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Territorial.

It’s just one word, but the implications behind it make my lungs constrict and my heart race. Other adjectives spring up around it, bringing a wave of panic with them.

Territorial. Possessive. Jealous. Controlling.

My thoughts spiral, sucked into a deep well of memories and fears and long, black nights. Unable to take a second more of this conversation, I push my chair back. The movement is so abrupt it startles the agent out of his monologue.

“Ms. Perry? Is everything alright?”

“I’m not interested. Please tell Mr. Morgan I don’t have any interest in meeting or being mated to him.”

Mr. Blair’s brow creases in concern. “Have I said something that’s upset you? I didn’t mean to, and having a kraken for a fated mate really is—”

I wave my hands in front of my face. “Enough. Please. I’m leaving now.”

Before he can get another word in, I grab my coat and head for the door. I have to get out of here. I need fresh air, space, and to get the hell away from this place.

Following the exit signs through a maze of hallways and forcing myself not to break out into a run, it takes everything in me to keep my breathing even and my panic down. I’ve just reached the lobby and the relief of seeing daylight so close, when my distraction causes me to run right into a tall, broad stranger.

His breath leaves him in a slightoof, he braces a hand on my shoulder for balance, and my cheeks heat immediately. He’s got at least six inches on me and I have to crane my neck a little to look up at him, opening my mouth to offer a hasty apology. My words, however, die in my throat when I meet his eyes.

They’re the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.

Dark, intense, and the color of waves in a tempest, fathomless seas, and the deepest maritime twilight, they look down at me with dawning recognition.

“Lenora,” he whispers in a soft, warmly accented voice.

I don’t know how he knows my name, don’t know howIknow exactly who he is, but I back away immediately. Those blue eyes widen in surprise, then narrow slightly with focus as he tracks my retreat.

“I’m not…” I start, trailing off as I take a few more steps toward the door. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

He shakes his head slowly, and I can’t help but take inventory of the rest of him. His ink-black hair has a bit of roguish messiness to it. There’s a couple days’ worth of dark stubble growing over the hard line of his jaw, and his nose is a little crooked, like it’s been broken a time or five. His build is tall and broad, not bulky but streamlined and elegant—a swimmer’s body. He also has a long, jagged scar running down the left side of his face, all the way from his temple to the middle of his cheek.

He looks like a damn pirate.

Maybe that makes sense. Aren’t krakens known for bringing down ships?

No.No. I’m absolutely not thinking about pirates or krakens or any of it. I have to get out of here.

“Lenora. I’m—”

“No,” I say firmly, raising a hand. “You’ve got the wrong person, Mr. Morgan.”

His eyes flash. “Elias. Please call me Elias.”

Elias Morgan, the kraken who thinks I’m his mate. A shiver runs through me.

“Mr. Morgan, I’m sorry, but I’m not the woman you think you’re looking for.”

He looks like he’s about to speak again, try to stop me, keep me from leaving and feed me the same bullshit about fate and mates and all the rest. I’m fully prepared to just turn and run, when something in that deep blue gaze of his makes my blood chill.

It’s there, right there in his eyes.

Territorial. Possessive. Greedy.

It sends a shot of fear all the way down to the bottom of my soul. I can’t do this. Not again. Not when I’ve just gotten my life built back to something I’m proud of.

Whatever he sees in my face gives him pause, and though some of the possessive edge leeches out of his expression, it does nothing to calm me.