I have never needed anyone to take control from me. The kraken lot is mine to claim, my glamour the only thing standing between my coils and a cage.

But Quincy Atherton does not release my hand after the registrar stamps our credentials. His tail presses against my thigh in the shadowed alcove, and the bioluminescent scar along my spine flares hot beneath my shirt while Samuel Nolan stares from the bidding floor.

I tell myself to pull away before the midnight gavel falls. Instead I lean closer, waiting for the next command I swore I would never obey. His eyes hold the promise of my hidden coils yielding, and the auction house suddenly feels too small for the hunger between us.