Terms and Conditions

"The worst negotiations are the ones where you've already lost before anyone opens their mouth. You're just there to find out how much it's going to cost you."

A shiver traced down my spine.

Not from cold — the morning sun was warm enough, its rays soaking into my skin with a heat that should have been comforting. This was something else. A prickling awareness that crawled across my shoulders and settled at the base of my skull, the sensation of being watched by something I couldn't see.

I shook it off. Told myself it was paranoia, the aftereffects of trauma and fear and whatever the lagoon had pumped through my nervous system. There was nothing watching me. Just Chris, crouching beside me with his hand still extended toward my wounded leg, his expression patient and kind and utterly oblivious to the storm raging inside my head.

"It's fine, I can do it myself," I said again, the words coming out harsher than I intended.

Chris didn't flinch. Didn't withdraw. Just looked at me with those calm eyes, waiting for me to stop being difficult so we could get on with the business of saving my leg.

Let the man help you.

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once.

It wasn't sound — not exactly. More like a thought that didn't belong to me, a whisper inserted directly into my consciousness, bypassing my ears entirely. The words were soft, feminine almost, carrying a seductive quality that made them feel less like a command and more like a suggestion from a lover.

He can be useful to me.

My blood turned to ice.

I knew, with a certainty that went beyond logic or reason, that this wasn't my imagination. Wasn't the product of stress or morphine or sleep deprivation. Something was speaking to me. Something that lived in this place, that had been here long before I arrived and would be here long after I was gone.

Clivilius. The land itself. The entity that Uncle Jamie had hinted at during our first conversation, the presence that permeated everything in this dimension like water soaking through cloth.

It was inside my head.

I don't want to, I retorted silently, the thought fierce and defiant even as fear coiled tighter in my gut.

A pause. A beat of silence that felt almost amused, as if my resistance was entertaining rather than threatening.

Then your leg won't heal.

The words landed like a blade between my ribs. Simple. Matter-of-fact. A statement of consequence rather than a threat, which somehow made it worse. Clivilius wasn't angry or vindictive — it was just explaining the terms of a transaction I hadn't agreed to participate in.

Do what I want, or lose your leg.

My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. The unfairness of it burned through me like acid — I hadn't asked to come here, hadn't chosen any of this, and now some alien intelligence was holding my body hostage, demanding compliance in exchange for basic functionality.

"Fine," I spat, the word escaping my lips before I could stop it. "Have it your way."

Chris blinked, confusion flickering across his features. "I'm just trying to help you," he said, a note of hurt threading through his voice.

Guilt twisted in my stomach. He thought I was talking to him. Thought my sharp words were directed at his offer of assistance, his kindness, his willingness to stay behind when the others left.

"I know," I managed, softening my tone with effort. "I know you are. I'm sorry. I just..."

I just what? Just had an alien entity whispering in my brain? Just was being coerced into something I didn't understand by forces beyond my comprehension? There was no way to explain it, no words that wouldn't make me sound completely insane.

"It's been a rough night," I finished lamely.

Chris nodded, accepting the explanation without question. "Let's get you closer to the water," he said, his hand sliding under my arm to help me shift position.

The movement sent my wounded leg dragging through the sand, and pain flared bright and sharp through the torn flesh. But it was my other leg — the numb one, the paralysed one — that worried me more. It moved when Chris pulled me, but I couldn't feel it. Couldn't control it. It was just... there, attached to my body but no longer part of me.

The water's edge crept closer. I could see it now, that crystal-clear surface that looked so innocent, so inviting. The gentle ripples caught the sunlight and scattered it into diamonds, a beautiful illusion hiding something far more sinister.

Chris eased me down at the shore, positioning me so my legs extended toward the lagoon. The sand was warm beneath my back, heated by the morning sun, and I lay there staring up at the blue sky while my heart tried to hammer its way out of my chest.

"Ready?" Chris asked.

No. I would never be ready for this. But my leg — my stupid, traitorous, numb leg — needed the water. Needed whatever healing properties this cursed lagoon possessed. And if I refused, if I fought against what Clivilius demanded...

Your leg won't heal.

The voice again, softer this time, almost gentle. A reminder of the stakes, delivered with the patience of something that had all the time in the world.

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

Chris lifted my foot and guided it toward the water.

The first contact was electric.

The lagoon's surface broke around my toes, cool and welcoming, and the sensation that flooded up my leg was immediate and overwhelming. Not the full-body detonation of before — this was slower, more controlled, a building wave of pleasure that started in my foot and began its inexorable climb upward.

I bit down on my lip.

Chris began to work, his hands gentle as he splashed water over my wounded calf, washing away the crusted blood that had dried overnight. Each splash sent fresh pulses of sensation racing through my leg, tingling currents of pleasure that made my muscles clench and my breath catch.

I leaned back on my elbows, trying to create distance between my mind and my body, trying to observe what was happening from somewhere outside myself. It didn't work. The pleasure was too immediate, too demanding, refusing to be compartmentalised or ignored.

Just breathe, I told myself. Just get through this.

But the sensations kept building, kept intensifying, the water's influence creeping higher up my leg with each passing second. My groin was responding — I could feel the blood rushing south, the familiar tightening that preceded arousal. My cock stirred against my will, beginning to swell inside my shorts.

No. Not again. Please not again.

I opened my eyes to slits, peering at Chris through the veil of my lashes. He was focused on my wound, his attention fixed on the task of cleaning away blood and debris, seemingly oblivious to the war being waged inside my body. His hands moved with a careful deliberateness, methodical in their work, unaffected by the water that sloshed around his fingers.

Unaffected.

The realisation cut through the fog of pleasure, sharp and clarifying. Chris was touching the same water that was currently dismantling my self-control, and he showed no sign of feeling anything unusual. No shivers. No quickened breathing. No involuntary responses.

"Do you not feel it?" I asked softly, the words escaping before I could stop them.

Chris looked up, his brow furrowing. "Feel what?"

The question was genuine. Confused. He had no idea what I was talking about.

"Nothing," I said quickly. "Never mind."

But my mind was racing. If the water had no effect on Chris — if he could touch it without experiencing the overwhelming sensations that were currently making me want to crawl out of my own skin — then maybe this wasn't about the lagoon at all. Maybe it was about me. About something in my specific biology or psychology that made me susceptible to... whatever this was.

Or maybe Clivilius was targeting me specifically.

The thought was horrifying in its implications.

Chris urged me deeper, his hands guiding my leg further into the water until I was submerged to the knee. The increased contact amplified everything — the pleasure roaring up my thigh now, a wildfire of sensation that consumed everything in its path.

A gasp tore from my throat, loud and ragged.

"Painful?" Chris asked, his voice filled with gentle concern.

If only.

I started to shake my head, then stopped myself. The lie was right there, ready to be told. If Chris thought this was pain, he would understand. Would accept my reactions as normal, expected, nothing to be ashamed of. Pain was clean. Pain was acceptable. Pain didn't leave you hard and aching and desperate for release.

I swapped the shake for a vigorous nod, and something in my chest withered at the deception.

Chris seemed to accept it, returning his attention to my wound with renewed gentleness. He thought he was hurting me. Thought my gasps and groans were expressions of suffering rather than something far more complicated. The kindness in his touch actually increased, his movements becoming even more careful, more considerate.

The irony was bitter enough to choke on.

Your leg needs him, Kain.

Clivilius again, the voice curling through my thoughts like smoke. There was something different in the tone now — an edge of anticipation, of hunger. Whatever the entity wanted, we were getting closer to it.

I don't understand what you want from me! I screamed internally, the thought jagged with frustration and fear.

Help him feel my presence.

The demand made no sense. Chris was already touching the water, already touching the lagoon, and it wasn't affecting him. How was I supposed to make him feel something the water itself couldn't trigger?

Unless...

The thought arrived with a sickening clarity, a puzzle piece clicking into place with an almost audible snap. Clivilius didn't want Chris to feel the water. It wanted Chris to feel me. Wanted me to be the conduit, the connection, the bridge between the entity's power and this man who seemed immune to its direct influence.

No, I thought, the word a stone wall in my mind. Absolutely fucking not.

A surge of pleasure crashed through me in response, so intense it drove the air from my lungs in a whooshing gasp. My back arched involuntarily, my hips jerking upward as the sensation crested and broke over me like a wave. My cock was fully hard now, straining against my shorts, and there was nothing I could do to hide it.

Don't resist Kain, or I will make your leg mine.

The threat was delivered with perfect calm, perfect certainty. No anger. No malice. Just the simple statement of a consequence, as inevitable as gravity.

My leg. The one that was already numb, already paralysed, already hanging by a thread of function that Clivilius apparently controlled. If I didn't comply — if I didn't help this entity achieve whatever it was trying to achieve — I would lose it. Not to infection or injury, but to the whim of an alien intelligence that saw my body as a tool to be used.

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes.

I thought of Brianne. Her smile, her laugh, the swell of her belly where our daughter grew. I thought of our future — the wedding we'd planned, the house we'd talked about buying, the life we were supposed to build together. All of it hinged on me getting home. On surviving this place. On keeping my body intact long enough to find a way back.

If I lost my leg, what kind of life could I offer her? What kind of father could I be?

Your leg, Kain. The voice again, softer now, almost sympathetic. As if it understood the impossible position I was in and felt something approaching pity for my predicament.

Chris was still working, still oblivious, still thinking that his gentle ministrations were causing me pain rather than pushing me toward a precipice I couldn't see the bottom of. His hands moved over my calf, washing away blood, examining the puncture wounds, doing all the things a caretaker should do.

And I was going to have to betray his trust.

Going to have to use him, manipulate him, turn his kindness into something he never asked for. Because that's what Clivilius wanted. Because my leg depended on it. Because I had no other choice.

The tears spilled over, hot and shameful, tracking down my temples and disappearing into the sand beneath my head.

I closed my eyes.

And surrendered.