Page 14 of Kiss for My Kraken (Fairhaven Falls #8)

S atisfaction filled Sam as he watched Nina wander through his cabin.

Her fingertips traced the spines of his books, lingered on the smooth edges of driftwood carvings, and tapped against glass bottles filled with colored sand.

Every corner she explored felt somehow transformed by her presence, as if she breathed new life into spaces he’d always inhabited alone.

The sound of her footsteps across his wooden floor—soft, tentative, curious—was music he hadn’t known he’d been waiting to hear.

She’s here. In my home. And she hasn’t run.

“This collection of glass is amazing,” she said, holding up a bowl of sea glass that caught the lantern light. “Where did you find it all?”

“Various places.” Two tentacles curled involuntarily at her smile. “The river brings treasures if you know where to look.”

He gathered objects that caught his eye—beautiful things, interesting things—arranging them on his shelves with meticulous care. Yet he’d never once considered what another person might think of them. Now, watching her eyes widen with each discovery, they seemed to take on new meaning.

Ozzie trotted behind her, occasionally glancing back at Sam as if to make sure he was still there. The dog’s easy acceptance was unexpected. While he would never hurt them, most animals knew that he could and kept their distance.

“He likes you,” she said, smiling at him, and he returned the smile.

“Apparently he’s a good judge of character.”

Her laughter rang out and the sound washed over him like sunlight, warming places within him that had been cold for longer than he could remember.

“Are you hungry?” he asked suddenly, realizing he’d been staring.

She looked over at him, a hint of color touching her cheeks. “Actually, yes.”

“Good. I have food.”

He crossed to the small kitchen area and set to work, lighting the small iron stove and retrieving two fresh fish he’d caught earlier and stored in a cooling basin.

“I have fish that I caught, but also…” He hesitated, then opened a covered basket on the counter. “I have food from town. From the River Cafe.”

She came to join him, peering into the basket. “You go to the cafe?”

“Not exactly.” He focused on filleting the fish. “Rona leaves packages for me on the outside deck.”

“Rona?”

There was an odd note in her voice, almost like… jealousy?

“The older female who owns the café,” he said quickly. “She’s also the waitress. She’s a siren and one of her gifts is that she always knows what someone wants to eat. Maybe if you went there and sat outside, I could join you.”

“On the deck?”

“I… I don’t know. No one in town has ever seen me on land. Most of them haven’t even seen me in the water.”

“But they know about you.”

It wasn’t a question, but he considered it as he arranged the fish fillets on a small iron pan.

“To an extent—I think most of them know there’s something in the river, even if they don’t know what.

And there are people I talk to occasionally.

Flora, of course. Grondar, Jekyll, Eric.

Ben knows about me, but he’s not exactly talkative. ”

She laughed at that, then gave him a puzzled look. “Why do all of you call Dr. Jackson, Jekyll?”

“You know the story?”

“Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? Of course.”

“Dr. Jackson is a Hyde.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You mean that’s real?”

“To an extent, although like all the stories that humans tell about Others it’s only a portion of the truth.”

“Like the stories they tell about kraken,” she said softly.

“Yes.” He glanced at her, searching for any sign of discomfort. “Does that trouble you?”

She shook her head. “No. And getting to know who you really are feels like being trusted with something precious.”

An unexpected wave of emotion washed over to him and he quickly turned back to his cooking, grateful for the distraction.

His tentacles worked in unison, preparing the meal—one turning the fish, another opening a container of roasted vegetables from the cafe, a third retrieving plates from a shelf, the fourth uncorking a bottle of wine.

“That’s incredible,” she said, watching his multitasking with open amazement. “How do you control them all at once?”

“They’re part of me.” He transferred the perfectly cooked fish to their plates. “I don’t think about it any more than you think about using your fingers to grip a cup.”

He arranged their meal on the low table, placing it between the window bench and the open hatch. She took a seat on the bench and he returned to the hatch, submerging his tentacles in the cool water. He watched as she took her first bite of fish, a small, appreciative sound escaping her.

“This is delicious,” she said. “Did you season it with herbs?”

“Wild thyme from the island,” he confirmed, pleased by her reaction. “And a little lemon.”

They ate in companionable silence for a few moments. He found himself watching her hands—the delicate way she held her fork, the graceful turn of her wrist as she reached for her wine. Such ordinary movements, yet they fascinated him.

Ozzie approached the table, his nose twitching hopefully at the scent of fish. She started to shoo him away, but Sam extended a tentacle, offering the dog a small morsel.

“He can have some,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

Ozzie accepted the offering with surprising gentleness, then nudged the tentacle with his muzzle, seeking attention as well as food. He obliged, carefully stroking the dog’s head, and she smiled at him.

“He really does like you.”

“Animals respond to intention. He knows he’s safe with me.”

“And am I?” she asked, her voice light but her eyes serious. “Safe with you?”

His gaze held hers. “Completely.”

Something passed between them then—an understanding, perhaps, or an acknowledgement of the growing bond between them.

They continued their meal, talking of small things—her work at the diner, his latest woodworking project.

The conversation was easy, natural, as if they’d done this a thousand times before.

After they finished eating, he cleared the plates, stacking them neatly in a basin of fresh water he drew from a rain barrel outside.

“Show me more,” she said suddenly, gesturing to his tentacles. “It’s fascinating.”

He hesitated only briefly before returning to her side and extending his tentacles along the floor.

He concentrated, and the silvery-grey of his skin began to change, darkening in some places, lightening in others, until he had matched the pattern of the wooden floor so precisely that parts of him seemed to disappear.

“Camouflage,” she whispered. “Like an octopus.”

“Yes.” The coloration rippled back to his normal state. “It’s useful for hunting. Or hiding.”

“What else can you do?”

“My tentacles can be as precise as human fingers. More so, perhaps.”

To demonstrate, a single tentacle curled around her ankle, slowly spiraling upward, tracing the curve of her calf, her knee.

Another tentacle joined the first, sliding up her arm, circling her wrist. The sensation was overwhelming—touch and taste at once, his suckers trailing lightly across her soft skin.

Her breathing quickened as his tentacles continued their journey, brushing the curve of her breast, the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

He felt her pulse quicken beneath his touch, and a corresponding heat began to coil deep within him.

His mating arm threatened to unfurl, and he quickly withdrew his touch.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said breathlessly but her smile was as bright as ever. “I asked you to demonstrate.”

“You’re not what I expected,” he admitted, his voice low.

“What did you expect?”

“Fear,” he said honestly.

“And instead?”

“Acceptance.” The word felt inadequate for what he saw in her eyes, but it was a start.

“My turn.” She extended her hand and he placed one of his tentacles on her open palm. “Is this okay?” she asked, her fingers exploring the texture of his skin.

“Yes,” he managed, though his voice had roughened. Her touch was exquisite torture—innocent exploration that nonetheless awakened parts of him long dormant.

She continued her careful examination, tracing the subtle patterns on his skin, testing the strength of his tentacle with gentle pressure, then running a gentle finger across one of his suckers.

“You said they were sensitive. Good sensitive or bad sensitive?” A hint of mischief played at the corners of her mouth.

“Good,” he admitted, his voice dropping lower. “Very good.”

She smiled then, a slow, knowing curve of her lips that made his heart stutter. Deliberately, she ran her finger over the sucker again, watching his reaction.

He felt the color in his skin shift involuntarily, darkening with desire. Another tentacle moved of its own accord, wrapping gently around her waist. He should pull back, maintain control, but the sensation of her skin against his was overwhelming.

“Nina,” he began, not entirely sure what he meant to say.

She saved him from having to decide by yawning suddenly, covering her mouth with her free hand.

“Sorry,” she said, blinking rapidly. “It’s been a long day.”

The spell broken, he carefully withdrew his tentacles.

“You’re tired. I should take you back.”

“No, I’m fine,” she protested, but another yawn betrayed her.

“You need your rest,” he said firmly.

She looked as if she might argue further, but after a moment, she nodded reluctantly. “I suppose Ozzie needs his rest too,” she said, glancing at the dog who had curled up on the window bench.

She rose to her feet but instead of heading to the door, she stood looking around the cabin with an expression he couldn’t quite interpret.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s just…” She gestured vaguely. “This is so different from anything I’ve ever experienced. Part of me doesn’t want to leave, in case…”.

“In case what?”

“In case I wake up tomorrow and discover it was all a dream.”

He rose to join her, one tentacle reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear with infinite gentleness. “It will be here. I’ll be here,” he promised. “Whenever you want to return.”

She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly. “Tomorrow?”

The eagerness in her voice made something tighten in his chest. “Tomorrow,” he agreed.

They gathered a reluctant Ozzie, and made their way back to the boat. He helped them aboard, then slid into the water next to the boat and gently guided it away from his island and towards the distant lights of her shack.

The night was still around them, the water a dark mirror reflecting the stars. She trailed her fingers in the river, occasionally brushing against his skin as he swam alongside the boat. Each fleeting touch sent a current through him more powerful than any electrical charge.

“Thank you for dinner,” she said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. “And for showing me your home. Your treasures.”

“Thank you for coming,” he replied, equally quiet. “For seeing me.”

Her smile in the moonlight made his heart constrict. “I see you, Sam.”

They reached the small dock in front of her shack too soon. He secured the boat and Ozzie hopped onto the dock first, shaking himself vigorously before trotting towards the cabin.

He extended a hand to help Nina from the boat, but as she stepped onto the dock, she didn’t release his grip. Instead, she tugged gently, drawing him closer until he rose partially from the water, his upper body level with hers where she stood.

“Goodnight, Sam,” she whispered, leaning forward.

Her lips met his, soft and warm and insistent.

He responded immediately, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head while a tentacle wrapped around her waist, steadying her.

The kiss deepened, her mouth opening under his, inviting him to explore.

He tasted wine and sweetness, felt the heat of her against the coolness of his skin.

When they finally parted, both breathing harder, her eyes were half-lidded, her lips slightly swollen. She looked thoroughly kissed, and the sight filled him with primitive satisfaction.

“Tomorrow,” she reminded him, her voice husky.

“Tomorrow,” he promised.

She turned and walked towards her shack, glancing back once to blow him a kiss before disappearing inside. He remained at the dock, watching until he saw the upstairs light go on.

Only then did he slip back into the deeper water, his body thrumming with sensations he’d almost forgotten existed. Joy. Desire. Hope. And beneath it all, a profound sense of contentment he’d never expected to feel again.

The river welcomed him with its familiar embrace, but for the first time since his escape, it wasn’t enough. The water that had been his refuge now felt like only half of what he needed.

The other half was waiting in a small shack on the shore, promising to see him tomorrow.