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13

Cindi

Ordus’ dick looks like one of my dildos.

There.

I said what I said.

I’m not ashamed—yes, I am—to admit that for one embarrassingly long second, I was imagining how it would feel to have the real deal inside me.

Don’t get me wrong, the tentacle dildo in my bedside drawer doesn’t have a bulb on it, but I did potentially make an impulse purchase last week after reading one too many shifter romances.

One thing led to another, and I have a knot waiting for me if I ever make it back to the house.

I keep throwing glances at all the limbs wrapped around me, but I can’t for the life of me figure out which one is his dick.

Or why kraken dick isn’t as scary as human dick.

I yawn against his chest, fighting wave after wave of exhaustion as I tighten my grip around the knife he gave me.

His weird purring sound is going to make me lose the war against sleep.

A particularly loud snore has my eyes snapping up to his face, and I scowl at the memory of how his stupidly pretty face looked as he got himself off.

How the muscle in his jaw feathered.

The tendons in his arms rippled.

His heaving chest paired with rasping breaths.

The way the opalescent liquid beaded at the tapered tip before spilling onto my chilled skin.

I can still feel the thick residue coating my thighs.

He was my only semblance of warmth, both inside and out.

It was a mortifying, exhilarating, partially heartbreaking experience I still haven’t got a clue how to process.

On the one hand, fuck him, the piece of shit, for forcing that situation on me.

On the other, holy fuck, I know he’s a sea creature, but how dare he get me wet like that?

And lastly, most disconcertingly, the guilt riddled on his face made me almost…

I don’t know. Pity him?

Sympathize with him?

I truly believe he didn’t want to do it, didn’t have a choice.

I don’t give a shit if he couldn’t help himself.

After the shit I’ve gone through, everything is a choice, and he made the wrong fucking one—as sexually enlightening as it was.

I want to absolutely despise him, hate every fiber of his being and gut him a thousand times to fix every wrong, but he’s making it hard for me to place him on the shelf Tommy is on.

They’re in the same building, but not the same room.

I’m not sure how to make sense of it.

Everything this monster has done was with a gentleness I haven’t been afforded in a long time.

Ordus’ hands might be larger than my face, but there was never a moment of hurt as he dabbed at my wounds with a delicateness I didn’t think would be possible by a man— monster —of his stature.

He wrapped my feet with so much care—care I wouldn't have given myself. I was certain he was going to say something horrific to balance it out, make him a true monster, inside and out, but it never came.

He never told me I was pathetic, stupid for hurting myself, useless for not staying put. There was no inkling of disappointment or disgust, no displeasure over having to deal with my injury.

He never raised his hand against me. Put his tentacles around my throat. Yanked me around.

No snide remarks have come over my injured hand either. I expected… I don’t know what I expected him to say when he noticed it. Maybe talk about how weak I am? Laugh at it? Goad me. Tease me. Tell me I deserved what happened, and I wouldn’t be sore if I hadn’t pushed him to do what he did.

None of that has come.

He’s a monster, but he’s not acting like one.

When he was raging so hard, he left to calm himself down. Then later, he forced himself to breathe through his anger. His touch was soft, and even though I could tell he wanted more, he didn’t even try to take his pleasure out on me, didn’t ask or suggest. He could’ve pulled my dress down or spread me wide and taken what he wanted, but he didn’t.

And I don’t know how to deal with that.

I don’t know how to deal with any of this.

Not how gentle he’s been. Not the weird, romantic, creepy shit he’s been saying. Not the fact that he’s taken me “to bed,” which apparently involves zero funny business. The man— kraken —slithered us over to the side-cave, lowered us to the moss, wrapped both versions of his arms around me, closed his eyes, and started snoring ten seconds later.

I was gobsmacked.

I’ve been fighting sleep for the past two hours; this facade of his is bound to break soon. He’s luring me into a false sense of comfort before he does whatever it is he plans on doing with me.

Tommy’s needs never waited for daylight or full consciousness. Even if I was fast asleep, anything went. If there is a way to stay awake forever, to avoid opening myself up to that vulnerability, I would do it.

I don’t want to be around to find out what Ordus’ true intentions are. I don’t want to find out when it’s being forced upon me.

No one kidnaps people from their home if they’re a good person. Maybe this is a common occurrence amongst his kind—if there are more of him—but as far as I’m concerned, it’s not an excuse. Every creature is capable of good and evil. He’s choosing the latter.

With nothing to do and every intention of watching him like a hawk in case his plan was to fake sleep then pounce, he’s been my sole focus.

Light trickles in through from the ribbons of bioluminescent algae. It’s hard to pinpoint Ordus’ exact shade, other than the fact that it’s very distinctly not quite human. Sometimes his skin holds a blue coloring, while other times, it’s a medium tan over the center of his body that radiates into a reddish brown along his shoulders, arms, forehead, and the bottom half of his body. The light, spotted markings are more prominent along his tentacles like the local reef octopuses, dotted around his brow bones, beneath his eyes, along his shoulders and arms.

I’ve noticed his tentacles sometimes change colors as they move over the ground, darkening over the grey stone before shifting to a lighter brown over the driftwood and coconuts, then glimmering blue close to the algae. Even now, there’s a greenish tinge to the tentacles resting on the moss or over my damp teal dress.

It’s fascinating.

In Ordus’ sleep, he carefully wrapped his tentacle around my injured arm, keeping it slightly bent at the elbow, the wrist cushioned over the thick limb. Maybe I’m losing my mind, but the appendage seems warmer than all the others. The suckers might also be puckering slightly—I can’t really tell from the pins and needles. Either way, the combination is weirdly soothing.

I would rather be knocked out by painkillers, though.

Movement sounds from the main cavern, jolting me out of my half-asleep state. I whip my attention toward the noise, unsure whether I should wake Ordus up or hope to whatever god listening that nothing bad is about to happen.

There’s a steady clack, clack, clack of claws against stone, and before I know it, the shark-dog is flopping himself against my back, shoving closer so he’s flat against me, sandwiched between me and Ordus.

I hesitate. “Can you really understand me?”

His tail thumps the ground.

I’ll take that as a yes.

“Can you get me out of here?”

He snorts.

“I need to get out of here. My friends will be?—”

He slaps me with his tail, as if to say, “ Shut up. I’m trying to sleep. ”

“Are you going to eat me?”

I contort my neck to watch him turn to look between me and Ordus. He shakes his head no but shows me his teeth in a confident yes.

That’s not very assuring.

Vasz—or fucking Vaszeline —lies back down, effectively dismissing me.

If someone really did lace my drink, I must be absolutely tripping balls to be able to come up with any of this.

I swallow, attempting to lubricate my mouth and throat. I’m half tempted to wake Ordus up to demand he fetch me water, but I’m pretty sure he’s just going to direct me to the pool.

I can’t imagine explaining humans only drink out of clean, bottled water will go down well.

Or that I can’t eat the fish unless he’s going to start a fire.

I fight sleep tooth and nail, forcing myself to keep my eyes open and mind alert to any change in breathing, atmosphere, or twitching. But at some point I lose the battle, because everything goes black.

The sound of movement comes from all around me, and my brows stitch together at the odd sensations. The taste of salt spreading over my tongue registers in my senses as something glides over my gums. Something is wrapped around my waist and legs. I can’t move.

No.

No.

Not again.

Panic sinks its claws into me like a vice. My eyes snap open, and I clamp my teeth down without caring if something gets bitten off. The thing leaves my mouth in an instant. Screams rip from my throat. I throw every ounce of my weight against the ropes holding me down.

I can’t fucking breathe.

How is this happening again?

He’s dead

Tommy’s dead.

I killed him.

He can’t be here.

My legs hit the soft floor, and I scramble back, choking on terror as the tears start to burn my eyes. I can just make out the shape of a giant through my blurry vision, and reality comes crashing in.

Ordus. The kraken.

Not Tommy. Not the Gallaghers.

But a ten-foot-tall monster who has me imprisoned, starved, dehydrated, and injured. He’s strong enough to kill me with a single swipe. And he was—he was doing something to me while I slept.

There’s nowhere for me to go. I can’t outrun him. I’m trapped with a raging bull, and I’m guaranteed to lose.

I can still taste seawater on my tongue and Tommy’s battery acid at the back of my throat.

I whimper, curling up against the wall, hugging my legs to make myself smaller. God, I wish I were anyone else but me. I wish I could rage and have the strength to tear his throat out instead of huddling up to the wall, hoping and praying it doesn’t hurt that much.

Ordus isn’t going to be happy by my reaction. I hit him, just tried to bite him. Not for the first time, but I would’ve worn his patience thin already. Bile lurches up my throat, and I swallow it back down to keep from angering him further. If I throw up, my punishment would be brutal enough to leave me twitching on the floor, unable to move.

Nothing good ever comes from sleep. I was right.

God, I want to fucking scream.

People don’t wake up and feel better, open their eyes then forgive and forget. The memory of all my indiscretions would still be fresh in his mind. I was given a pass yesterday. It never extends to the next. Tommy taught me that, and I’ve been too stupid to remember.

“Cindi.” His voice is quiet, cautious. Ordus lowers himself closer to the ground, slowly approaching me with his hands out, palms facing upward.

It’s a lie. He’s not surrendering. He’s lulling me into a false sense of security.

I swallow an angry, fearful sob, keeping my head down, gaze averted, not daring to make a sound, even though I want to scream for being the way I am, for not being strong enough to look him in the eye and tell him to go fuck himself.

I wish I buried that blade into his neck yesterday so I didn’t have to discover every fear I had was true.

Ordus is a monster, one as bad as the rest of them.

I was beginning to think maybe he isn’t a monster. Maybe he’s just misunderstood. Maybe he’s nothing like the faces I passed day after day, fooling me into believing the true monsters are the ones hiding beneath the bed while they smile with their straight teeth.

I’m a fool for thinking he held any goodness in him last night when all he wanted was to wait until I was asleep before taking advantage of me. I don’t know what he’s done to me. My underwear feels like it’s in place. My dress is right. It doesn’t feel like anything has been in there .

Still, I have no way of escaping. Scaling the wall to get to the hole proved impossible. With Vasz playing guard dog, I won’t make it far. And what? Do I think it’d be even remotely possible to outswim Ordus if I fail at killing him?

This is all my fault.

I should have stayed awake, ran at the first sign of trouble days ago. I should never have stopped moving.

My tongue flicks over my dry, chapped lips. I covertly feel the ground around me for the weapon I fell asleep with, but I come up empty. I start to shuffle back, only to stop when an indiscernible rumble starts in his chest.

“Don’t,” I whisper, staring at the two tentacles coming toward me.

I flinch when one gently wraps around my ankle with hardly any pressure; I could yank myself out of his hold with ease. Ordus speaks before I get the chance to run.

“I was looking at your teeth.”

My stare flicks up to his. “ What? ” I run my tongue over my gums to make sure nothing is missing.

“You were obviously badly injured, yet you told me you were fine. I was…checking for anything else that might be bringing you pain. Sometimes—sometimes, my tooth aches, and I do not want to eat. I thought perhaps…” Ordus’ brows flatten as every guilt-laden word drips out from him. He sinks onto the moss across from me, shoulders slumped, filling the cave with his tentacles.

I study his face for signs of malice or manipulation in the crinkle around his eyes or the downward tilt of his lips. Except it’s like looking at a reflection. His self-loathing is written in the pain behind his eyes and the slightest tremble in his hands. That’s not something anyone can fake. My chest squeezes, and I’m struck with the urge to tell him it’s alright, to apologize for accusing him of something so heinous—but I can’t have that type of weakness.

“I—” He stops, clears his throat, and drops his gaze to the tentacle wrapped around my ankle. “I am unsure how to help with your arm, but it is possible for me to forage for supplies to treat other issues.”

I notice belatedly that the sound he started making is his purr, not a growl.

My attention falls on the fresh wrapping around my feet and shin. He’s…he’s telling the truth.

Ordus might have been taking advantage of me while I was asleep, but it was just… It was for my benefit.

At least, I think it was just for my benefit.

“Why do you care?” My words crack and scratch from the lack of water.

The tentacle curls up around my calf. He raises his hand like he wants to touch me. Thinking better of it, he drops it to his side, holding my gaze with a weight that’s suffocating in its reverent intensity. “You are my mate.”

My stomach drops. He’s said it a few times already, called me his mate . Whether out of pure delusion or genuine fear, I disregarded it, shoved it to the back of my mind. Too many crazy things have happened.

“Are you Australian?” I blurt.

Please say yes.

I’ve read enough romance books to know the alternative is something I’m not willing to accept as fact.

Even though, apparently, krakens are fucking real.

If a mate or soulmate means the same thing to him, as it does in every single fated mates book on the market and the general world renown meaning of a soulmate, then there is absolutely no way I’m getting out of here.

“Your soul called to me from across the sea.” Ocean-blue eyes hold mine with the ferocity of a chemical fire. It’s an oath, adoration packaged in possession. “The moment I saw you, the course of my life was altered to become wholly devoted to you, your every whim, your every thought, need. The Goddess deemed I belong to you, and you belong to me. The rest of my days are yours. If you are not with me, I will cease to exist.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

I’m screwed.

Completely and utterly screwed.

I think I’m going to have another panic attack.

My pulse races. “The Goddess was wrong.”

Ordus’ look of honeyed admiration fractures. The brittle edges of his cracked mask splits open. His guilt and sorrow seeps through, casting his skin in a sullen shade. “She is never wrong. You feel it too.” He adds the last part hesitantly.

“I feel nothing but contempt.”

What I feel is, I’m about to relive years of abuse in a less-gilded cage. My experiences have made me soft and touch-deprived enough that I would seek any semblance of pleasure from someone who’s keeping me hostage. I’ve been without warmth for so long, I’m willingly touching fire.

What I am feeling isn’t the effects of fate or a divine being. No, it’s the side effects of a broken psyche drowning beneath a decade of failures.

We aren’t mates .

I’m not here to question the existence of the concept or the will of who decides pairings. I know deep in my heart that my reaction to him isn’t the result of fate, but of desperation. Ordus is attractive, strong, and has been gentle with me in a way I forgot was possible.

Whether he’s lying to me or he genuinely believes it to be true, whatever it is, it’s not because we’re mates. He’s got it wrong.

Ordus winces like I’ve struck him. I almost feel guilty for it. The reaction is more extreme than the times I really did stab him, and those cracks widen. His guilt and self-loathing aren’t oozing out anymore—it’s pouring, spilling down my paling skin to pool at my torn feet.

“I’m sorry.” His shoulders fall, dejection thick in his voice. “There is nothing I can do.”

“Let me go,” I whisper, frowning at the building pain in my elbow and fingers. I massage my shoulder and tricep muscles. “Return me to the house.”

He tips his head to the side to study me. “You’re like that bird that repeats the same words.”

“A parrot?”

“Yes, yes.” He sighs, eyes brightening at my amusement. “ Let go of me. Take me home. Don’t touch me.”

Is he…teasing me? What the fuck? “Probably because that’s what I want,” I snap.

I gasp when a tentacle wraps around my bad arm and does a weird, warming, puckering thing that distracts me from the pain,

“Then I suggest you find new desires, mate.” The creases around his eyes soften.

“No, Ordus.” I shake my head slowly. If there’s one thing he’s said I believe to be true, it’s that he’ll never let me go—the jury’s still out about my safety. He needs to understand staying here will kill me. “You care about me, right?”

“Of course.” He nods, brow wrinkling in annoyance that I’m even suggesting he doesn’t. “More than anything.”

His answer tips my axis. I believe him at the same time I reel at the blatant manipulation.

I’d rather be a cynic than be made a fool of again.

“Then you can’t keep me down here. I’ll grow crazy. I need food and water,” I insist.

A piercing pain shoots through my stomach at the reminder. The last time I was deprived of food and water, it was because Tommy thought I embarrassed him at dinner because I reached over someone to get something. It was so mundane, I can’t remember who or what was involved.

Ordus tenses like he’s about to get up.

“ Human food,” I correct before he can catch fish again.

He falters, lips pursed, hesitating as he glances between me and the cavern. Slowly, like he’s scared I might bolt if he moves too quickly, he offers me his hand. “Come.”

The tentacle caresses my leg. I swallow. “Where are you taking me?”

“Land.”