Page 10 of Kiss for My Kraken (Fairhaven Falls #8)

S am shot away from the dock, driving himself deep into the familiar darkness of the river. His heartbeat thundered against his ribcage like a trapped animal, and water rushed past his gills in frantic bursts.

I kissed her. I actually kissed her.

The taste of her lingered on his lips—sweet wine mingled with her own sweetness and something else. Warmth. Life. Humanity. His tentacles curled and uncurled as he spiraled downward, seeking the river bottom.

Despite his cautious hopes, he hadn’t intended to reveal himself yet.

Watching her dangling her feet in the water, talking softly to her dog, looking so achingly lonely and beautiful in the dying light—it had been torture to stay hidden.

When she’d trailed her toes through the water, he hadn’t been able to resist reaching out, touching her ankle, the skin as soft and delicate as he remembered.

And then she’d spoken, and asked him to show himself—not with fear or suspicion, but with wonder in her voice.

Please show yourself.

Three simple words that had undone years of caution.

He twisted through the current, letting the cold water rush over his overheated skin, but the coolness did nothing to dull the memory of her lips yielding beneath his. The softness of her cheek beneath his palm. The slight gasp she’d made when he’d first touched her.

He broke the surface fifty yards downstream, and took a deep breath of the cool night air.

His gills absorbed oxygen from the water when he was submerged, and his lungs took over when he surfaced.

Usually the transition was seamless, but tonight his body felt strange, too hot, too aware.

His mating arm ached, pressing against his sheath for the first time in years.

What have I done?

The rational part of his mind screamed warnings. He’d revealed himself. Broken his cardinal rule of solitude and secrecy. Worse, he’d touched her. Kissed her.

Yet he couldn’t regret it. Not when the memory of her response blazed through him like wildfire. She hadn’t pulled away in disgust. She’d leaned into his touch, returned his kiss. Her lips had been so soft, so warm against his cooler ones.

But that warmth, that delicate human softness, had also reminded him of the vast differences between them. Her fragility compared to his strength. Her small body against his much larger one.

He submerged again, letting his powerful tentacles propel him through the water. He circled back towards her dock, keeping to the deeper channel and staying hidden beneath the surface. He needed to see her one more time before retreating to his island.

From below, he watched her silhouette against the night sky. She hadn’t moved from the dock. Her fingers were pressed to her lips, a wondering expression on her face. After a long moment, she rose and made her way back up the path to her shack, the dog trotting at her heels.

On the porch, she paused and turned towards the river. He held perfectly still, even though he knew she couldn’t possibly see him in the darkness. She lifted her hand to her mouth, then extended it towards the water in a gentle gesture.

She’d blown him a kiss.

Each night since she’d moved into the shack, she’d performed this small ritual. A goodnight to the river, to the island—to him, though she couldn’t have known it. But tonight, it felt truly meant for him. Deliberately directed at the hidden creature she’d just kissed.

He waited until the lights in her cabin dimmed before surfacing fully. The night air was cool against his wet skin, and across the river, his island loomed, a darker shadow against the night sky. His sanctuary. His solitary kingdom.

For the first time since he’d claimed it years ago, he found himself wanting to share it—with Nina. The realization jolted through him like an electric current. He wanted to show her his world, his home. Wanted to see it through her eyes, perhaps even see himself through her eyes.

But how? While he could easily carry her across the river, the thought of sweeping her away into the water seemed too forceful, too frightening, especially after her previous experience. And it wasn’t as if he owned a boat.

There has to be a way.

Still turning the problem over in his mind, he let the current carry him downstream. The lights of the Moonlight Tavern glowed ahead, warm and inviting against the night. As he drifted closer, he caught sight of a solitary figure on the porch. Jekyll.

He felt a kinship with the doctor that he didn’t share with the other inhabitants of Fairhaven Falls.

They were both the only ones of their kind in town—Sam the lone kraken, Jekyll the lone Hyde.

Both predators by nature, both struggling against their darker instincts, both choosing to live amongst others while maintaining a certain distance.

He surfaced, not surprised that Jekyll didn’t react to his appearance. The doctor’s senses were as good as his own.

“Evening, Samarthan,” he said, his voice cool and slightly mocking.

“Evening, Jekyll.”

“My name is not Jekyll and you know it,” the doctor snapped. “Call me Jackson or Victor or even Vic, just not that stupid nickname.”

He reared back, surprised by the annoyed note in the doctor’s voice, then Jekyll sighed and rubbed his face. For a moment he looked like any other weary human male, but Sam knew how deceptive that appearance was.

“Sorry,” Jekyll said quietly. “It’s been a difficult week.”

Sam frowned at the other male. Both the irritation and the weariness were breaks in the doctor’s usual tight control.

Had something happened to him? Since Sam had been lurking by Nina’s cabin all week, he hadn’t heard if there were any rumors swirling around the doctor—or rather, more rumors than usual.

The town might trust his medical advice, but they remained wary of his other side.

Jekyll’s mask slipped back into place as he raised an eyebrow.

“How’s my little patient doing?”

“She isn’t your anything,” he growled, his whole upper body emerging from the water, and Jekyll’s eyes flashed green for a second before he held up his hands.

“Professional concern only. I can’t let myself get involved with a patient.”

Can’t? There was an odd note in Jekyll’s voice on the last words, but Sam didn’t press him. He sank back down into the water, his tentacles holding him in place as the current flowed around him.

“I need a boat.”

Jekyll raised his eyebrows. “What kind of boat?”

“Just a small boat—a rowboat or even a canoe. Something to cross the river.”

“You want to take your human to your island.” A statement, not a question. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“No,” he said roughly. “I’m not sure of any of this. I’ve been alone for a long time.”

“You’re not the only one.” The green glow reappeared briefly in Jekyll’s eyes before fading again. “It’s dangerous to admit humans into our world. I’m sure you know that.”

“I know. I just…” He paused, struggling to put his thoughts into words. “I want to try.”

The doctor studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “I have an old rowboat in my garage. It hasn’t been used in years, but I can have it cleaned up and brought here for you tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” He hesitated, then added, “What do I owe you?”

Jekyll shook his head. “Nothing. If you can make this work, that will be enough. I hope…” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I wish you luck, Sam. Be careful.”

He nodded and dove back under the water, his mind swirling with possibilities. Would she come to the island if he asked her? He suspected she would, an answer that both thrilled and terrified him. Was he ready to let someone into his sanctuary? Into his life?

The memory of Nina’s kiss, of her hand on his face, answered for him.

He swam back towards his island, wondering how it would appear to her. Could he make it more welcoming, more inviting? Could he make himself more inviting?

He surfaced near the small beach on the eastern side of the island, where the current was gentlest. There, hidden by overhanging trees, he hauled himself onto the beach and transitioned to his land form.

As always, the process was uncomfortable, almost painful. His tentacles reluctantly merged and reshaped, forming powerful legs that still retained faint patterns of suction cups along his outer thighs. His gills closed completely, his respiratory system shifting to rely entirely on lungs.

When the transformation was complete, he stood unsteadily on the riverbank, his body feeling awkward and heavy without water’s buoyant support.

He took several small steps, grimacing at the unpleasant sensations—the pull of gravity, the scratch of air in his lungs, the way the ground seemed to push back against each footfall.

But if it made her more comfortable, he would learn to hold this form. Not just for minutes at a time, as he had done in the past, but for hours. Days, if necessary. He would push through the discomfort, the vulnerability, the exposure.

He moved carefully along the bank, each step more confident than the last as his body adjusted to its altered form.

He still did not look human—his skin retained its silvery-blue sheen, his eyes their unnaturally bright color.

His features hadn’t changed and he was still huge and powerful, but he could pass, perhaps, as something more human.

He forced himself to maintain the land form as he inspected his cabin.

The structure was solid, built by his own hands from river stone and massive timber.

He had designed it to be easily accessible from the water and half of it extended out over the water on stilts.

There was also a large trap door in the center of the main room that opened to the river below and a floating platform at water level where he could moor the boat.

Was it possible she could find his home welcoming? Comfortable?

The main room was spacious enough, with a large fireplace and shelves filled with the treasures he’d collected along with a number of books—one of his few indulgences from the human world.

Tall windows looked out across the water and the paneled walls were polished to a soft sheen, but unfortunately, he had little in the way of human furniture.

A few chairs, a low table, and a sofa that he rarely used, preferring one of the long wide benches in front of the windows or next to the fireplace.

The bed in his bedroom was massive, designed to hold his immense weight, but it was little more than a platform piled with soft pillows and blankets. He had never needed more. Until now.

The vision of Nina’s small body curled up among his bedding flashed through his mind and he felt the unfamiliar ache of his mating arm, the heavy pressure as it pressed against the protective sheath that held it.

A sudden surge of longing filled him and he had to fight back the urge to swim straight to her cabin, to claim her as his own.

Not yet. She wasn’t ready. For that matter he wasn’t sure that he was ready, despite the demands of his body.

Instead, he forced himself to focus on his task, considering what else he might need to make her comfortable.

Food, perhaps? Most of the time he fed himself from the river’s bounty, but he also enjoyed the occasional human meal.

He kept a small stockpile of non-perishable food on the island, but perhaps he could expand it.

Would she enjoy his cooking, or would she find it too simple?

Would she find it strange that he had a home on land, despite his aquatic nature? Would she ask questions he wasn’t ready to answer?

He pushed the worries aside. One step at a time. First, do his best to make the cabin welcoming. Then bring her across. Then… see what happened.

He moved around his home, cleaning and tidying.

He found an old quilt in his storage room and laid it over the sofa.

He stacked wood for a fire next to the great stone fireplace, and placed another basketful next to the wood stove.

He dusted off his dishes and even added a vase of the fall lilies that grew wild on the island.

When everything was as ready as he could make it, he slipped back into the water, resuming his usual form with a sigh of relief.

That had been the longest time he’d spent in his land form since…

since his escape. The thought stirred unwelcome memories and he quickly pushed them away.

Once he was in the water, the lingering aches and pains disappeared, his body moving easily and gracefully through the familiar environment.

The moon was high in the sky by the time he finished his preparations. The night was quiet and peaceful, and he let the familiar sounds of the river soothe him—the soft hum of insects and the quiet rustle of night creatures, the gentle lap of the current.

He circled her dock, looking up at the darkened windows of her shack. Was she asleep? Dreaming? Thinking of him?

He imagined her there, curled on her side, her small form outlined by blankets, her hair a soft cloud against the pillow. Her eyes closed, her lips parted slightly, her breath slow and even.

The image was so clear, so vivid, that he almost believed he could see her, as if he were looking right into the room.

He pushed the thought aside, dismissing it as a foolish fantasy.

Instead, he let the memory of her face fill his mind—her smile, her laugh, the warmth in her eyes when she’d touched his face.

Those memories were real, not a fantasy. She was real, and she was close.

But for now, she slept and he needed to rest too.

With a final glance at the darkened cabin, he submerged and wrapped a tentacle around the dock post, content to keep watch over her until the dawn came.