in his gaze, the sincerity in his words—it makes something inside me soften. “And Samantha? The rest of my team?”

“We will protect them,” Krak’zol promises, his other hand coming to rest on my hip. The contact sends a jolt of heat through me, and I have to suppress a shiver. “But first, we must secure the Abyss. If Rynor gains control here, the Abyss will become a weapon. He’ll poison your oceans, enslave my people, and turn Sanos into a tomb. He’ll show all of Sanos what it means to have angered the Leviathan King.”

I close my eyes, trying to think past the distracting press of his body against mine. He’s right, damn him. If there’s a threat to both our peoples, I can’t just ignore it. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

“Fine,” I say at last, opening my eyes to meet his gaze. “I’ll help you deal with your brother, but on one condition.”

Krak’zol’s eyes narrow, but there’s a glimmer of respect in their silver depths. “Name it.”

“No more secrets,” I demand, poking him in the chest for emphasis. “You tell me everything—about the Abyss, about your brother’s plans, about what’s happening to my body. All of it. Deal?”

For a long moment, Krak’zol is silent, his gaze searching mine. Then, slowly, a smile spreads across his face—not the predatory grin I’ve come to expect, but something softer, more genuine.

“Deal,” he rumbles, and before I can dodge, he leans down and presses his forehead against mine. The gesture catches me off guard; it’s weirdly intimate for a guy who’s mostly growled at me so far. I feel something shift between us, and it’s not just the water currents. Damn it. This is more than just physical attraction or a convenient alliance. I’m in trouble.

“So,” I say, pulling back just enough to meet Krak’zol’s gaze. “Where do we start?”

His answering grin is all predator, all promise. “With your first lesson in Leviathan politics, little warrior. Are you ready?”

I square my shoulders, lifting my chin in challenge. “Bring it on, fish-face. I can take whatever you dish out.”

As Krak’zol leads me deeper into the heart of the Abyss, the thrill is a dangerous spark. Let the games begin, and may the best monster win.

Chapter four

KRAK'ZOL

Imoogeen’shandinminefeels right, like a weapon perfectly balanced for battle. Her fingers are small, fragile-looking things, but I can feel the strength in them. Good. She’ll need that strength for what’s coming. I lead her through the twisting passages of my territory, every instinct screaming to claim her, to keep her safe from the threats lurking in the shadows. Her scent fills the water around us—salt, defiance, and something human. It makes my fangs ache, my claws flex. I have to focus. There’s no time for distraction, not with Rynor’s treachery poisoning the Abyss.

We approach the war chamber, and I feel her tense beside me. Her warrior’s instincts are sharp, even in this alien environment. Good. She’ll need that edge in the coming days.

“Before we enter,” I rumble, pausing outside the intricately carved doors, “there’s something you should know.”

Imoogeen arches an eyebrow, a gesture I’m quickly coming to associate with her particular brand of stubborn skepticism. “More secrets, Your Highness? I thought we had a deal.”

The use of my title, dripping with sarcasm, sends a thrill through me. Such fire, even in the face of the unknown. My little warrior truly is my perfect match.

“Not secrets,” I correct, resisting the urge to pull her closer. “A warning. My advisor, Zorath, can be . . . intense. He may not approve of your presence here.”

She lets out a sharp sound, halfway between a laugh and a snort. The noise stirs something primal in me—a mix of amusement and possessiveness. My little warrior, fierce even in her moments of mirth. “Shocking. An alien warlord’s right-hand man might not like the human captive. Who could have guessed?”

I growl low in my throat, my tail lashing behind me. “You arenota captive.”

“Keep telling yourself that, fish-face,” she mutters, but there’s less bite in her tone than before.

Before I can respond, the massive coral doors swing open with a groan that echoes through the water, sending a shiver of pressure against my skin, revealing the cavernous war chamber beyond.

The space stretches out before us, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadows pierced only by the eerie glow of bioluminescent creatures clinging to the rocky outcroppings. Intricate tapestries of woven seaweed and precious stones line the walls, depictingepic battles and mythical sea beasts that seem to writhe in the shifting light.

At the center of the chamber stands an enormous table carved from a single slab of obsidian, its surface etched with detailed maps of the Abyss and surrounding territories. Glowing crystals mark key locations in my kingdom, pulsing with an inner light that casts dancing shadows across the room.

Zorath stands at the far end, his scarred frame a living testament to countless battles fought and won. His skin, a mottled grey darker than Krak’zol’s, bears the raised patterns of ritual scars that speak of his high rank. Muscles ripple beneath his scaled hide as he turns, his massive tail sweeping a graceful arc through the water. His eyes, black as the deepest trench, fix on Imogen with predatory focus, assessing and cataloging every detail of the newcomer in their midst.

“My king,” he rumbles, voice like gravel over steel. “I see you’ve brought your . . . guest.”

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