The cavern had gone quiet—a heavy, pulsing silence that stretched into every crevice of stone and water. That silence had weight. It sat on Isla's ribs, dripped down her spine, seeped into the thin film of dread coating her skin. She didn't know how long she sat curled on the slab, hugging her knees, breathing water she'd never asked for. Minutes? Hours? The dark had no clock. The cave had no mercy.
Then the water changed.
It wasn't a sound, not exactly. It was movement—pressure—presence. A tremor slid across the surface, brushing her calves in a slow, warning sweep. The algae flickered with it.
He was coming back.
Her breath expanded in her chest in a tight, involuntary pulse. She backed farther onto the slab, shoulders pressing against the wet wall, eyes straining toward the mouth of the tunnel where shadows thickened.
The glow hit him first.
Bioluminescence spilled over him as he emerged—silver light kissing his skin and catching the edges of scales dusted across his shoulders. His hair floated behind him like a dark veil, trailing in slow, hypnotic tendrils. His tail dragged a curling wake through the water with the effortlessness of a creature born into depth and pressure.
But it was his arms that froze her.
One hand held something long and pale—longer than any spear she'd seen, its shaft ridged in a way that made her stomach twist. Bone. It wasn't carved like human weapons. It was grown—vertebrae stacked into a seamless, deadly length. The tip split into jagged, gleaming prongs, flecked with shells and bits of hardened coral that reflected the cave's soft glow.
It looked ancient.
Older than him.
Older than anything human.
And from its apex dangled two fish—slashed open, bleeding faint green into the water, their iridescent scales flickering like dying stars. Their limp bodies swung slightly with his movement, leaving faint trails of scarlet threads spiraling down.
He approached without hesitation, without curiosity, without any acknowledgment of the horror slicing through her.
When he reached the shelf, he dropped the fish onto the stone beside her.
The slap was wet. Final.
Her whole body recoiled.
The fish twitched once—a death spasm—and Isla gasped, scrambling backward until her spine hit stone. Her fingers clawed at the rock, her breath ragged even though water filled her lungs with impossible steadiness.
Kaelen didn't flinch at her reaction.
He didn't rush her.
He didn't soothe.
He simply leaned the bone-spear against a coral outcrop that resembled a throne—and then crouched at the edge of the slab, tail shifting behind him in a slow, liquid sweep. Every motion was deliberate. Precise. A predator who didn't need to chase what had no escape.
His eyes shimmered silver in the algae-light.
Cold.
Assessing.
Unmoved.
Then the pressure touched her mind.
Eat.
Sharp.
Clipped.
Unmistakable.
"No." She shook her head hard, pulling her knees to her chest. "No—I can't. I'm not—" The water stole her voice, but he heard the meaning anyway.
A small curve—not a smile—sharpened his mouth.
Then starve, he sent, the thought sliding into her with a coldness that bit deeper than fear. I'll collect your bones later.
Her breath stuttered. Rage clawed at her chest, but so did helplessness. "You're—mocking me."
Observation, he corrected, gaze fixed on her with a stillness that felt almost ancient. You have no fire here. No metal. No surface tools. You have teeth. Use them.
Her stomach lurched as her gaze fell to the fish. She remembered perfectly plated meals, candlelit dinners, clean knives, safe, civilized choices. She remembered Caleb ordering sashimi with a confident smile, calling it refined.
She swallowed hard. "This isn't sushi."
Food is food.
His claws—longer now, unsheathed with a soft click—hooked into the fish's flank. With an almost elegant pull, he tore downward. Flesh parted like fabric. Bone gleamed. A strip peeled free with a rip that echoed wetly against the stone.
He lifted it toward her.
Blood spiraled in the water like ink.
She slapped at the current, recoiling violently. "Stop! Please—stop!"
Kaelen tilted his head the slightest degree.
Curious how you choke on survival, yet swallowed pearls and champagne willingly.
The words struck like knives. She flinched. "That's not fair."
Fair? His eyes darkened. This feeds you. That killed you.
Silence dropped between them like a stone.
But he didn't give her time to recover. He dipped his head, sank his teeth into the fresh strip of fish, and tore it clean. His canines flashed briefly before sinking into flesh that dissolved between his jaws. Blood drifted from his lips as he chewed.
He wasn't eating.
He was demonstrating.
Her stomach clenched painfully. She turned away. "Disgusting."
Survival is never pretty.
Another bite. Another drift of blood.
You will learn, or you will not.
When he'd stripped one fish clean to the bone, he flicked the skeleton into the deep below. Small creatures rushed toward it in the shadows.
He picked up the second fish, dragged it closer to her with a single claw.
The wet sound sent a shiver through her.
Eat.
She shook her head again—smaller this time. "I can't."
Rot, then.
The water tightened around her shoulders as he rose in one effortless glide. For a heartbeat his face hovered above hers—so close she could see the faint pulse of bioluminescent veins under his skin, the ripple of muscle beneath patterns of scale.
Up close, he was breathtaking in a way that hurt.
Too beautiful to be safe.
Too monstrous to be trusted.
His gaze held her pinned.
And behind that cold assessment lived something else.
Loneliness.
It hit her like a current—strong, sudden, inexplicable. A pain that wasn't hers. A hollow echo carved into him by centuries she could not imagine. It was there—raw, exposed—for one blink.
Then gone.
Sealed behind indifference.
Without another word, he slid backward and disappeared into the tunnel like a shadow reclaimed by deeper darkness.
The cavern swallowed him whole.
And the silence that followed was worse than his presence.