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19

Ordus

“Please,” the human begs, throat bobbing against my hand.

I believe it might be his third time saying that word.

Or the fifth. I’m unsure.

I was distracted again.

Leaving her behind on the island makes me nauseous, but I’m comforted by the fact that she isn’t alone.

Vasz is protective of what he deems as his.

I’ll allow him to view Cindi as his Queen Mate if it means he will play guard while I’m away.

I don’t like it, but I will allow it—for now.

He’s cheap labor. That mutt will do anything for a coconut husk.

“Is it money? Do you want money? I have money?” the tourist rambles.

No. I have money, should I need it.

If I do not have any, I can just take it anyway.

I squeeze his throat and use a quarter of my power to slam him against the wall.

His yellow hair falls over his face as he grips my arm in panic.

As I left the island, I didn’t have a set plan as to whom my prey would be, only that they be in the right place at the right time for me to drag them behind a building enshrouded in darkness.

The tourist was the first convenient male.

He opens his mouth too much.

And should bathe. And look into his oral health—teeth shouldn’t be that yellow.

“I have questions,” I say carefully.

I’m in my human form, but anything I ask cannot give away that I am…

not as I appear. Granted, I do not look like the average human either.

The male shakes his head frantically.

“I don’t know anything, man.”

He’s a human.

So, yes, he does know.

“How do you make fish edible for your ki— you ?” I correct myself, loosening my hold to allow him to speak.

“I… Is this a joke?” His brow line flattens.

“Did Mitch put you up to this? Because if he did, you can tell him I’m kicking his ass and telling Chelsea he was chattin’ up a hooker last night.” He forces a chuckle.

“ Answer. ” My patience is waning.

“Seriously?” He chokes when I retighten my grip.

Humans are so annoying.

Not my Cindi, though.

Well—no. She’s perfect.

“What the fuck is this? It ain’t funny, man.”

I want to kill him.

It would take me less than two seconds.

He wouldn’t have time to see it coming.

Alas, I cannot kill the human yet.

His brain still holds use.

For now.

“I will ask you one more time. How do you make it? ” I’d like to learn for my mate, prove to her I can provide for her and any future cubs we may have.

“Okay, okay.” He holds up his hand in surrender.

“I cook it? I don’t know. What do you want me to say?”

“How?” I growl.

Does he take me for a fool?

“Are you—” I shake him.

Have humans always been this difficult?

“Okay, fuck, okay.” He raises his hands, palms up again.

“On—on a pan, or a skillet, or—or a grill.”

What are they?

“From the start. Step-by-step?—”

His forehead wrinkles.

Whatever useless thoughts filter through his head must be put aside, because he does as I command.

“I—I mean like—” He swallows.

“My pops would skin it, gut it, and give it to me sealed. I’d wash it, pat it down, drop some butter in a pan, throw some seasoning in, then add the fish. Fuck, I think that’s it. I don’t know, man. I can’t cook for shit. Is that what you want to hear? Can I go now?”

This pan again?

“No. Show me.” There are human establishments that serve food.

I’ve tried looking, but there’s no way for me to see how they do it without arousing suspicion or killing more people than necessary.

“Like—like a video?”

I nod.

I’ve heard humans talk about videos before.

It’s not a word I have been able to translate into my language.

“Okay, okay. Yeah. A video. Yea—” He reaches into his pocket and holds his hands up to stop me from slamming him into the wall again.

“Woah, woah, woah. I’m just taking my phone out. Chill.”

Phone.

A sound? Voice? What is that?

The tourist reaches into his pocket, and I frown.

I do not understand how the small rectangular box helps.

I’ve seen many, many humans hold something like that—more so recently.

They sometimes hold it up to their ear or stick wires into it.

I’ve never cared to look closer.

Maybe Cindi has one of these phone things?

Will she be happy if I give her one?

The male’s hands shake as he taps the black box.

Light suddenly flashes, and a still dog appears on it.

A photo, I believe the humans call it.

I’ve seen many on paper around the mainland.

It is far superior to the paintings and art we have at the palace.

It’s like magic in the way it glows.

My eyes widen as the images on the box change with every flick of his fingers.

Maybe I will also get myself a…

phone . It may be useful.

“YouTube good?”

I nod.

I don’t know what that is either.

I release his neck to stand beside him to better see this…

phone . He taps on a square, then symbols appear on the screen.

I never learned how to read English, but Mother insisted we learn the native language of the humans on the mainland.

Admittedly, it’s been many years since I’ve attempted to read anything, and I’m finding it difficult to recall the phonetics for the tourist’s language.

Several images of human food pop onto the box.

He clicks on the one with a snapper, and the picture begins to move.

A male’s voice filters through the device.

Fascinating.

I will gift a phone to Cindi.

My mate can watch the moving photos too, if she wishes.

My full concentration is on the device as the male talks through scraping off the scales of a fish, gutting it, then what they call filleting it.

“You do not like the bones?” I confirm with my prey.

“Uh…yeah?”

I nod. I understand.

The scales are sharp, and the bones sometimes get stuck between my teeth.

Cindi should never experience that.

I continue watching the human on the device clean the fish, then tap it dry.

The male sprinkles salt and pepper—I will search for this—on both sides before pouring oil—I will add this to the list as well—on a flat silver item with curved sides.

Is that what that is called?

A pan? Cindi packed something similar, except it had rounded edges that looked more like a bowl.

Now that I really think about it, I think I saw one in that shape but much smaller, in black.

She was running around the house throwing things into bags, taking it out again, putting it back in, swapping it out for another item.

I did my best to catalogue every item she was interested in bringing, but my efforts were mainly spent moving around to cushion her as she inevitably stumbled.

I lost count of how many times she would’ve hit the edge of a table if my tentacle hadn’t been there.

I’m curious to see how the fish tastes when it’s prepared in such a way.

“That.” I point at the metal thing the pan is on.

The box goes weird when I touch it.

Wait. Yes.

The humans burn their food first. On fire.

How did I forget?

I paid attention to where the humans were and where their attention was locked onto, but never much more than that.

I never cared to know how the humans lived beyond the trivial matters of where they congregate or the words coming out of their mouths.

Had I known my mate would be human, I would’ve begun learning their customs years ago.

“A stove?” I do not appreciate the tourist’s condescending tone.

“Seriously, dude. Is this a prank? Are you high? Because I’m?—”

“Get me one,” I snarl.

My incisors threaten to make an appearance.

“I don’t live here. I don’t know where?—”

“ Now. ” No more excuses.

“Holy fuck. My Airbnb has one, okay? Is that fine? Just—just don’t hurt me.”

He speaks too much.

“Take me there, and say nothing more.”

I snatch the phone —interesting choice of word—from him and shove him back toward the main street.

I follow closely behind as he lumbers along, casting frightened glances back at me.

“Will there be other hu—males there?”

He shakes his head.

“Will you?—”

“No speaking.”

I only like when Cindi speaks.

It isn’t long until we’re entering an older villa in a quieter neighborhood not far from Cindi’s house.

The male hands me the stove he mentioned.

It’s much smaller than the one in the video.

There’s only one of the places the fire comes from instead of six, but it’s little and can be easily carried back to the island.

It’ll do.

The male shifts and slowly backs away.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble?—”

I throw him across the room.

He must hit his head in the process, because he doesn’t move again.

I revert my attention back to the stove.

Yes. Tomorrow, I will cook a fish for my mate.

Cindi is a hoarder, I have learned.

She has many of the same items—which I do not understand.

She has over six pairs of shoes, just as many pants, over ten dresses, and at least twenty tops.

One or two, I understand, but ten seems a lot.

I suppose this means humans change clothes many times.

How often are they meant to do it?

Will they get sick if they don’t?

Weren’t the sailors I saw always wearing the same thing?

Krakens do not require such things, but the noble ones flaunt their wealth with jewels they’ve acquired.

Some wear belts with pouches to carry more supplies, or necklaces made from the finest shells they’ve found.

Cindi has very little jewelry.

No matter. I am a king.

She has plenty to choose from.

My nostrils flare as I sort through the clothes on the floor.

The male’s lingering scent is faint.

Vasz was unable to pinpoint his smell to track him.

My mate says someone is after her.

I need to change that.

My stomach ached seeing her upset like that.

I wanted to hold her and reassure her nothing will happen, but words mean nothing to Cindi.

I have to prove it.

I stalk toward the open closet door once more.

Did Cindi bring enough clothes for her to be comfortable on the island?

She only had three bags.

It couldn’t have been sufficient.

I place the clothing in the hard-shelled rectangular item on the floor that opens like a grey clam with four little wheels at the bottom.

Like a chest…except not.

There were some items in it already, but I want my mate to have as many of her things as possible.

Content that Cindi will be sufficiently warm, I move to the cupboards beside her bed.

One side has been emptied already; the other remains standing, drawers still intact.

I cautiously pull the drawer out lest I break the contents inside it and upset my mate.

I stare at the bright blue object at the very top.

I tip my head and frown, then tip my head to the other side.

What is…

I pick up the rubber object.

It’s nearly as long as my hand, yet my finger doesn’t reach my thumb at the base.

Why does Cindi have a tentacle?

Cindi’s scent is all over the house, lingering on every fabric.

It’s different now. Stronger, mustier, more…

I inhale deeply.

My cock hardens, moisture immediately leaking from the tip.

The tentacle smells of my mate’s sweet sex.

Did she…she… Blood rushes from my head, and I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the rubber tentacle that’s similar in shape to my own.

I breathe her in again, imagining her taking my appendage instead of a toy.

The sounds she’d make.

How her eyelids would flutter.

How her full lips would pout.

My human mate is attracted to krakens.

The thought both thrills me and makes my hearts ache all the same.

Clenching my jaw, I place the item in the clam-chest.

Attempting to dispel the thought from my mind, I move to the bathroom, where she has jars of potions along the shelves.

Some are in plastic, some in glass.

I’ve seen them in the human stores before, and I am unsure what purpose they serve.

But if Cindi bought it, she must have use for them, no?

They go in the clam-chest as well.

As do the packets in the kitchen cupboards.

The bottles of thick liquid.

A large grey box she was tinkering with.

The blankets on her bed.

A cushion.

Once the chest is full, I heft one side of the clam over the other, and the zipper glides around the rectangular shell, shutting it tight so none of the items fall out.

I lift it by the handle, pleasantly amused to find the wheels rolling along the floor.

Yes, I will keep the clam-chest. Cindi is a good procurer.

I jog down the steps to the dinghy I carried from the shore.

I have to move the carved stone about arm injuries I took from the palace library aside to fit the clam-chest, placing it over the tools and other hardware I found in Cindi’s workroom and kitchen.

The pans and the bowl-like instruments go in next, as well as the big board and a tire—just in case.

Then I cover it all with a bright blue plastic I found in the building beside the house that acts as a messier, dirtier workroom for my mate’s land vessel.

I strap it down with the rope I found there too.

With one last survey of Cindi’s house for things she might want, I close the door behind me, waiting for the beep to indicate it’s locked.

There’s not a cloud in sight.

The water was calm on the way here, and the only time I can use the boat is under the cover of night to not alert the humans of an unmanned vessel traveling across the sea.

With the slightest grunt, I haul the boat above my head to make for the beach, then set it out to undress from my mainland clothing once I hit the shore.

I thread thick ropes through the hoops I fastened beneath the vessel and tie it across my chest so the two cords intersect over my sternum.

I wade into the water, tugging the boat behind me.

Once the waves hit my stomach, I check no one is around to witness my shift and then grab hold of the magic to release my true form.

I dive into the water, swimming as hard as I can, careful to stay close to the surface so the dinghy doesn’t capsize.

I want the den to feel like home to Cindi, or else she’ll spend the rest of her life seeing it as a prison, and me, her jailer.

But it is the truth.

There’s no other way to put it.

She didn’t come back to the island with me because she wanted me.

She didn’t choose me for me.

She came because she had to.

Because whoever it is she’s scared of is worse than me.

I’ve had days to come to terms with the fact that I will always be the problem, but it isn’t any easier to accept.

She wants to be on the mainland.

She wants her cabin and her workshop and the loud music along the busy streets.

I can’t give her everything, but I can bring her house to her.

I’ll give her space, keep my mouth sealed shut, and watch her from afar, because my presence will only make matters worse.

My distance will be my gift to Cindi.

She’ll be happier if she forgets I’m there.

I’ll keep my silence—even if it eats me alive.

It’s one of the only things I can do for her.