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Ordus

The reef sways with the ocean’s current, shifting colors to the rhythm of my family’s dead hearts.

Blue and yellow for my sister’s burial site.

Brown and white for my brother.

The Curse took the life from the graves of the queens and kings before them long ago.

It should be me becoming one with the sea floor.

It’s what everyone would prefer.

I should be feeding the coral with my mortal flesh until the ocean dries.

But my people would never give me the honor of burying me with my family.

I should have never became king.

My oldest sibling, Queen Chlaena, was small but mighty, feared and revered by every creature in and out of the ocean, capable of killing a fleet of humans with a single release of her venom.

Yannig was an exemplary king.

My brother understood how other species worked and was able to convince any foe they were one and the same.

A true diplomat. The smoothest of talkers.

Me? I am nothing. A fool who can hide.

A cuttlefish blending in with my surroundings.

A joke of a king who still lives out of sheer desperation.

My claws dig into my palm.

This is why I never visit their graves.

I can barely stay upright through the regret.

The grief. The exhaustion of spending every waking moment hiding from my own subjects.

That is no king—that is a coward.

I should have died in the wars, a soldier meant to perish in my family’s name.

Yet, I am all that remains of the royal line, the abomination amongst krakens.

One of my many long arms reaches out, threading through the coral in the hopes I may feel my sister’s soul.

Chlaena died many decades ago in battle, yet not a day passes that I do not wish for her return.

The reef atop my siblings’ graves and the small patch of land near it are the only vegetation left in my territory.

The Curse destroyed everything else.

I move to Yannig’s burial reef that’s diminishing as the Curse chips away at the last vestiges of sea life.

My hearts twist together as I tip my head in respect.

Twenty years have passed since he died fighting those who wished to take our land, and in the end, his death will be meaningless.

Even in death, rotting at the bottom of the ocean, the Witch will be the only victor.

Chlaena killed the Witch after she murdered our mother and cast the Curse over our territory—a blight that poisons the water and takes all life.

I grunt from an impact to the back of my head.

I whip around, chest expanding and tentacles rising, ready to strike my attacker.

Vasz swings around, suddenly pawing at the sand casually, avoiding eye contact just as the offending coconut floats down to the coral beside me.

“Vasz,” I growl.

The annoying pup innocently lifts his snout, sniffing the air before digging at the sand.

His big ears worked fine earlier when I asked if he wanted to go to the mainland.

Like me, Vasz is a violation of nature, a cross between three different species, another witch’s sick experiment.

The elders have never seen such a thing—hence their inclination to kill him when he was first seen with me.

Two fins line his back, elongating into a tail.

If he swims close to the surface, he could be mistaken for a shark if not for his brownish-red coloring and yellow-tipped ears.

From the side, his four legs are visible, his body shaped like a dog with his shoulders and knees.

White suckers dot the back of his front legs and along his chest and stomach.

His face is somewhere between a shark and canine, with the yellow coloring of the native octopus species around his eyes, ears, and feet.

Able to walk on land and cross the sea, he’s a hunter far more intelligent than any I’ve ever encountered.

He is one of the few lesser beings krakens can properly communicate with.

My only companion.

A tentacle wraps around the offending coconut to crush it into pieces.

His head whips my way, and he bares his sharp teeth at me for desecrating his precious toy.

Serves him right.

It’s rare for the currents to carry such fruit this deep into my territory.

They are aplenty on the mainland—much to Vasz’s utter joy and my displeasure.

I can’t stand it. My den is littered with husks.

I hold his stare, crushing the coconut until it splinters in my grip.

He snaps his maw at me, and I release it.

The last time I didn’t heed the crazy mutt’s warning, I almost lost a limb, and I’m rather fond of my limbs.

Regrowing one is much too tedious.

Sand clouds around me as I shoot upward, siphoning water before contracting the muscles in my tentacles to blast it.

I propel forward without waiting for Vasz to follow.

“Wanker,” I catch him muttering, scurrying for his toy.

The human tongue is rubbing off on him.

I scowl, leaving him behind.

I may be faster than the creature, but there is nowhere I can go where he won’t sniff me out.

An odd sensation starts in my chest. It’s the barest tug, like an itch.

I head toward the mainland to hunt, reverting to my instincts.

Scents. Changes in temperature.

The flow of tides. As I pass empty homes and deserted seas, the only color comes from the offerings of the Sea Goddess, Edea.

The quiet festers, burrowing deeper into my bones.

My territory used to be revered.

We were attacked from all sides because others wanted our bountiful lands for themselves.

Many sentries died protecting our land from those who wished to take it.

My siblings led many into battle.

But after the Curse, the attacks slowly lessened until eventually, they stopped altogether.

All that remains is waste from the humans and the husk of our once-bountiful lands.

I can’t remember the last time I had to fight creatures off at the border.

Why would anyone want unviable land?

Land that leaves its people starved and sick from the poor water quality.

The Kingdom of Aletia.

That’s the official name.

Now, it is known as the Dead Lands.

If any of my family rose from the dead, they’d be so disappointed in the state of it.

The Curse sped up after Yannig died twenty years ago.

It is the reason why the passing stones are arid; they were once brightly covered with corals of every color.

Fish would swim between arches, scattering when a predator came too close.

Sharks used to hunt these lands.

Eels, manta rays, turtles, octopuses—it was impossible to leave my den without seeing life.

The Curse the Witch cast was to destroy all kraken territory by pushing out game and turning the water sickly so kraken may die from either starvation or illness.

My suckers bristle, on alert for any shift in the current that might indicate disturbance from another kraken.

The darkest recesses of my being are pleased the Curse is reaching its peak.

That alone is proof it was me who should have died in my brother’s place.

Kraken-kind used to hunt in these lands.

Without game in the area, krakens have had no choice but to risk their lives to travel close to the mainland or rely on the few strong hunters remaining to travel far to bring back food.

They can no longer rely on Krokant for game.

It’s the one parcel of my territory with vegetation, and it’s shrinking by the day.

Many krakens have left in an attempt to find sanctuary, but I have heard no news as to whether they’ve succeeded, or perished by foe or incompatible climates.

Others have risked moving closer to where there is game at the risk of bandits and exposure to humans, but the majority of krakens have little choice when they are neither good hunters nor strong enough to make the swim to the mainland and back.

I, however, am strong enough, leaving me alone in my corner of the territory.

It’s…freeing.

My people are starving, and I…

I couldn’t care less for their suffering.

They deserve it.

With fewer creatures in the area, the chances of seeing one of my kind are growing slimmer, and the whispers of my unsavory crossbreeding have minimized to zero.

It has been years since anyone dared comment on the human influence on my appearance; hair, claws, an extra finger, no webbing between my arms and ribs.

It sets me apart from every kraken in existence.

I speed up when I reach a patrol path, cautious not to intercept any of my subjects, lest I want to add to the kraken death toll.

Some have left simply because they would rather live without protection than be ruled by an abomination they’ve failed to kill.

My lungs and ribs ache at the reminder.

My mother and my siblings were the only ones who did not care about my appearance—they saw me as family, not as a monstrosity.

They were my only friends.

And now, they’re dead.

Many mutinies formed following my brother’s death and my ascension to the throne.

My reign, and continued existence, remains only due to the royal blood in my veins, giving us a fighting chance to break the Curse.

It allows me to shift into two legs and walk amongst the humans, as well as stay above land for more than a handful of minutes.

They can protest and seethe all they wish; I am the only hope they have of ending the blight that plagues our land.

My mother died because of the Witch.

Chlaena killed herself and utilized every resource we had to bring an end to the Curse.

When Yannig died, the last words he spoke to me were his wish I return life to our sea.

As much as I loathe krakens, their deaths cannot be for nothing.

My territory will be restored in my family’s honor if it is the last thing I do.

For Chlaena. For Yannig.

For my future bride.

If not for my family’s sacrifice, I question the level of devotion I would have to bonding myself with whomever I am destined to be with, as the Witch said this is required to bring an end to the Curse and save those who find me deplorable.

Chlaena took a husband, and the first kraken died from the Waste.

Yannig took a bride, and half the territory became a graveyard.

The only person I will marry is my fated mate.

That is who I believe will be the one to end the Curse.

My destined bride , as she called it.

I have prayed to the Sea Goddess for my mate since I learned such a thing existed—a being created to be perfectly compatible in body, mind, and soul.

My siblings and the Council called me foolish for falling for the make believe .

They claim it is a tale told to children to help them sleep at night, but some elders believe such a thing exists.

It has been written into our tomes many times.

I rub at my chest where the subtle itch has turned into a tug.

I navigate through stone arches, thinking about the empty den I’ll return to after my hunt.

No mate, no cubs, no one who will look at me without disgust.

I’ve dreamt of finding my mate since I was a cub, longed for it with every part of my being, because my mate would not hate me for having hair instead of a mantle.

She would never leave or ignore me, or call me unworthy for my appearance.

My mate would love me.

She would pick me.

Mates have to be real.

I’m certain it’s the only way to end the Curse.

Vegetation and life begins to sprinkle the land once I cross the border until the ocean is bursting with it.

It’s a different route than I normally take, further away from my den.

There’s plenty of game around to make for a successful hunt, but I can’t bring myself to stop.

Instinct forces me to keep going, getting closer to the mainland than I normally would.

Yannig and I would come up onto the mainland so he would mingle with the locals before he became king, but it has been years since I’ve made it this far from the main city.

I slow down, surveying the area, but something innate continues pulling me forward, closer than I’ve been in many moons and even further away from my island, to a beach I’ve never cared to approach.

I come to a halt, rubbing my chest, staying there.

There’s no reason for me to swim this far out from my territory.

It’d only make the trip home all the longer, and my energy will have waned from a full day of swimming.

I must hesitate for so long, I feel a nip at one of my tentacles.

I spin just as Vasz darts off, charging ahead of me—to avoid my wrath or to hunt for coconuts.

Likely both. He never misses an opportunity to go near land.

The mutt insists on bringing back a tacky souvenir every time.

It’s hardly valuable, only a mere eyesore.

Until he throws them at my head.

Or hides them under the bed so they poke into my back.

Or leaves them lying around to crack under my weight.

“So far,” Vasz complains, panting and swooping around me to herd me forward.

I’m surprised he caught up so quickly.

I mustn’t have been going that fast.

“Silence.” The tugging has grown uncomfortable, an incessant ache.

The sun is setting, and I’d prefer to be in the comforts of my own home before the sea becomes too still.

There’s a shark in the distance, one large enough to keep me fed for several days.

I turn toward the mainland, where the rope around my chest seems to be connected.

I cave to the need to keep swimming.

The pull grows stronger the more I swim, until the beach comes into view.

The only time I come this close is if I plan on shifting into human form to search for treasure—or maybe, perhaps, possibly find my fated mate.

I will not get a second chance.

Once I see her, I will recognize her as my mate, my destined bride who will end the Curse.

I am certain of it. There is no other choice.

A lifetime, I’ve prayed.

Twenty years, I’ve searched.

Twenty years, I’ve come up empty.

Soon, before the last reef in Krokant withers to nothing, I will have to marry the first kraken the Council sacrifices to me in an attempt to break the Curse.

If that doesn’t work, I will have failed my family.

The tug turns into a vicious, near-painful, yank.

I swim harder. Desperation claws at my ribs.

I cannot fail. I will find her.

My lands will be saved.

My family’s deaths will not be in vain.

I breach the surface of the water.

I need to rip the gnawing ache out of my chest. It’s all-consuming.

The magic in my veins thrums and twists.

This wretched, foreign feeling between my ribs twists my mind into a disoriented mess of torment and?—

Air crashes into my lungs.

Sitting on the shore is a little female.

The vermilion glow of the setting sun kisses her bronze skin.

Tendrils of dark hair flutter around her soft face with the afternoon breeze.

Her fingers are splayed into the sand, head tipped back as the waves caress the tips of her toes.

She’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.

My hearts still. For a moment, they stop beating all together before they collide in a frenzy.

My soul vibrates and sings, pushing the female to the forefront of my mind until there’s no other thought.

It’s her .

She’s the one.

I’ve been waiting for her all my life.

My mate . My bride. The one to end the Curse.

And she’s…human?

The Council will be up in arms over this.

A member of the royal line hasn’t bonded to a human in over two hundred years, and my grandmother was made a pariah for tainting the bloodline, even though she ate him after they mated.

No matter. I will kill anyone who questions my decision.

Food is scarce in my land.

I’ll turn kraken into dinner.

I don’t care what any of them think.

The fates made her for me.

She is my mate.

There is nothing further to discuss.

It is the rarest treasure to find a mate.

Most krakens live their long life never finding one.

But I, Ordus, King of the Dead Lands, am one lucky kraken.

If I moved closer, I wonder if I could taste her in the water.

Humans are delicate little things with weak minds.

I fear how she may react if she sees me out here.

It is forbidden for krakens to go near them or otherwise make our existence known.

History has proven her species to be unkind to what they do not understand, brutal when they do not wish to learn.

It was the fate my sire succumbed to before I was born.

But my mate will be different.

She will accept me as soon as I show her I can provide for her.

I will prove I am worthy, and she will be ecstatic to bond with me.

I wish she would open her eyes, look at me so I can watch the moment she recognizes me as her mate.

She’ll leap into the water into my arms, guiding me into her sex so we may begin the marriage ritual, and she’ll leave her bonding mark on my skin.

My breeding limb hardens at the thought, halted by a flurry of concern.

But she is so small, maybe half the size of me.

Everything about her is little: tiny head, short arms, small hands, the cutest little nose so small, I’m worried she does not get enough oxygen through.

One of my limbs is bigger than both her legs.

I could crush her without thought.

Humans bruise easily.

Their bones can snap from a short fall.

What if I harm my human?

I could accidentally kill her with my size.

No, that will not happen.

I’ll be delicate—the most delicate of all krakens.

I may be a bad king, but I will be a good husband.

The best mate. Any marks will be from my suckers.

And my teeth, too, should she wish.

Our size difference will be of no hindrance.

The Goddess made her to be my other half.

She chose her for me.

Yes. It is decided. She will be my bride—not that it was ever a doubt.

The Witch’s Curse requires the bride be willing.

My mate will be. Fate has deemed it so.

My loneliness will end.

My den will no longer be empty, my bed warm.

I will have a companion other than Vasz.

I will be able to speak to another without fear of judgment or scrutiny over matters given to me before birth.

The Goddess listened to my prayers.

I finally have a mate.

My beautiful, perfect female opens her eyes and stares at the threads of foam bubbling along the shore.

Without much thought, I risk exposing myself by moving closer to the shore.

The water laps at my face, splashing into my eyes as I lower myself to keep from being caught.

She’ll see me if she focuses on the waves.

What else did the tomes say?

Such things were rarely mentioned the few years I attended Temple and School.

Right—scents.

My nostrils flare, breathing in the salty air.

It’s…interesting. The mate pull is not as the scriptures described.

I’ve read it a hundred times so there would be no mistaking my mate.

This feeling is similar to what was noted, yet somehow different.

The magical current through my body is there, as is the need to twine my body with hers, to bring her back to my den and pump her full of my seed.

My desperation for her is turning me into a creature running on pure instinct, as the scribes detailed.

Her scent… It is delectable, but it is not making me resort to my baser instincts.

I could become addicted to her smell, but it isn’t sweet and all-consuming, not like those who claim to have met their mates report.

The Witch must be trying to fool me so I never break the Curse.

Alas, I would recognize my mate anywhere.

My heightened vision allows me to see her clearly without closing the distance.

Her eyes are blank, empty.

She is but a lifeless shell.

It’s a look I would recognize anywhere.

The silence becomes deafening, and every breath sounds like a roar, but inside?

Nothing, like the sudden bout of quiet after a snap of a twig in a singing forest.

Every instinct yells at me to take her sadness away.

What troubles my little mate?

I will fix it for her, make her the happiest human to ever have existed.

Her sadness is unacceptable.

I breathe her in, use my suckers to try to taste her, ingraining her scent into my memory.

I must learn everything possible about my mate before bringing her to our den.

All her likes, dislikes, passions.

That way, I can prepare our home, and she will be impressed and immediately fall in love with me.

Then, we will marry, my kingdom will be prosperous once more, my mate will carry my cub, and I will never have to endure the silence ever again.

Dipping back beneath the water, I yank Vasz away from the crab he’s terrorizing and drag him close to the surface.

I point in my mate’s direction.

“Memorize her smell.”

The pup rolls his eyes, wriggling in my grip.

“Ugh. Do I have to?” His snout leaves the water for a second too short.

“She smells bad.”

“Do it,” I growl, staring into his beady brown eyes so he knows I am ordering him as his king.

He tips his head in a total lack of regard for my authority.

“What do I get out of it?”

I grit my teeth.

Must everything be so difficult?

“I will bring home a coconut for you.” He can only hold one in his mouth.

My offer is more than generous, since the creature brings nothing but clutter into my den.

He holds up his four webbed toes.

“Five.”

“Two.”

He considers for a moment.

“Fine.”

I’ll bring it back, but who’s to say I will not destroy it once there?

After all, I must prepare our nest for my mate.

Vasz grumbles under his breath and then collapses onto his back.

“Pats as payment.”

I huff and lightly tap his stomach a couple of times, scrutinizing my mate’s den.

It’s too small, too cramped to be deserving of her.

Her scent hangs heavy in the air, unbearably heady.

My weak human knees almost buckle from the knowledge the smell belongs to the female the Goddess deemed to be my perfect other.

Our fate was written in the foam threading through every wave, every star that pierces through the surface of the water.

I have a mate.

A mate.

Someone to share my life with.

A bride who will end the Curse and make me worthy of the love my family gave so freely when I’ve been nothing but undeserving.

Everything will finally be right.

Vasz smacks my hand when I stop petting him and gives me a pointed look.

I quietly hiss, “You are testing me, creature.”

He huffs.

“Your mate is not lost because of me. Keep patting.”

I bare my teeth at him, doing as he demands, rubbing Vasz’s stomach until his tongue rolls out the side of his mouth.

The pup is acting far too brave today.

Goddess knows, he’ll be exploiting my weakness as much as possible now that I have one.

It wasn’t long after I found my sea-sent mate that she rose up on two feet and left me behind in the water without so much as a backward glance.

It was hard not to be disappointed she never noticed me, and it was impossible to track where she disappeared to on her bike.

If not for Vasz’s unnervingly good nose, I could have spent months searching for her.

The few hours we were apart were torturous enough as it was.

I felt like I was succumbing to the Waste when she was out of my sight, the poison eating my mind until reality was no longer a concept I recognized.

Not a full day, and my mate is already driving me crazy.

How long is one meant to wait before approaching their fated human?

An hour? A week? A month?

No, that’s too long.

The sooner we marry, the better.

Before Krokant succumbs to the Curse, and there is no more viable land in my territory.

There’s no telling if it will be possible to break the curse if that occurs.

Vasz slaps me again, and I gnash my teeth at him.

The threat of my venom perfumes the humid air.

He rolls his eyes, sits back on his hind legs, and holds up one webbed toe.

“Six coconuts as payment for my service, like we agreed,” he reminds me before pointing at the three on the ground.

I blink at him. “We agreed on two.”

Vasz’s finned tail hits a nearby tree as he trots back toward the beach.

“Nine, or I bite your mate.”

Perhaps I should have sent him to School to learn numeracy when I found him— before he became prone to biting.

Shaking my head, I return my focus to my mate’s home.

Droplets of water trickle from my hair, down my torso and two legs.

Dust and dry dirt stick to my skin as I circle the property from a distance, keeping to the shadows, letting my skin pulse and shift to blend into my surroundings.

Beneath the moonlight, it is difficult to tell what colors paint the walls of the old house raised off the ground.

There’s only the tinge of orange in the bricks on the roof.

It’s unlike the new, grand buildings appearing around the island the past few decades.

Villas , I believe the humans call them.

The ones with bright white walls, a pool, and too many windows.

They offer no protection against the elements or predators.

Anyone could see through the windows.

A single stone to the glass would rupture her security.

When the rainy season hits, she’ll be better suited to withstanding any floods.

My mate’s house is not like that.

A bug lands on my neck.

I slap a tentacle over my neck, killing the pest in a clean strike.

I study the house; its height, the number of piles it sits on, the spacing between shuttered windows, the distance between the wall and the edges of the roof.

No light seeps through the drawn curtains to give away what room she might be in.

It looks sturdy—not quite perfectly straight, but it’s solid.

A smart choice of den.

It tells me nothing about my mate.

What’s her name? What does she do during the day?

Does she work? How long has she lived here?

Is she a local? What does her voice sound like?

What does she taste like?

Her favorite gemstone?

Necklaces or rings? Does she prefer gold or silver—I’ll need to know how to decorate our nest.

The questions are endless.

I’ll know in time.

I creep closer to the house, hoping to catch sight of her through the shutters.

Magic hums to life in my veins as I shift my ears back into my normal form.

The wooden wall brushes my webbed ear as I focus on what lies beyond.

The faint thrum of electricity, gurgle of plumbing, a low whine from one of my mates’ machines, but nothing from her.

Her scent and the bike are the only indication she’s home.

My eyes drift shut, listening to the sounds within the den, my feet faltering beneath a window when soft snores seep through.

My instincts run rampant.

I need to see my mate.

I must find out if my suckers would leave marks on her supple human flesh.

I yearn to lay my eyes on her and memorize every curve.

I summon my magic to the surface to partially shift, tentacles unfurling, raising me higher to peer through the window, but I can’t see anything through the shutters.

A frustrated growl builds in the back of my throat.

My mate’s intelligence is a hindrance to me.

An ant begins crawling up my arm, and I squash it before it can make it any higher.

Vermin.

I slide my fingers along the corners of the shutter, nails elongating into claws as I shed my human form.

The tips dig beneath the old wood.

It slowly lifts away from the wall with a loud groan that silences the creatures of the forest.

I shift back to two legs.

Excitement purrs to life at the prospect of interacting with my future bride.

My hand flattens against the rough wall to listen to any sounds coming from inside.

The elation dwindles away with the passing minutes.

She’s not coming out.

It’s for the best. Our den should be prepared before she realizes I am her mate and she leaves the island to spend the rest of her days with me.

A few days is nothing to a lifetime.

I continue my perusal of the house.

Blades of grass rustle beneath my feet before changing to wood.

The steps leading up to the front door creak.

I falter, but no sounds follow from inside.

My molars grind together.

Any predator could come to harm my mate, and she wouldn’t wake at their approach.

That is not acceptable.

As long as she is home, I will be here, protecting her.

It is my duty. I will never leave her side.

My hand wraps around the door handle, and my head tips to the side.

How odd. I’ve never seen such technology before.

There is no hole where a key is inserted to unlock it.

Instead, it’s… What is the term?

Digital?

I push the handle down.

A loud, sudden beeping blares through the forest, and I jump back, shifting in an instant to destroy the threat.

Yet the area remains desolate save for the sounds of frantic footsteps coming from inside the?—

I leap from the porch, darting past the line of trees until I’m certain her human eyes will not see me in the distance.

My skin morphs, shifting colors to blend into my surroundings.

The front door never opens.

The curtains behind the shutters never flicker.

The beeping stops after several long minutes.

A purr rumbles to life in my chest. I was wrong to doubt my smart mate.

She wouldn’t leave herself exposed to predators—not that it matters anymore.

From this day forth, I vow she will never again worry about her safety.

She is my mate. My bride. She belongs to me.