Page 22 of Drown Me Gently

Why was his gaze always cast toward the sun?

Why couldn’t he be content in the deep?

With me, Ulric thought, bitter as brine.

He met Auren in the bloom before he realized what he was doing. His tentacles curled slowly behind him, careful, as though to lock them in place and resist the urge to reach out.

Auren was only inches away, looking at him through gold glittered lashes.

There was no playful smirk. No teasing glint in his eye. Just… tenderness.

And want.

It struck Ulric like a harpoon to the chest.

That look—the barest tilt of Auren’s head, the way his lashes dipped, the slight parting of his lips—that was not the look Ulric had grown used to. Not a look of defiance. Or anger. It was the look of someone reaching. Someone yearning. Someone on the precipice of discovering that what they wanted most… was right in front of them.

Ulric’s heart kicked in his chest. Too hard. Too loud. The blood sang in his ears. Auren’s voice was quiet, but it wrapped around him like a vice.

“I used to think I’d feel trapped forever,” Auren murmured, eyes still on him. “That nothing could ever change. But now… I don’t know. Things feel different.”

Ulric swallowed. This was dangerous. “Auren…”

“I look at you now,” Auren said, “and I don’t feel trapped.”

Ulric couldn’t breathe.

He wanted to touch him. He wanted to grab him. By the wrist, by the waist, by the mouth—and kiss that hope from his lips before it crushed them both. But he didn’t move.

His voice came out like gravel.

“Then why do you always chase the sky, Auren?” Ulric asked, barely above a whisper. “Have you ever wondered who waits for you in the depths?”

Auren’s breath hitched, and when he looked at Ulric, those cerulean eyes were glowing, pulsing with magic still to come, straining to reveal itself early. Ulric’s magic hummed in response.

“I never had a reason to look down before,” Auren said, voice low. “But… maybe now?”

Then, Auren’s gaze dropped to his mouth and lingered there. Ulric’s stomach clenched. A moment later, he felt the brush of hands against his shoulders. Tentative. Testing. Then firm.

“I think,” Auren said, “I should’ve been looking into the depths all along.”

Ulric’s throat bobbed with the force of a swallow. His heart was beating like a war drum, his body caught between instinct and rule, desire and duty. Every ancient vow he’d sworn was unraveling like old rope.

He should say something—stop this before it grew out of control.

Instead, he whispered, “And if the depths have been waiting for you all this time?”

Auren didn’t answer. Because everything in his eyes spoke for him. Ulric moved. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was Auren. Maybe they both leaned in at once. He didn’t mean to reach out. He didn’t mean to touch.

But his hand slid gently into the prince’s hair, fingers brushing the silver silk woven through the braid. His palm came to rest against Auren’s cheek, warm and soft beneath his callused touch. One of his tentacles shifted forward until it curled around the delicate arch of Auren’s tail.

Anchoring him.

Just for a moment.

Long enough for Ulric to pretend they belonged like this.

Long enough to want it more than the next beat of his heart.