Page 12 of Captured by the Cthulhu (Monster Mates #3)

Chapter 12

Permission to Dive

Ashe

After grabbing my bag of toiletries and a change of clothes, I step outside. The afternoon sun has warmed the air, but a breeze off the water keeps it comfortable.

Roark moves with surprising grace on land, his tentacles working in concert to navigate the rocky terrain. I find myself watching the play of muscles across his back, the way his skin shifts patterns in the dappled light filtering through the trees.

“You’re staring,” he says without turning around, amusement in his voice.

“Hard not to.” No point denying it. “You don’t exactly blend in with the local wildlife.”

He makes a sound that might be a chuckle. “I once commanded a vessel with forty-three humans aboard, not one of whom suspected their captain was anything but human.”

“Magic is cheating,” I point out, carefully picking my way over a fallen log. “Now you have to rely on your natural charms.”

“And are they sufficient?” The question sounds casual, but there’s a vulnerability beneath it that tugs at me.

Before I can answer, we round a bend in the path, and I stop short at the sight before me. A waterfall cascades down the cliff face, not massive but substantial enough to create a deep pool at its base. Smooth stones surround it, and the afternoon sun hits the spray just right to cast rainbows through the mist.

“This is…” I struggle for words. “Did you build your cabin knowing this was here?”

Roark moves to the pool’s edge. “The waterfall revealed itself to me nearly sixty years ago, during a particularly severe storm. The cabin followed.” He gestures to a flat rock beside the pool. “You may leave your things there. I’ll return to prepare our meal.”

I realize he’s giving me privacy—a surprisingly human consideration from someone whose culture probably views nudity very differently.

“You don’t have to go,” I say before thinking better of it. “I mean… unless you want to.”

His eyes darken. “I wouldn’t presume—”

“Presume away,” I interrupt, feeling my cheeks heat but holding his gaze. “I didn’t hike all this way for formal boundaries.”

For a moment, Roark’s perfectly still—that predator’s stillness that reminds me what he is beneath the civility. Then one tentacle extends, curling gently around my wrist like a question.

“Very well.” His voice has dropped to that rumbling register that makes my skin prickle.

The next few minutes pass in a blur of nerve and desire. I set my things on the stone and begin undressing, trying for casual confidence despite the open-air setting and his unwavering attention. His gaze follows each revealed inch of skin with such focused intensity that I can almost feel it like a physical touch.

When I’m finally bare, I step toward the pool. The first touch of the water pulls a gasp from me—it’s cold, but after the sweaty hike, gloriously refreshing.

I wade deeper, letting the chill water rise to my waist, then my shoulders. When I turn back to face him, Roark hasn’t moved, but the patterns across his skin have intensified.

“Your turn,” I say, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. “Don’t tell me the cold bothers you.”

“I have spent centuries in depths where sunlight never reaches,” he replies, moving toward the water’s edge. “This is tropical by comparison.”

He slides into the pool with barely a ripple, his movements fluid and controlled. His tentacles spread beneath the surface, creating gentle currents that brush against my legs.

“Turn around,” he says, his voice gentle but commanding. “Let me help you.”

I comply, facing the waterfall. A moment later, I feel him behind me—not touching, but close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body despite the cool water. Something small splashes nearby, and then his hands are in my hair, working some kind of lather through the tangles.

“What is that?” I ask, leaning back slightly into his touch.

“Soapwort and aloe. A natural cleanser.” His fingers massage my scalp with just the right pressure. “When you live between worlds as I do, you learn to utilize the resources of both.”

I close my eyes, surrendering to the sensation. His touch is careful but confident, those powerful hands capable of such gentleness. One tentacle curls loosely around my waist, steadying me.

“You’re tense,” he observes, working at the knots in my neck.

“Mmm. Committee meetings will do that to you.” I tilt my head, giving him better access. “Among other things.”

“Tell me,” he says, guiding me backward to rinse my hair in the clearer water away from the waterfall’s churn.

I hesitate, not wanting to ruin this peaceful moment. But the concern in his voice—genuine interest in my troubles—breaks something loose.

“There’s a festival coming up. The Maritime Festival.” I keep my eyes closed as he works the lather from my hair, his fingers careful not to tug. “Nothing unusual—just the annual lobster rolls and tall ship tours.”

“Yet something troubles you about it,” he observes, his voice gentle.

“Not the festival itself. It’s what came after at the committee meeting.” I sigh, the tension returning to my shoulders. “This museum director, Sebastian, proposed a new event. A historical reenactment of the town’s monster-hunting ‘heritage.’ Complete with sailors putting on a show.”

Roark’s hands pause momentarily before continuing their gentle work. “I see.”

“I objected. Probably too strongly. Drew attention to myself.” I exhale slowly. “Marina thinks I should keep my head down.”

“Marina is likely correct from a strategic perspective,” he says, his voice neutral. “Though I appreciate your indignation on behalf of my kind.”

I open my eyes and tilt my head back to look at him. “It was disgusting. He had these old photos of hunters posing with their… trophies. Sentient beings displayed like prize marlins.”

Something dark flickers across Roark’s features. “Cape Tempest earned its reputation. Few places along this coast have as bloody a history regarding sea monster kind.”

“Well, now that same town is planning a festivity that sounds like a celebration of mass murder,” I say, turning fully to face him. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”

Roark studies me, water droplets clinging to his face. “What would you wish to do?”

I hadn’t really considered that question. What do I want? To stop Sebastian’s plan, obviously. But beyond that?

Still, Roark seems less upset about it than I am. He continues, “The Great Unveiling wasn’t that long ago. A town with as deep a history as this one won’t adjust so quickly. It will take time. And perhaps this demonstration will open the eyes of those who’ve never really considered how bad it once was.”

I blink at him, water dripping from my eyelashes. “Wait—you think they should do this?”

“I think,” Roark says carefully, his tentacle loosening around my waist, “that forcing a confrontation now may do more harm than good. For both the town… and for us.”

The way he says “us” makes my breath catch. I try not to acknowledge it. “You’re surprisingly chill about a historical reenactment of your kind being hunted for sport.”

His expression shifts, something ancient and weary passing through his eyes. “I have lived long enough to see hatred both inflamed and defused. Sometimes the best response is patience.”

I study his face, trying to understand. Part of me wants to argue—to insist that we should fight for what’s right. But I also hear what he’s not saying: it might be best to not draw too much attention.

“Fine,” I sigh, letting my head fall forward to rest against his chest. “I’ll drop it for now.”

His hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, gentle but secure.

We finish our bathing in comfortable silence, the waterfall providing background music. By the time we return to the cabin, the sun is starting to dip toward the horizon.

Roark proves yet again that he’s a surprisingly competent chef, preparing the shellfish with herbs I don’t recognize and a deftness that suggests decades of practice.

We eat on the small porch, watching the light change over the water while sharing stories—me about growing up with parents who loved the sea more than land, him about his adventures captaining ships under his human guise.

“Did you ever miss it?” I ask, setting aside my emptied plate. “The ocean, I mean. During all those years pretending to be human.”

“Every moment,” he admits, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “I would steal away when I could—dive from the ship under the cover of darkness, swim to depths no human could follow. But those were brief respites.”

I draw my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “And now? Do you miss being among them—us—now that you’re back in the water?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “I miss certain aspects. Conversation. Music. The peculiar human talent for finding joy in adversity.” His tentacle shifts, brushing against my ankle. “But I don’t miss the pretense. The constant vigilance required to maintain the illusion.”

The sun is nearly gone now, the first stars appearing in the darkening sky. Neither of us has moved to light the lanterns inside the cabin, letting the twilight envelop us instead.

“Where does that leave us?” I ask, voicing the question that’s been hanging between us since he left the lighthouse a week ago. “This arrangement… It can’t go on forever. You swimming by occasionally, me hiking out here when I can get away. Hiding.”

Roark turns to me, his eyes reflecting starlight. “No. It cannot.”

The simple agreement lands like a stone in my stomach. I knew this—of course I knew this—but hearing him say it makes it real in a way it wasn’t before.

“So what happens?” My voice comes out smaller than I intended. “We just… enjoy this while it lasts?”

“I have lived nearly a century, Ashe. In that time, I’ve learned that certainty is an illusion humans cling to. The sea teaches a different lesson—that change is the only constant.”

“That’s a very philosophical way of saying you don’t know either,” I reply, unable to keep a note of frustration from my voice.

His mouth quirks in that almost-smile. “Indeed.” The tentacle around my wrist slides up my arm, a soft caress. “But I do know this: what exists between us is rare. I wouldn’t relinquish it without a fight.”

There’s something primal in his gaze now, the ancient predator beneath the civility making itself known.

“What are you suggesting?” I ask, my heart racing.

He stands, pulling me gently to my feet. “That tonight, we set aside concerns of practicality. We have the rest of our lives to strategize. Tonight…”

His tentacle slides around my waist, drawing me closer until I’m pressed against the smooth surface of his torso.

“Tonight I wish to show you my world. If you are willing.”

I frown slightly, confused. “Your world?”

His gaze shifts toward the darkening sea. “There are experiences possible only beneath the waves. Sensations your kind rarely experience.” His tentacle tightens slightly around me. “I can share them with you. Keep you safe. If you trust me.”

The implications hit me all at once—he’s talking about taking me into the ocean. At night. To do… what, exactly?

“You want to go swimming? Now?” I glance dubiously at the water, inky black in the gathering darkness. “I’m not exactly equipped for deep-sea diving, Roark.”

His expression softens. “I would never risk your safety. There is a way—a gift my kind can bestow.” His hand comes up to cup my face. “It is temporary but complete. For a short time, you could experience the depths as I do.”

My pulse quickens. “You’re talking about some kind of transformation?”

“Not transformation. Protection. A sharing of… essence.” He traces my lower lip. “It is intimate. More so than what we have already shared.”

The way he says intimate makes heat bloom low in my stomach. This isn’t just about a midnight swim. There’s something more he’s offering—something beyond the physical boundaries we’ve already crossed.

“Will it hurt?” I ask, surprising myself with the question. I’m actually considering this.

“No.” A tentacle slides up my back, curling around the nape of my neck in a gesture that’s become familiar. “It may feel strange at first. But I promise you, it will bring only pleasure.”

The last word lingers between us, charged with meaning. Whatever he’s suggesting, it’s clearly not just about showing me pretty fish and coral formations.

I should be scared. I should be backing away, making excuses about early lighthouse tours tomorrow. Instead, I lean into his touch, curiosity and desire overriding caution.

“Okay,” I whisper, making my decision. “Let’s go.”