Page 33 of Drown Me Gently

And Ulric’s hands found him.

One slid up the curve of Auren’s spine, a light touch gliding on skin, until it reached the nape of his neck. Fingers slipped gently into his hair, curling around the roots, thumb brushing against the soft place just behind his ear. The other hand pressed to the small of his back, pulling him close.

Auren’s mouth parted in a shaky breath. He didn’t understand this—this gentleness. The shift between them was seismic, but Ulric’s touch was so agonizingly careful. Ulric leaned in until their foreheads touched, breath ghosting over Auren’s lips.

Ulric closed his eyes.

Auren did too.

And for a moment, there was no war between them. No anger. Just skin and silence, and a heartbeat shared between bodies.

“Forget everything that happened. Forget those moments. Forget me.” Ulric whispered, voice so soft Auren barely heard it, “I’m begging you… Stop this.”

Auren couldn’t breathe, overwhelmed by the proximity, the scent, the memories.

He didn’t mean to.

But before he even realized what he was doing, his arms lifted and wrapped around Ulric’s waist. It was instinct. A reflex from some aching, unguarded part of him that had never stopped wanting this. Needing it. His fingers pressed into the firm muscle at Ulric’s back, his cheek brushing the Kraken’s stubbled jaw. And for the briefest moment, Auren let himself fall. Let himself lean into the warmth and weight of that embrace. He let the fear slip. Let the bitterness go.

And then⁠—

Ulric shoved him.

Hard.

Auren’s body jolted, crashing into the alcove wall with a dull thud. The side of his head cracked against the stone, and his vision went white. He blinked, stunned, and lifted a hand to rub his skull, fingers coming back with dissipating whisps of blood.

“Auren, I… I’m sorry I didn’t mean to….” Ulric was panting, his tattoos flashing rapidly, his face twisted in agony.

The tears welled before Auren could stop them. His voice trembled as he spoke. “You’ll never choose me,” he said, each word like a blade between his ribs. “Elias did.”

Ulric flinched as though he were the one bleeding, but the shock faded quickly, features hardening into a fathomless cold.

“You leave me no choice, then,” he said, and the glow in his tattoos went out. His voice dropped to a low, aching rasp. “Hate me,” he said, eyes unreadable. “Hate me for what I must do.”

And he vanished into the dark. Leaving Auren alone in the alcove. Shaking. Ashamed. And bleeding. But the worst of the pain came from a wound nobody could see.

Auren’s entire body ached with the ghost of an embrace that had almost meant something, before shattering his heart again. He blinked away the tears now flowing freely to join the sea. He drew in a shaking breath and whistled, calling for the one soul who could take him where he needed to go. He needed Elias. Desperately. Needed to feel arms around him that didn’t recoil. Needed to hear words that didn’t twist like knives in his ribs. Needed someone to love the hurt out of him like a sickness.

But no sound answered. No familiar shape broke the gloom. Auren waited. He whistled again, more frantic this time. The sound echoed off the stone and drifted into the dark, but there was no response. No distant chitter. No thrum of water. No dorsal fin slicing through the sea.

Iska didn’t come.

Auren’s throat clenched. Tears spilling in earnest. His shoulders curled in as the truth settled heavy in his gut. She wasn’t coming. Ulric had done this. He’d sent her away. Or blocked her. Or taken her far enough from the outer reefs that she couldn’t hear him. Without her… without her speed, Auren would never reach the harbor before dawn. Tonight was lost.

He crumpled to the sand floor of the alcove, curling in on himself, arms wrapped tight around his middle. His tail lay limp in the silt.

“Fuck you, Ulric,” Auren sobbed into the sand. “Fuck you.”

He stayed there a long time, shivering in the quiet, his body wrung out from rage and grief alike. But as the first rays of light touched the reef far above, Auren lifted his head.

He wouldn’t lose another night.

Even if it meant swimming the long distance on his own, he’d do it. Because nothing, nothing was going to stop him from seeing the only person who ever saw him back.

Not his mother.

Not tradition.