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17

Cindi

My skin is only getting paler.

Dryer. My body weaker.

The pounding in my head is worse.

I can barely keep my eyes open.

The only thing I’m capable of is sleeping.

I shouldn’t have spent so long in the sun yesterday.

Sweating and burning has made it worse.

Ordus keeps trying to bait a reaction out of me, probably thinking it’ll keep me alive.

All I can muster is a faint mumble before turning over, clutching my stomach, and letting my eyes drift shut.

There’s only one thing I’ve asked for: to be taken back to the mainland.

The two coconuts I’ve had since being here have only worked to prolong the inevitable.

Ordus’ selfishness will kill me, and I think he’s starting to realize that.

In the short moments of consciousness, I can feel his frantic energy as he moves around the cave, trying to get me to eat or drink things that will only make me worse.

I’m cradled in his limbs more often than not and have woken up to gentle poking and prodding more times than I can count.

I jar awake when cool water engulfs my body.

I whimper from the shock, curling up against Ordus’ warm, hard torso.

Peeling my heavy lids open, all I can make out is the glowing algae and Vasz watching me from his corner.

“Shh, Cindi. I have you,” he whispers, lowering us into the pool.

My head is plunged beneath the water’s surface.

Oxygen slams back into my lungs before I can panic.

The giant air bubble is the last thing I see before I succumb to sleep again, drifting in and out of consciousness, waking only when a gust of wind slams into my face.

I sputter a cough, shivering against a warm body as I force my eyes to open against the weight of exhaustion.

I can’t feel my fingers and toes.

How long was I out for?

Water crashes against my face.

I gasp, swallowing saltwater and whimpering, squeezing my eyes shut against the harsh moonlight.

A roaring sounds in my ear.

Is that my pulse?

I force my eyes open again.

Not my pulse. A beach.

It looks familiar, but I can’t pinpoint from where.

I can barely think beyond the stabbing pain in my head.

I blink, and the sea shifts to sand.

Blink, and it’s dirt.

Another, and palm leaves hang overhead.

Once more, and suddenly, there’s a beeping sound.

I groan, twisting my head to the side.

Someone says something, but I can’t make out their words.

The world turns, and a ringing noise starts in my ears from trying to make sense of my surroundings in the darkness.

Tile floors. A dismantled battery generator on the coffee table.

Laundry on the couch.

Dishes on the kitchen bench.

A screwdriver and a bottle of glue beside an upside-down chair.

Pliers above the microwave, next to a container full of different pills.

A rug with one corner burned.

The unplugged speakers around the TV.

Ordus brought me back.

I’m so happy, I could cry.

Adrenaline surges through my veins, filling me with energy I haven’t had in however long.

I point to the fridge, mouth refusing to work.

The world spins and sways as he rushes over to it.

I wriggle in his grip, wordlessly ordering him to set me down.

He keeps saying things I can’t make sense of, but eventually, he relents, keeping me upright with tentacles wrapped around my body.

I fumble for the fridge door.

It takes three tries to get it open, and I don’t think it was me who did it.

The blast of cold air pushes me closer to consciousness.

The only reason I don’t surge for the big bottle of Pocari Sweat is because Ordus changes my movements to a gentle reach by manipulating my body.

I grip the cap with my trembling hands, struggling to get it open.

When Ordus takes it from me, I whimper, desperate to do anything for even a drop.

As soon as he hands it to me, I bring it to my lips and greedily gulp the sweet beverage without regard to the cramps piercing my stomach.

Liquid streams from the corners of my lips down to my collarbones, mixing in with the saltwater trickling from my matted hair.

I don’t stop until I’m sputtering on the floor, coughing up a storm that rattles my bones.

The bottle clatters across the kitchen as I heave for breath.

Dark spots swim in my vision, fatigue sinking into my marrow.

More.

That can’t possibly be enough to replenish me.

I scramble through the fridge for another bottle of anything with electrolytes.

I only manage two more gulps before I’m hacking it up on the tile like Vasz does when he chases the waves.

I’m distantly aware of the hand caressing my back.

For a second, it belongs to Tommy, not the ten-foot monster who had me trapped on an island in the middle of nowhere.

But the instant the thought takes hold, that purr starts up, deep in Ordus’ chest, that has my body relaxing for reasons I can’t begin to explain.

This time, when I move, I’m not buzzing with frantic energy.

I grab the leftover nasi goreng and sate ayam and spoon the rice and chicken combo into my mouth with my pruning fingers.

My stomach growls at the fifth mouthful, and I lurch to the side, feeling everything I’ve consumed rush up my chest.

Fuck, maybe I should have gone easy.

I pant as I keel onto my side to lean against the kitchen cupboard.

My eyes drift shut in my concentration to keep the contents of my stomach on the inside of my body.

Carbs, protein, and electrolytes.

Surely, that’s what doctors recommend.

It’s the best I’ve got, since I doubt Ordus will be escorting me to a hospital to get IV’d anytime soon.

When I finally have the energy to reopen my eyes, morning light streams through the slits of boards on the other side of my bedroom window.

My brows furrow. How did I get in here?

How long was I asleep?

I groan as I push myself up on the mattress.

The pounding in my head isn’t as bad, but it’s still there, a constant irritant that makes the light stab into my eyes like I’m being lobotomized.

The room is the same haphazard mess I left it in; a suitcase ready to go next to my emergency “fuck-off” bag.

The newest addition to my place is the sprawling tentacles between me and my escape, plus a shark-dog rolling around my rug with a coconut husk in his mouth.

I won’t delude myself into thinking I’ll be able to outrun him.

I couldn’t at full capacity, and I sure as shit can’t when the grim reaper is picking his nails, waiting for me to kick the bucket.

Now, I somehow need to convince a literal monster staying here is a good idea.

The soft cotton sheets feel wrong against my dry, grimy skin.

Every inhale is sandpaper against my dry throat.

I need water. Hell, a coffee would make me worse, but I would kill for one.

The bed creaks when I move, and both creatures whip their heads my way.

Ordus is up and on his feet— tentacles the moment his eyes land on me.

His eyes are crinkled at the edges, looking at me with enough concern to hit me in my windpipe.

All over again, I’m wishing I could hate him for all this, wish I could forget the way he touched me so gently, how he sometimes softens from the mere sound of my voice.

He brought me more fish and a couple different crabs, spouting something about how one of them might be right for me, and then he holds my bad arm and massages the tense muscles.

He’s lonely. He didn’t need to say it for me to see it when his sheer desperation for me to show him even an ounce of positive attention oozes from his pores.

His eyes brighten with a flicker of something every time I look at him.

I don’t miss the barest curve of his lips every time I let his tentacle wrap around me.

Also, it’s not an excuse, but I don’t think he knows any better.

I can’t entirely fault him for not being familiar with how another species feeds, but I’d expect some level of research first before taking one prisoner.

I won’t thank him for bringing me here when he’s the reason I’m like this to begin with.

If you thank people for the bare minimum, you’ll teach them mediocrity is the standard.

I suppose this means he will do whatever it takes to keep me alive, but being alive and comfortable are two separate things.

“Cindi, are you well?” Ordus’ voice is smooth yet pinched, like he’s holding himself back from doing his own check.

“A million bucks,” I murmur.

He tips his head to the side.

Yeah. You don’t understand the reference.

Got it.

I shift to the edge of the bed and take a deep breath before pushing myself up to my feet.

Fatigue hits me like a bad case of vertigo, combined with a mushroom cloud exploding somewhere behind my eyes, and I drop back down.

I’ve felt like shit before, but this well and truly takes the cake.

It’s as bad as when me and a couple of friends decided to finish a bottle of absinthe between the three of us back in college.

I thought I was going to see God.

Ordus could’ve brought me back to the island while I was unconscious.

Why didn’t he? I’m weak.

I wouldn’t have been able to fight him.

Curling onto my side on the bed, I watch Ordus from beneath my heavy lids.

One of his tentacles—it’s always the same one—snakes around my leg, always so gently, pulsing and warming like it’s trying to comfort me.

He inhales deeply, tension unwinding from his shoulders as he closes the distance.

I guess at some point during the past however many days, my subconscious realized tentacles don't need to hurt, and despite the dehydration and hunger, his intention isn’t to hurt me. He truly believes I’m his soulmate.

I hate that my broken shards have splintered too many times until there is no longer any part of me I recognize.

I hate that his hands don’t hurt, because then it would make it easier to hate him.

I won’t lie and say being looked at like I’m a being of the divine isn’t a…nice experience. Maybe under different circumstances, in another life, maybe .

But what if…what if we really are soulmates? Would it be so bad to be with a kraken like Ordus? I mean, the physical attraction is there. He’s somewhat amusing, I guess, if not bewildering or maddening. And?—

No, I can’t think that. I didn’t get out of one cage to end up in another.

“I need more water,” I croak, standing back up and shuffling past him, his tentacle still awkwardly hanging on to me. It feels more like intimacy than shackles.

The fridge door squeals, and the motor rumbles to life when I slump onto the floor and pull it open. I stall with my fingers on a plastic bottle. Where’s the high-pitched whirring gone?

The contents of the little Yakult bottle are in my mouth before I form another thought, followed by the satisfying crick of the You·C1000 bottle cap before the carbonated vitamin drink is bubbling down my throat.

If I can’t get an IV drip in me, grocery store probiotics and vitamins are going to have to do. This time, I pace myself by drinking a few sips of milk, Teh Botol for the sugar, and plain ol’ water. I manage little spoonfuls of fried rice and chicken in between, careful not to get to the point where I throw up.

Ordus studies the contents of the fridge like memorizing every bottle I pick up and bring to my lips and the cans I steered clear of. A dip forms between his brows when I use a pump on the Aqua water gallon sitting on a plastic stool.

I manage to find my last little jar of chicken essence and brace for the worst. I crack it open, pinch my nose, and swig it back. The putrid taste makes me gag; I have to wash it down with more tea. Most of my childhood trauma comes down to Dad pressuring me into drinking the alternative medicine whenever I got sick. He swore by it—always preached something about how it’s all the vitamins and nutrients from a chicken or whatever.

But Christ, he really was onto something. It’s always given me an energy boost.

I feel Ordus watching me, always a couple of feet away, still as a statue, like it might make him appear less imposing, or he’s scared I might freak.

Leaning my head back against the cupboard, I try to even out my breaths. My sights land on the power generator on the coffee table, the one I’ve been meaning to fix for weeks. It’s been put back together, the red light flashing. It wouldn’t turn on a week ago.

And the fridge… It stopped making that weird sound.

I crane my neck toward the broken chair that was upside down on the floor last night. It’s fixed, now upright, leg in the correct place, perfectly angled with no uneven lift off the floor. The glue, wrench, and screwdriver sit on the table.

My eyes swing to Ordus, lips parted. He fixed them?

Why would he even bother? The gentle giant confuses me.

I reach above my head for the edge of the kitchen counter to haul myself up. A tentacle wraps around my waist and carefully raises me to my feet before I can attempt to do it on my own. He lingers there, coiled around me, brushing against the underside of my boobs, and I stop breathing.

My skin pebbles, and my cheeks heat for reasons unbeknownst to me.

That’s a lie. I very much know.

The memory of the suckers around my nipple flashes like damn high beams, and I suck in a breath to forget about it, but it’s too late. It’s there. It’s so vivid. So is the way his cock hardened, how his cum dripped on me.

That near-death lethargy creeps back up on me for entirely different reasons. I can barely get my body to comply with my demands to extract myself from the memory and the feel of his solid warmth around me.

Next comes the exhaustion, the crushing weight of months of running without pause, years of pain under pretty hands. His tentacles don't hurt.

He doesn’t hurt. I miss knowing what it feels like to endure the touch of another person without fear of leaving with bruises on my skin.

Ordus eases the rest of him over to me, curling his tentacles tighter as he crouches to avoid hitting the roof.

Tentatively, he slowly holds a hand out to cup my jaw.

And I let him.

I don’t know why I let him.

I can’t even begin to explain why I lean into his touch, why my eyes drift shut to focus on the feel of his warm skin against mine.

The tips of his claws scrape the edge of my jaw.

A shiver goes down my spine, and not an unpleasant one.

Maybe it’s the effects of dehydration.

Maybe it’s the weight of history.

He’s a beast of a man.

I’ve watched him kill three people in under a minute.

He crushed their skulls, ripped apart their limbs, made them bleed for what they did to me.

I still remember the cold panic on his face when he noticed the few cuts on my feet.

The manic rage when someone hurt me.

The unbridled jealousy when a guy approached me at the bar.

I’m not afraid of him.

He won’t intentionally harm me.

His expression is bewildering.

I can’t pinpoint it.

It borders on awe and betrayal and something else entirely.

Unease churns in me.

My breath catches, waiting for him to make the first move.

What if he decides to drag me back to the island?

What if he thinks I’ve consumed enough, and he’ll be giving me the bare minimum for survival from here on out?

Ordus never indicated he would do it, but it’s not like I haven’t missed signs before.

He breathes hard through his nose.

“Are you mated already?”

A tremor works down my spine.

“What?” How does he know about Tommy?

Apart from the pictures of me and Dad, there shouldn’t be anything in this house pointing to that demon.

His nostrils flare and his eyes darken.

“A male was here.”

A ma—?

Fear sinks from my stomach down to my feet, twisting and churning.

The food and drinks turn into bile.

“H-how do you know?” Dread seeps into my bloodstream like poison.

“I smell him.”

No, no, no.

“Let go of me,” I rasp.

Ordus hesitates. He must sense my panic, because he quickly releases me.

I scramble for my workroom in search of my laptop.

It isn’t here. Fuck.

Where did I put it? I tip the laundry off the couch, then try my bedside tables before moving to my go bags.

It’s not there. Neither are my passports.

He’s found me. Tommy’s found me.

Fuck.

I rip open the curtains.

Where the hell is the car?

My feet thud against the tile as I scramble outside.

Why are the wheels missing from my bike?

My phone. I need to check my phone.

I tear the house apart, emptying out my bags, turning over furniture, checking pockets.

Where the fuck is my phone?

My eyes dart up to the cameras hidden around the room.

Undisturbed. Without my phone or laptop, I have no way of knowing who broke in—but they would’ve been scrubbed the second the timer went off, and I didn’t type in the disarm code.

Shit. Shit. Shit. What should I do?

Was the door’s alarm beeping before we got here, or did it only start when Ordus tried it?

What if it was Tommy’s brother, John?

He’s the worst of the two.

I’ve never seen a genuine smile on his wife.

She always wore long sleeves to hide the bruises that would peek through if she raised her arms.

I don’t know any of the pirates by name, but I’ve seen faces.

What if it’s one of them?

I mean, if it were, they wouldn’t be fucking with my head by only taking two items. My house would be empty or destroyed.

It wouldn’t have been some random person either—who came for my tires and personal electronics, but left the TV and wallet sitting on my bedside table?

I tip over the mattress.

Nothing. It’s a small place.

There’s nowhere else it could be.

I scrub a hand down my face, ignoring Ordus’ calls, the wedge driving deeper into my soul as I feel the phantom pains from the horrors the Gallaghers would rain down on me.

But right now, there’s only one thing standing between me, the Gallaghers, and freedom.

I zero in on the gun lying on the floor.

I could shoot Ordus and get out of here, finally be free of him and this whole mate bullshit.

But I hesitate.

I stare at the weapon, imagining its weight in my hands as I aim for his head.

I feel my finger press against the trigger, the recoil rippling up my arms.

I can’t do it.

Why can’t I do it?

I can’t bring myself to grab the gun and put a bullet through the monster’s skull.

The thought alone makes my chest constrict.

A cry tears when I’m swept off my feet and spun to face a hard, bare chest. And it’s like a dam burst. I couldn’t stop myself even if I tried.

I kick and shriek, sink my nails into anything I can reach.

He keeps saying my name.

The wrong one. Or is it the right one?

Cindi.

Every time I blink, there’s a different person holding me.

Tommy.

Ordus.

Tommy.

John.

My arms become plastered to my sides.

I throw every ounce of my power into throwing them off, but each failed attempt sends my panic rocketing to new heights.

“You can’t take me!” I’d rather die than go back.

“Cindi,” Ordus repeats.

Puckering tentacles tighten around me.

Tentacles.

Ordus. Not Tommy.

Ordus.

Even though my body is stiff, battling with all my might, he easily contorts me to his whim, cradling me against his chest so I have no choice but to feel the vibrations of his purr against my cheek.

My lungs expand with my sharp inhales.

His sea breeze scent washes over me.

The sounds coming from him hit like a bucket of warm water, drenching my coiled muscles, dampening my twisted sobs.

His large hands are firm around my back, keeping me steady in place.

Suckers pulse where our skin touches.

The same misbehaving tentacle travels up and down my body in a soothing caress.

A storm cloud drifts into my mind that turns my thoughts into fuzzy static.

Adrenaline ebbs out of me, dwindling my fight with each minute until I’m nothing more than a pile of sweat, bone, and tears in the arms of a monster.

A monster who has done nothing but try to take care of me in his own twisted way.

Trying to feed me. Fussing over the wounds on my feet that have healed over.

Putting a paste on my sunburned skin when I was sleeping.

Using his limbs as cushioning against the hard rock.

“Cindi, tell me what is wrong.”

I blink my bleary eyes up at him, expecting to be seared by his rage.

I never dared have any kind of meltdown in front of Tommy.

The only time I did was when Dad died, and I vaguely remembered the flash of white teeth as he curled his lips before leaving me on the floor to “sort out my own mess.”

Tears trickle freely down my cheek.

The signs were there.

Why did I ignore them?

How did I completely miss all the red flags when I was raised surrounded by green?

I’ll never understand.

“What…” I start, scrambling to disperse the wool from my brain to get my shit together and come up with some kind of plan.

“What do you smell?”

Ordus’ nostrils flare.

The tips of his canines catch the glint of the afternoon sun.

“A male. The scent is old.” He works his jaw.

He appears so human when he does this, even with the gills and the webbed ears.

“Who is it?”

Tommy’s name catches in my throat, but saying it makes it true.

“I can’t stay here. I need to leave the country.” I don’t want to, but what choice do I have?

They’ll follow me to the ends of the Earth.

I just have to keep running.

“They’ve found me.”

“Who is after you?” he repeats, ocean-blue eyes intent, bordering on obsessive.

The rumble in his voice betrays him—a tidal wave stews beneath the surface, intent on destroying everything in its path.

A foreign warmth unfurls low in my core.

It’s strange, having someone’s rage directed at something other than me.

For me. With me.

But it’s not enough, and I’m not selfish enough to drag him into my mess.

“It doesn’t matter who. You need to let me go,” I plead, imagining what people would do to him.

He isn’t human. I’m sure the Gallaghers would sell him to someone to be tested and experimented on.

They would break him until he’s barely even a shell.

I can’t let that happen.

I won’t. I may not know Ordus very well, and he may be my jailer, but he doesn’t deserve that kind of fate.

He isn’t…he isn’t evil.

“They have guns. The best-case scenario is, they kill you and do far worse to me.”

“I can keep you safe. Trust me, mate.”

“You can’t.” I shake my head, struggling in his grip.

He can’t possibly know that.

“You can’t help me. You can’t save me.” He carefully lowers me to my feet, keeping one tentacle firm around my waist. “I made the decision to marry him. I’m the one who decided to kill him instead of leaving without a trace. I made my bed; I need to lie in it. There’s nothing you can do to help. I need to leave.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t bother singing the same ol’ tune he’s been saying since the moment he captured me.

He reaches behind him and passes me a waterproof bag I bought when I was delusional enough to think I could go kayaking.

“Take everything you need. We will return to the island.”

I jerk my head side to side.

“That’s not what I meant.” He’s not understanding me.

This is serious.

Ordus holds the bag to the side.

For the second time today, when he reaches for my face, I let him.

I should be screaming, fighting, throwing everything I have into making him realize the magnitude of the threat.

I shouldn’t be seeking comfort from the creature who decided I’m his prisoner.

I shouldn’t let him touch me when I watched him kill three men in cold blood.

I hate that weak, pathetic part of me that still doesn’t have the strength to draw away from him.

I hate that my broken shards have splintered too many times so there is no longer any part of me that I recognize.

I hate that his hands don’t hurt, because then it would make it easier to hate him.

“Plagues, humans, and krakens alike have tried killing me since the day I was born. You are my only purpose. I give you my word. No harm will reach you.” He nudges the bag against my hand.

“Take it and bring what you want, or I will choose for you.”

I swipe the tears from my cheeks.

“Stop telling me what to?—”

He cuts me off, gripping my chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Cindi, listen to me. No one can reach you on the island. There is only you, me, and Vasz. Whoever it is you are running from will not reach you there. So take the bag and let me take care of you.”

My gaze lands on the black sack.

I mean, he’s right, isn’t he?

How will anyone know to look on an island in the middle of nowhere?

No one would find me in the caves.

My plan was always to lay low in the middle of nowhere or hide out on one of the islands in Thailand.

This isn’t any different, is it?

No civilization. No cameras.

Nothing to give away my location.

Stowed away with a powerful creature intent on protecting me because he thinks I’m his divinely chosen soulmate.

There’s nowhere on Earth safer for me than Ordus’ island.

It’s the one place the Gallaghers will never touch.

I hesitate before placing my hand on the bag. “Okay.”