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23

Cindi

Surfing would be a lot more relaxing if I didn’t have to keep an eye out for Vasz the entire time.

The fucker likes to graze his teeth over my foot.

Whenever I’ve been sitting on my board for too long, he likes to take a nip.

It scares the shit out of me.

He hasn’t done it in a week, but I don’t trust the little prick one bit.

When I get mad at him, he acts like I’ve cussed out his entire bloodline.

He has a pair of killer puppy dog eyes he shoots me with every time I tell him off.

It makes me feel like a complete ass after.

It’s unnerving how almost humanlike he can be.

I check the surrounding water again before letting my eyes drift shut, bobbing along to each wave.

Aside from the constant fear I may lose a limb because of Petroleum Jelly’s boredom, I’ve been stuck on this island for five weeks, and I wish I could say I’ve hated every moment of it.

My arm hasn’t felt so goddamn good in years.

With the relaxed island lifestyle combined with whatever it is Ordus’ suckers do to me every night while we sleep, I’m reminded the baseline for the amount of pain a person should be in is zero, not five.

Assuming I’m not calling in a sick day—which has been happening far too often lately—I’ve got a routine down pat: wake up in Ordus’ many arms, eat, surf, read, eat, surf again, eat again, maybe workout, maybe tinker away in the workshop to try to rebuild the boat’s engine.

If I’m not doing any of that, I’m making the island my own.

I’ve tried planting some fruits and veggies to see if I can get something to grow, but I’m not an agricultural specialist, and I’ve never had much of a green thumb.

I’m trying to build an irrigation system to see if that does anything as well.

My efforts are probably pointless because of the whole Curse thing.

Still, I like the challenge.

I also have plans to explore some type of renewable energy source.

Somehow, Ordus managed to find me a book on it.

So far, without a lab to make half the stuff I need, I’ll need to go really old school and summon my inner Faraday.

Even though my arm is better, I haven’t been pushing it too much.

I’ve been coming up with ideas of things to make, like a swing, hammock, shelving, and other random stuff, and then Ordus puts it together.

Ordus has been giving me my space—Vasz most definitely has not.

He’s the definition of a Velcro dog.

Whenever I lounge around the beach, he drops a coconut on me to throw.

For hours. He literally doesn’t stop.

Ever. If he’s panting to the point that he’s foaming at the mouth, all he needs is a ten-minute nap, and he’s rested and ready to go.

The Coconut Princess has developed this new thing where he refuses to chase fish through the underwater tunnels for his meals.

He now requires all fish be prekilled and served to him by me on one of my plates, and he refuses to start unless I praise him first.

Some days, he requires I pretend the raw fish is actually my dinner, so I have to take a fake bite then give it to him.

He might be a little shit, but he’s starting feel like my little shit.

A fin pokes out of the water and starts swimming toward me.

I lift my legs out and cross them on my board, watching him closely.

Vasz sticks his head out, a long stick between his teeth.

He growls when I reach for it, and I roll my eyes.

“Wow, Vasz.” I pat his head, entertaining his need for constant praise.

“Look at what you’ve got there. Good job.”

He chuffs, all cocky, as if confirming that it is, in fact, a good stick, then dives beneath the waves, swimming off to God knows where.

It’s on my to-do list to ask Ordus why they’re currently giving each other the cold shoulder, or they’ll argue with each other to the point that Vasz barks, and Ordus says something that sounds a lot like “ She’s not yours .”

But he’s not really talking to me much.

Sometimes he huffs and gives me shit for encouraging Vasz’s spoiled ass, but hell, sometimes I just want to dress the shark-dog up like a hula girl or something.

I drop onto my stomach and paddle toward the oncoming wave.

A smile pulls at my lips at the flash of red and yellow gliding through the water alongside me.

He’s always around somewhere.

The stage-five clinger sleeps with me every night, so I have approximately half an inch of breathing space at any given moment, with Ordus on one side and Vasz on the other.

Sleeping while touching someone took some getting used to—I’m not even sure I am used to it yet.

Vasz races me back toward the shore, doing loops around me when I slow to a stop, patiently waiting for the next wave that tickles my fancy.

I crane my neck toward the beach, hoping to see Ordus somewhere, but, as usual, he’s nowhere to be seen.

Other than the forced sleeping arrangement, Ordus gives me more breathing room than I expected.

He’s normally lurking around somewhere, but without fail, he’s always there for lunch and dinner, only really speaking to ask whether I’ve eaten enough—which I most definitely have.

Otherwise, our communication consists of me talking at him, ordering him to get this or that, hammer a nail here, set the wood at that angle there—a little higher on the left, nope, too high.

The few times I’ve covertly tried looking for him, I found him at the workshop, either making improvements to the shed or creating something.

Every two or three days, he’s gone for long stretches of time, returning with food, water, and random knick-knacks from the mainland and sea life he’s hunted for us.

Space from Ordus was good at the start.

I don’t find it so good anymore.

I miss the mainland.

I miss interacting with people.

I miss feeling like I’m not the only person in existence.

Vasz is great, but not quite enough.

Tipping my head up, I spot the angry storm clouds in the distance and internally grumble.

Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.

Red sky in morning, sailor’s warning .

That old sailor’s adage was utter bullshit.

It was nice and blue when I woke up today.

If I had known the weather was going to turn, I would have spent the entire day reinforcing and adding more rainwater traps so I don’t have to take really pathetic baths in the blow-up kiddy pool Ordus brought me.

Ordus promised to get me a proper bathtub one day, but my current digs suit me just fine.

At the start, it was a little demeaning to use it, but then Ordus brought me a bottle of vodka, and one day, I got loose and limber and started feeling like a mermaid in that thing.

Ever since, I’ve been kind of fond of it.

Plus, it’s not like I’m staying here forever.

It’s just temporary, until I feel ready to venture back out into the real world and go back to jumping at my own shadow.

Or until Ordus gets bored or tired of “running around” for me and takes me back.

Some unpleasant feeling churns in my gut at the thought.

I shake my head and paddle back to shore.

We need some kind of tank to store all the water to limit further contamination.

The drums are okay for now, but I’d feel better if I had a backlog in case of a rainy day.

Well, in case it stops raining.

I jog back toward the shed with my board.

Vasz runs alongside me, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, yipping, thinking we’re on some kind of mission.

One of our newly acquired chickens screeches when it sees us and dashes back to the coop Ordus made.

“Don’t,” I warn Vasz.

He doesn’t listen, snapping at the poor animal.

I swear it loses a feather.

Prickles skate over my skin, and I come to a halt, leaning against a nearby tree to catch my breath.

Bile lurches up my stomach, and I slap my hand over my mouth, willing my body to solve itself.

I thought rest would make whatever is wrong with me go away, but it’s shown no sign of disappearing.

Vertigo—or whatever the fuck I have—is a bitch.

Pushing off the tree, I herd the chickens back into their cage.

Then I check the containers along the way to the shed to store my board, seeing if the rain catchers need taping down or if the funnels and filters for the drums need fixing.

Ordus usually checks them—and the swing, hammock, and chair—every couple of days to make sure they’re all in perfect shape.

I still like to do a once-over as well.

Not that I don’t trust him, but sometimes, he’s modified it or improved it in a way I never thought of.

My footsteps slow as I approach Ordus.

The threads of blue in his skin are more prominent next to the plastic, cyan drum.

I chew the inside of my cheek, watching the tendons in his back strain and feather as he tightens a bolt.

Every inch of him is pure, hard muscle, each one prominent and bulging from years of honing them to lethal perfection.

Ordus glances back at me, eyes dropping to my bare legs for half a heated second before averting his attention back to the funnel.

Clearing my throat, I say, “Storm’s rolling in.”

He grunts.

Ordus never really talks anymore.

At most, I’ll get a handful of short, clipped sentences.

Last week, I snapped at him because I spiraled over the fact that he only wants me at a shallow, physical level, so I told him he’s welcome to drop my ass back off on the mainland whenever he wants, and his mature response was to bare his canines at me and stalk off.

“How are your teeth?”

“Fine.” I bite back a smile.

It’s one of three questions he only ever asks me—I think it might be his attempt at an inside joke.

He nods, and the would-be smile wipes off my face.

Ordus may hate me, but his tentacle seeks me out the moment it notices me.

“What are you doing?” I probe, saying a mental hello to the appendage curling happily around my leg.

Something that feels unnervingly akin to butterflies erupts in my stomach when I spot my scrunchie still around his wrist. I haven’t seen him without it.

Ordus kept his braid for four days after and only reluctantly took it out when there was more hair out of the braid than in it.

The same thing happened the other three times I offered to braid his hair.

“Checking on it.”

My shoulders slump.

At the start, the silence was nice.

I could seethe from afar, loathe him for putting me in a position where I had two options: go with him or pull the trigger, and I couldn’t do the latter.

It was easier for me to pretend he’s the villain and I’m the victim, perfectly innocent to fault.

But the silence has grown claws that pierce soft tissue.

Every drop of blood beading onto the surface is a reminder I’m complicit in all this.

My husband was a bad man.

That alone made his hatred toward me understandable .

To an extent. Ordus’ disinterest in me…

it’s grating on my nerves.

The little voice in my head screams it’s my own fault.

My own supposed Goddess-sent soulmate doesn’t like me because all my splintered pieces have turned me ugly.

I know that’s not the real reason why, though.

At the end of the day, Ordus has been the perfect jailer.

He gives me more space than I’m finding I want.

He’s doing everything he can to keep me fed and happy.

He’s kept me safe like he promised, turned his barren island into my own slice of paradise.

And my perfect jailer is wishing he ended up with someone other than me.

I shift my weight. “I’ve checked the containers between here and the beach.”

Ordus grunts.

“Should I check the one near the eastern cliffs?”

He shakes his head.

“Okay, what about the northwest drum?”

Another shake.

I fist my hands. “Do you need help?”

“No.”

I take a deep breath, looking around for ideas on what to say.

“Is there anything you need me to bring inside?” Sometimes he has pastes or seaweeds drying out.

“I’ve done it.” I wouldn’t say his tone is dismissive, but it’s definitely not suggesting he wants to keep talking.

I wipe my clammy hands on my soaked shirt.

“I’ll, uh, make dinner so I don’t need to leave the cave once the storm hits.”

“It is already made.”

“Oh.” We take turns cooking.

He likes to watch and learn, but he also likes surprising me.

Or, at least, I think he likes it.

Ordus usually hands the plate to me, face devoid of emotion, and grunts when I say thanks.

Once we’ve cleaned up after dinner, he leaves me to my own devices and only seeks me out when it's time for bed, when he wordlessly pulls me into his arms, and it becomes a race to see who falls asleep first—usually Vasz. He might be a little thing, but he can shake the walls with his snoring.

I clear my throat. “I’ll just…have a bath, then.”

“No.”

I frown. “Why not?” He’s usually very probathing, because I’m a lot happier when I can’t feel grime and saltwater sticking to my skin.

He finally— finally —looks at me. “Eat first. I want to show you something.”

I do as he says, mind whirling with possibilities. Maybe he hauled a water tank from the mainland, or a box of Kacang Disco . Or he could’ve stolen the solar panels I previously mentioned wanting—he does stuff like that very often. He might not talk or look like he’s interested, but he listens to every word I say.

I once asked if it were easy to catch crab or squid, if he’s ever tried human meat like chicken. The next day, he came back from hunting with both. A week later, I saw a chicken roaming around the island.

Now I am the mother of eight chickens, craned to me by boat in the dead of night, and much to Ordus’ confusion, I can’t bring myself to do more than cook their eggs.

Ordus says nothing when he shows up midway through my meal. I’m camped out in the chair he made, staring out the window. It’s too windy to sit outside only in my swimsuit and rash shirt.

Once I finish, I follow him silently through the tunnel into the main cavern, the stray tentacle wrapped around my waist in case I trip—a common occurrence. Ordus and I have begun planting the glowing algae along the channel walls so I’m no longer going in blind. The light is still faint, but it’s miles better than it used to be.

He leads me to the pool, where he holds his hand out for me to take, the one with the green scrunchie on it. If I didn’t know better, it looks like a seaweed bracelet.

Pensive excitement soars through my veins. He acknowledges me so little that in the dead of night, when it’s time to creep into our bed of moss, a needy bud comes to bloom at the knowledge I’ll be in his arms. That when he touches me, it won’t hurt. When he trails a finger down my arm, the goosebumps aren’t out of trepidation, but the ecstasy of being recognized as a being beyond skin and bone.

Ordus thinks I don’t know he stares at me before he falls asleep, that he presses his nose close to my hair and takes four deep breaths as his eyes drift shut.

But I do.

Every night, I let myself fall for the delusion that fate and magic don’t have anything to do with his interest in me. That whatever this is between us is more than physical. I…I want him to open up to me.

“Where are we going?” I hesitate, glancing between him and his outstretched hand.

“We will stay on the island.” His face is impassive; it always is nowadays. I hate it.

It doesn’t make me uncomfortable, not the way Tommy’s blank face did. This just kind of—hurts?

I brush my fingers over his calluses, watching as his hand dwarfs my own. His skin pulses different colors with his shudder. Tugging, I inch toward him, gnawing on the inside of my cheek while he reaches for me, curling his arm around my waist to hold me to him. I wrap my legs around him and try not to think about how his abs contract against my core.

Ordus’ fingers weave into my matted, postsurf hair to tuck my head against the crook of his neck, and I let him. I melt into him, breathe him in, soak up every inch of his warmth to fill the empty space in my heart where my loneliness grows.

His thumb snakes beneath the sliver of skin between my rash shirt and the top of my bikini bottoms. It stays there, a threat and a temptation all in one.

The silky strands of his raven hair twine and thread between my fingers as I cradle the base of his skull. A strained purr rumbles to life in his chest. The buzzing in my veins heats at the way his muscles ripple beneath my touch. Feminine satisfaction sends a bolt of desire right to my core that I can have such a profound impact on him from such a mundane motion.

Sometimes, at night, when I dare let myself dream of something good, I replay all the times I’ve watched him stare at his scrunchie. I want to do it again. I want to braid his hair so he’s moving through space with my touch evident on him—as a reminder to the both of us that my touch doesn’t need to hurt either.

Maybe I also want to do it because it gives me a possessive thrill. Or maybe it’s the self-satisfaction of knowing Ordus might feel less alone when he looks at it.

His next breath comes out ragged. A forbidden touch in a dark cave. We don’t speak. We don’t dare move, like we’re both afraid of scaring the other off.

My eyes flutter closed when his thumb glides along the few inches of skin. Back and forth, a pendulum that keeps me on edge, waiting to see if it’ll ever stop.

I fist his hair against my wishes. My hand has a mind of its own. I don’t want him to know how badly I need the connection. I don’t want to need the connection. I wish I weren’t so hungry for it that I could let the desire fizzle into nothing. I wish I could go back to trying to stay alive. But still, my hand stays in his hair. His thumb continues to caress my skin until it feels like I’m raw.

Ordus breaks the spell first by snatching his hand away like he’s caught fire, and then he jerkily lowers us into the water. The warmth around me shatters, and I try to keep myself contained so he doesn’t see my disappointment.

The air bubble forms around my head not two seconds after I’m fully submerged beneath the cool water. I tighten my legs around him and flatten my torso against his to absorb his warmth. A shudder rolls through his body, and it just…confuses me.

Whenever I start to convince myself he’s disgusted by me or wants to get rid of me, his body reacts so viscerally. Like the way his cock hardens when I walk around in my bikini. Or how his abs clench when I rest my hand on his stomach at night. His breaths come out ragged when I stand close to him.

It’s just physical. I hate it.

I squeeze my eyes shut, letting him hold my weight. He only likes me like that , not for me. It’s probably that stupid mate thing. He wouldn’t tolerate me if it weren’t for it.

But on the other side of things… Deep down, maybe he does want more, but the walls he’s built around himself won’t let him have that, whether out of self-preservation or self-loathing. The things I’ve said wouldn’t have helped matters. I can’t get anywhere if he doesn’t talk to me.

Do I really want to get anywhere, though? Aren’t I leaving soon?

A blue glow stirs me up, and I open my eyes just as the bubble pops. I sputter against the crash of saltwater.

“Give me warning next time,” I sputter as I cough and rub my stinging eyes. Ordus eases horizontally onto his padded tentacles.

He grunts.

I glare at him. Fucking hell. Enough of the grunt?—

Oh, shit. Molten heat shoots straight to my core, and I suck in a sharp breath. He can grunt some more if he’s like this: towering over me, arms on either side of my head, caging me beneath him. Under the glowing light of the algae, water sluices down his bulging biceps and each dip of his abs before traveling down the sharp V that spreads out into thick tentacles.

My vision goes blurry as the muscles in my core contract, and my nipples push painfully against the fabric of my top. His harsh breaths fan my aching skin, nostrils flaring with every deep inhale. In the span of a heartbeat, ocean-blue eyes blow out into a stormy black void of hunger.

My nails dig into his shoulders of their own accord. What is happening?

One of the tentacles cushioning my back from the harsh, rocky surface of the cave floor shifts. A thick appendage slides around my upper thigh, suckers puckering against my skin. It grazes the throbbing flesh between my legs and sends stars shooting straight behind my eyes.

This shouldn’t be happening.

It’s wrong. He kidnapped me. He doesn’t even like me. He prefers the idea of me.

But one more second won’t hurt. Just one. A single second doesn’t change anything. I can afford one . A moment to be looked at like nothing in this world exists except me, as if the seas could drain and the skies could fall, and he won’t feel the burn as long as I’m there.

It’s a suffocating addiction. I could choke on it and still come back day after day for another hit to feel like I’m more than a pile of skin and broken bones.

A strangled moan splinters out of me when pure, hard muscle grinds against my sensitive core.

“Cindi,” he purrs.

I clamp down on the inside of my cheek.

Just one more second.

A second won’t hurt.

Slowly, my back starts to arch. I jolt when something clatters beside my head. I snap my attention toward the sound, hackles rising, memories of another life clawing up to the surface.

It all stops short.

“Holy shit.” I gasp.

Bioluminescent algae crawls along the stone walls, casting a blue and purple glow over the riches hidden in the cavern, the heat from our interaction forgotten as he helps me to my feet.

There has to be almost thirty square feet of treasure in here. I can only imagine how crazy archeologists and history buffs would get looking around. There are various gold coins that could’ve been from the Ottoman Empire, golden statues, porcelain vases, silver trays, jade carvings, curved swords with tasseled ends, a crown of diamonds, and chests upon chests of jewelry.

The British Museum would have a fucking field day.

“What is this place?” I whisper.

“My treasures.” His voice is gruff.

Ordus won’t look at me.

Why won’t he look at me? I want to scream. He was all over me when he first kidnapped me, and now he’s acting like I’m his roommate he doesn’t particularly like talking to.

“I…” Ordus clears his throat, leaving two tentacles around me before giving me a wide berth. I lean against him as ripples of fatigue chip away at my energy. “The collection is bare. My family’s hoard remains at the palace, guarded by krakens and magic.”

“Bare?” I echo, marveling at the chest holding a ruby the size of my fist.

Bare is most definitely not the word I would’ve chosen.

The items in this room would set me up for life. If not my whole life, then for sure the few years I have before someone decides I need to be taken out.

“This is amazing.” I’ve never wished I took ancient history at school before, but there’s a first for everything.

One of his tentacles drops away when I move deeper into the cave, stepping on coins to get close enough to make things out. There’s so much treasure everywhere. I don’t know where to start. I feel like I need to use gloves to touch anything.

I practically have to wade through piles upon piles of gold coins and gem-studded jewelry: belts, necklaces, brooches, earrings, bracelets, rings.

My heart is hammering against my chest with the panic levels of someone carrying out a heist. Alarm bells go off in my head, blaring that I shouldn’t be here. I’ll get arrested for theft, or breaking and entering, because none of this is real. There’s no way krakens are real, and there sure as shit isn’t any way this room exists beneath an island in the middle of nowhere.

And there’s more at the palace ? I thought nothing else could surprise me, but this ?

Forgoing any kind of proper ancient-artifact-handling etiquette, I pick up the giant ruby—I think it’s a ruby, at least—as big as my fist. I gawk at the light catching on it—and it was just thrown on top of the gold coins and pearl necklaces.

“The elders claimed this belonged to a princess whose ship sank.”

My jaw drops. Fuck off. Really? “Which one?” Diana?

“I don’t remember.”

I wouldn’t have known who even if he did. I carefully set down the ruby and pick up an emerald—I think—the size of my palm. “Is this from the same ship?”

His lips tighten. “Unsure.”

I pry for information regarding everything I pick up: an oval sapphire necklace as big as my thumb, another necklace covered in teardrop, bluish diamonds. I don’t know jack about any of this, but Tommy’s mom was in love with this type of thing.

Ordus’ response eventually condenses down to a stiff shrug paired with a clenched jaw, like he committed the gravest crime by not having the answer.

I grab one of the many necklaces in the cave, but this one is different from the rest. It’s in its own special, handwoven basket, a mix of diamonds, pearls, sapphires, opals, and seashells.

“It was my sister’s.” I snap my attention up to Ordus, and he nods at the necklace. “Mother gifted it to Chlaena on her name day before I was born, and it became her favorite necklace.” The gold glints as I turn it over in my hand. There’s a damaged mechanism bent at a bad angle, at odds with the perfection of the rest of the chain, but it still works. “The clasp snapped when I was a child. I remember seeing Chlaena cry for the first time in my life.”

“And you fixed it,” I guess.

He dips his chin. A small smile pulls at my lips, imagining a mini Ordus fussing with a human item the same way I’ve seen him do many times over the past five weeks.

“The last time she wore it was on her wedding day, two months before she was killed.”

My mouth dries. Oh. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“It was a long time ago.” He’s impassive again, or at least, he’s trying to be. The strain around his eyes is a dead giveaway.

“I never had any siblings, but I—I can imagine the hole they left behind.” I still have a gaping wound in my chest from Dad’s death. I never met my mother, and there’s an empty spot where she’s meant to be.

Ordus grunts and turns away.

I guess we’re back to silent time. I try to tamp down my hurt and disappointment.

Sighing, I pick up a dagger with precious gemstones on the hilt. I’m not sure what exactly is on it, but my jaw is somewhere on the floor.

“We took this off a ship sailing near our territory.”

My eyes flash up to Ordus, and a stone drops in my chest from the sorrow etched over his face.

“My brother and I were both very young at the time, long before the Curse.” His voice is low, like he doesn’t want to speak but he’s forcing himself to. “Yannig loved challenging us to do foolish things—I’m sure it was to see how far the line was for him to cross.” He adds the last part more to himself. “One night, we dared each other to get things from a passing vessel without being caught. It’s not something we’d ever done before, and I usually wouldn’t have agreed, but it was his name day. It was night, so the odds were in our favor. I must have been around thirteen at the time, Yannig twenty-two. I knew it was too far. Our laws were and are clear: krakens cannot reveal themselves to humans.”

The stone in my chest grows into a boulder, and it becomes harder to breathe. I don’t think I’ll like what’s coming next.

“I knew I could get on and off the vessel without issue. Blending in is my specialty, even as a cub. Yannig’s, his words. He could convince anyone to do almost anything. It made him arrogant. Words wouldn’t keep him from detection. A human spotted him a moment before he jumped back into the water.” Ordus fidgets with a belt, not meeting my eye. “Our mother was furious. She forbade us from leaving the palace for a month and sent us to clean with the servants for a year. But the Council, they blamed me for it, said I corrupted Yannig’s mind and made him do it.” I suck in a sharp breath. “So, I was punished.”

His fingers hover above the scar on his ribs. Oh, God.

Flashes of Tommy’s discipline assault me. Other than my wrist, he never left scars on my skin. My broken bones are another story altogether. “Punished?” I croak.

What did they do to Ordus that left a jagged, six-inch scar? On a fucking kid .

Ordus’ jaw is tight, body primed for a fight. Even the tentacle usually always touching me has recoiled away from me.

“A Council member—Lantoli—always disliked me. They all did, but he was the most vocal. He was biding his time, waiting for an excuse to—” He stops himself, skin pulsing and paling until he’s the same shade as the sand. “Lantoli convinced krakens I almost single-handedly caused the eradication of my species, that I was feeding humans information about our kind.”

He clenches his hands into fists. “Lantoli led a group of krakens to grab me as I was coming back from a hunt. They chained me to a large fishhook with the intention of dragging me to this island. Yannig found me before they could make it. My mother killed Lantoli and his conspirators, but the damage was done. They almost—” His voice breaks. “They almost succeeded.”

Ordus stares at the dagger in my grasp. It falls out of my hands like it’s poison. Why would they do that? What the fuck was wrong with them? “You were a child.”

He gives his head a single, stiff shake. “It does not matter. I was impure.”

What? Impure ? That’s a load of bullshit. There’s nothing okay about harming a kid, monster or otherwise. “I don’t understand why they could hate a child so much.” Why is Ordus excusing their behavior? He sounds like Kristy, taking Tommy’s abuse by some misguided allusion it’s out of love or I might have somehow deserved it. “You did nothing wrong.”

“ I did .” A growl breaks his voice, and my fear receptors stand on end. “I did many things wrong.”

“Like what? What could a thirteen-year-old have done?” I was twenty-three when I met Tommy. What did I do to deserve it? “Did you give humans information? Were you trying to get your brother killed? How could you possibly be?—”

“Because I am a monster!” he snarls. Piles of treasure fly across the cave and crash around us. The vein in his temple pulses, his anger developing its own heartbeat. I stagger back to get away from him. The spike of fear ebbs away as soon as my sights land on the heavy rise and fall of his chest. His sharp teeth are on display, muscles rippling like he’s a hair away from striking. This is the first time he’s looked truly monstrous.

I’m not sure what shocks me more: the sudden outburst, or that the one constant feeling I’ve had for the past four years isn’t there. I’m not afraid. Not of him, at least.

That mustn’t be what he sees on my face, because he recoils, horrified of himself.

I step forward, close enough that his stray tentacle can wrap around me again. He moves back like he’s frightened he’ll hurt me.

“Ordus,” I say quietly. “I’ve met monsters. You are not one.”

“Look at me,” Ordus roars, pointing at his chest. “I am an abomination!”

I’ve lived under the same roof as one, shared meals with him and his even more abhorrent family. I know better than most what a monster looks like. After all, I fell into its trap.

“As it is in nature, the prettiest ones are the most poisonous. You are one of the most attractive men I have ever met, but you are far from poisonous.”

I hated that he wasn’t, confused at myself that I’ve stopped fighting him, that I look forward to nightfall so he can hold me, that he had me under him moments ago, and my blood heated with need.

“I want you to talk to me, Ordus.”

Ordus’ face contorts into a venomous scowl as he glares at me like I’m the reason for the reopened wound. “I took you from your home, almost killed you, cursed you to suffer on this island with me. Do not lie to me, Cindi,” he hisses. “I know what I am.”

Broken.

I don’t know why, but his words get to me. And the look of utter self-disgust? It lands on the wrong side of my brain, and it’s like everything explodes at the same time it comes into crystal clarity.

“Get over yourself,” I bite. I regret it the moment I say it, but I don’t back down. He can’t keep shutting me out if he expects me to stay.

Ordus rears back. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re a fucking asshole for what you’ve done and how you’ve gone about it—how you’re keeping me. Isolated. Alone. I need something other than a spoiled dog for company—one I can’t even speak to, by the way.” My voice keeps raising in volume until it suddenly drops, and it’s like trying to pry screwdrivers out of my flesh. “Despite all of that, everything you’ve done, I don’t hate you. I’m not lying awake at night wishing you were dead. I’ve spent every fucking day wanting you to just talk to me .”

I thought my husband was the most handsome man to ever walk this Earth, and I found out the hard way that he was the ugliest.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Any flaws you have are over what you’ve done, not because of your appearance. So get over yourself, Ordus.”

He shakes his head. I know he’s not listening to me, not hearing what I say. “My hands, Cindi. I have claws. My hair, my fingers, my arms, my head. It’s all wrong.”

“Why? If your nails were nicer, maybe people would like you more? If your arms were a little smaller, maybe people would take you more seriously?”

Ordus paces the small path, curling and uncurling his fists. “You do not understand.”

“No, I don’t. I’m fully aware I have no idea what it was like growing up in the sea, what type of cultural and social aspects are involved, but our minds are still the same. They’ve convinced you to hate your own reflection, and you have. What are you doing to change that?”

What am I doing to fix all the things Tommy fucked up?

It wasn’t all Tommy’s fault. Something had to be misaligned in my brain that I let myself walk into that and did nothing to get myself out.

Maybe I was desperate for the love Dad had with Mom.

Maybe I was so used to Dad picking up after me, I didn’t know responsibility unless it slapped me in the face, and I figured someone else would clean whatever mess I got into. Maybe it took me four years to figure out how to do things for myself.

Because that’s exactly what happened. Tommy swooped in with the job, the money, the house, the nice cars. He took me to the fancy restaurants and dressed me in the expensive clothes. I didn’t have to lift a goddamn finger, because Tommy did all the thinking for me. When to eat, when to sleep, who to talk to, when to fucking breathe.

It wasn’t even a slow progression. It practically happened overnight.

I stayed with Tommy because I…I thought I didn’t have a choice. Dad died, I lost all my friends, and I thought I was stuck. Grief turned me stagnant.

Or, fuck, maybe it was nothing at all. I had on a pair of cherry-tinted glasses, and my first serious boyfriend could do no wrong in my eyes. Narcissists are manipulative. I got played, and I fell for it, simple as that.

I never learned how to survive until I lost my safety net. I had to gouge it out to find my backbone. Now, I’m surviving again, but it…it’s different. It’s not like with Tommy.

Ordus and I are working together, like the rainwater drums. I thought up the saucer; he came up with the filter. The chickens were his idea, but the coop was mine. He wanted to keep fish closer so he doesn’t need to go hunting as often, so I drew up a cage with what we had on the island.

And the crops I’m trying to grow. He made a garden box; I designed the system. I come up with the natural electricity plans; he’ll execute them. I wash laundry; he built a clothesline.

When was the last time I demanded Ordus return me to the mainland? A week? Two?

Ordus stops pacing, his back to me as he motions to the treasure, ignoring what I said. “It is yours to do with as you please.” There’s finality in his voice. It echoes against the cave walls and weighs a hundred tons.

I shake my head. “What? No, I can’t accept it.”

“All I have is yours.” He looks at me over his shoulders, and it almost knocks me off my feet. It’s not just adoration. It’s…hopelessness. He’s a man at the edge of his rope, and he doesn’t know what to do anymore.

But it’s not mine. It’s too much. I don’t deserve it. They’re his memories. His treasures. I’ve done nothing to earn them.

Yet, all that comes out is, “I can’t accept it, Ordus.”

He grunts, and just like that, we’re one step forward and two steps back.