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29

Cindi

The woman looks at me like I’m about to rob her.

“Uh…” I glance over her shoulder into my cabin—or, at least, it used to be my cabin.

I’m kind of offended my landlord cleaned out my shit and moved on so quickly.

She shifts, blocking my view, casting a skeptical look over me.

I can’t imagine I look all too approachable, with my sopping hair and the patches of saturation over my green dress—the same green dress I wore when Ordus stole me.

She says something in Bahasa that sounds a lot like who the fuck are you, why are you here, and what do you want ?

All great questions I’d be able to answer if language weren’t an issue.

I can’t see Ordus, but I can sense him itching to come out from his hiding spot amongst the trees.

He could probably translate for me, but a strange, six-foot dude with long black hair doesn’t exactly inspire comfort in a woman nearing eighty.

I really just want to know if she might have any of my old stuff—not that I’d need it or anything.

I have everything that matters, but it’d be nice to know if she had car keys lying around anywhere, or a motorbike in one of her rooms so, if push comes to shove, I’m not relying on a taxi when I don’t have a phone to call them or money to pay them.

I oh so conveniently forgot my purse in the cavern.

“Never mind. Sorry. Thank you,” I mutter, backing away toward the beach.

I’m not going to get anywhere with this.

The woman slams the door behind her.

After a moment, I hear Ordus following along on two feet.

I’m not entirely sure what my plan is.

This morning, when Ordus told me we’d be going to the mainland for dinner, I’d figured I’d come up with something concrete by the time we arrived at my old place.

Maybe I would have fully decided how to deal with the Curse and the his-people-want-us-dead situation.

Maybe I’d agree to marry him, then find a place on the mainland so he still has access to the beaches he’s familiar with.

Then the paranoia will start back up, and I’ll spend every waking moment feeling like a sitting duck, waiting for the Gallaghers to find me.

Then they’ll get to Ordus, which scares me a shitload more.

So, all in all, I’ve got nothing.

I want to save krakens.

I want freedom. I want to stay alive.

And I want…

I want Ordus.

But maybe I could try to get in touch with Nat or Deedee to arrange for passports for the both of us, just in case we need to fly out of here.

But I’m hoping it never comes to that.

Fuck, can krakens handle that type of altitude?

His biology clearly isn’t the same.

And what about Vasz?

I can’t just leave him.

It’s just problem after problem.

I huff and whirl to face Ordus once my feet hit the sand.

He stands closer than I’d usually be comfortable with.

I don’t hate it. In fact, I like it a lot.

Not that it’s surprising at this point.

The golden light of the setting sun catches the faint, silvery-blue threads in his human skin.

He’s still just as attractive without his spots.

His hair came out of the braid at some point during the— at least —six-hour swim to the mainland.

He hasn’t said as much, but I can tell he’s disappointed by it.

He reaches for my hand, and I let him.

I catch a hint of the barest purr that makes my stomach swoop.

After I held his hand yesterday, it has been open season on the hand-holding front.

Ordus studies my face, concerned.

“I will make her help us.”

“ No ,” I quickly say, leveling him with a stern look that would have had Tommy beating me black and blue.

For the briefest moment, my bravado falters, and that inkling of fear trickles into my bloodstream, but it’s gone just as quickly.

“We do not force old ladies to do anything .”

His forehead wrinkles in confusion.

“She has your belongings. She upset you. This must be resolved.”

Oh my God.

He’s serious. “That sweet old?—”

His nose scrunches in distaste.

“She didn’t smell sweet.”

What?

Never mind. It’s not important.

“You smell sweet, though,” he says so quietly, almost…

bashful.

My cheeks heat—part in embarrassment, part from that fuzzy feeling in my stomach.

When was the last time I felt butterflies ?

When I was sixteen?

I’m half tempted to give myself a sniff.

I’m not sure how I could possibly smell nice when I sleep in a musty cave and spend my days in the water.

“Would you—” He shifts his weight.

I’m not used to seeing him in human form.

Ordus on two legs is weird enough for me, but everything else of him is notably smaller.

My eyes catch on the bulge beneath his shorts, and my blood heats.

I conveniently didn’t register he’d be packing human heat in this form.

He clears his throat, and my eyes snap to his, skin blazing.

If he knows what I’m thinking, he doesn’t let on.

“Would you like to go to the city?”

I blink.

He wants to be around humans?

“Which one?”

“The busy one.” Ordus waves his hand in the general direction of where the main towns and cities are located.

“You can eat at a human place.”

My jaw drops.

When he said he’d take me to the mainland, I didn’t think he’d let me go anywhere but my old place and somewhere small where he could easily catch me if I tried to run.

My stomach grumbles at the idea of eating something other than seafood and eggs.

“Will you eat as well?”

He blanches.

“If you wish.”

There’s no fighting the tug at my lips as they stretch into a small smile.

This man really will do anything for me.

“Then lead the way.”

Traveling by kraken will never get easier.

I’m grumbling curses under my breath, wringing my hair out and squeegeeing the water off my body.

I’m just about ready to scream when I shove myself into my stiff dress, flinching at every shadow and sound.

The material sticks to my wet body and scratches the tattoo on my back.

It’s been fine for the past month, but the six plus hours of underwater travel has pissed it off again.

I huff and quickly stomp out of the shadows toward a waiting Ordus, who looks out of place against the backdrop of racing motorbikes and the flurry of tourists and locals, laughing and checking out the menus of restaurants along the beach.

I take a deep breath and instantly regret it.

After over a month of fresh sea air, the smell of cigarette smoke, exhaust fumes, and trash gives me a migraine.

And the noise? God , the noise.

The cacophony of honks and chatter and engines and clattering.

It’s overwhelming.

Ordus grits his teeth, jaw feathering, surveying our surroundings.

His shoulders are stiff, and he has a white-knuckle grip on the waterproof bag holding our clothes, a hand towel, water bottles, sandals, and cash.

It was too dark for anyone to see us emerge from the water.

If they did, well, tough shit.

They would’ve gotten an eyeful of Ordus’ human junk I’ve been trying hard not to look at.

It makes my skin prickle with the familiar unease of physical contact.

Consciously, I’m aware it’s the same male who has eight limbs and cuddles me to sleep every night, but my body refuses to listen.

It recognizes his human body as Tommy’s counterpart, and it’s setting me on edge.

Everything’s setting me on edge.

Each honk. Every male voice.

The eyes that glance my way.

I look over my shoulder as I hurry to Ordus’ side, pulse thumping in my chest and flip-flops slapping against the pavement.

I wipe my clammy hands on my saturated dress.

I don’t miss this.

I thought I was longing for civilization.

Now, I’m seriously questioning whether I do.

I hate this paranoia, the constant, sinking feeling I’m about to die.

Ordus grabs my hand and pulls me to his side.

“What is wrong?”

“Nothing.” I give him the most reassuring smile I can muster.

I throw a longing glance back at the water.

I want to be back on the island, lounging on the beach or reading a book in the cave without a care in the world that I might run into a Gallagher.

Or pirates—fuck, I almost forgot about them.

The irony isn’t lost on me.

I traded the risk of krakens for men who call themselves pirates.

I press closer to Ordus’ side, cringing when he lets go of my hand to place his on my back as he leads me down to the more populated street.

I can’t believe I prefer him in his kraken form.

I watch him out of the corner of my eye.

He’s hating this as much as I am.

I trust him to be miles better at spotting danger, but I can’t help darting my eyes to everything that moves—and everything is fucking moving.

It’s peak dinner hour.

The streets are filled.

No one gives two shits about us—I mean, people are ogling Ordus because he’s a giant, but no one is looking at me.

My plan solidifies more with every second.

We’re going to get food and get out.

I don’t care about the four hours I have.

Hell, I’m willing to eat seafood at this point.

I want out of here as soon as possible.

My stomach will hate the postdinner swim, but I don’t want to be this exposed for a second longer.

I can feel them. The Gallaghers.

They’re hiding around the corner and watching me through cameras.

Sweat trickles down my spine.

I want to reach for Ordus’ other hand and grip it for dear life.

He’s the only reason I’m not power walking with my head down.

At least I have a knife in my bag—fuck.

No, I don’t.

A familiar tinkling laugh has my feet faltering in front of a food stall.

I frown, turning my head toward the sound.

In the outdoor dining area, seated on a wooden stool, is a woman with jet-black hair, glowing tanned skin, and high cheekbones, arm out to the side, flicking the ash off a cigarette onto the ground.

“Deedee?”

Her perfectly shaped brows slam down into a straight line as she looks amongst the patrons and out onto the street, completely missing me.

The four men surrounding her stop their chatter, collectively tensing.

One of them has black ink tattooed on his pale, bald head.

Beside him, there’s another Caucasian man with an eyebrow piercing.

It’s hard to tell where they might be from, but the other two men could be Indonesian.

“Deedee!” I step beneath the fluorescent light.

She can get us passports and money, just in case.

Maybe she’ll know where my shit is so I have the comfort of knowing I have a mode of transport that doesn’t involve drowning myself in saltwater.

Deedee’s on her feet and running toward me as soon as she spots me.

I feel Ordus shift, ready to interfere.

“Holy shit, girl.” She yanks me into a hug I’d rather not be the recipient of.

I cringe. Ordus moves closer, a low warning growl in his chest that I try to cover by angling Deedee away.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

I wrinkle my nose from the ribbons of cigarette smoke wafting toward me, and I bat them away with the back of my hand.

“Someone trashed my place, and I got spooked.” I practiced the lie earlier in case I managed to locate a phone to call her or Nat.

Her eyes round, and she steps back like she’s examining me for bruises.

“What? Are you okay?” She glances between me and Ordus, and her nostrils flare with a deep breath.

Something shutters behind her eyes as she cranes her neck to look up at him properly.

Her jaw drops to the ground in…

Surprise isn’t a strong enough word.

Astonishment.

Deedee’s brows hike up her forehead as she takes him in from head to toe, up to his head again, before turning to me with an emotion I can’t quite place.

A dash of confusion, a bit of shock, and—I could be wrong—concern?

Or is that anger? I can’t tell.

Deedee studies me with an intensity I’ve never seen on her before.

I can only imagine what this looks like.

I go MIA for a month then show back up with a tall, muscled, attractive guy.

The fact said guy is radiating violence and Deedee is aware I had a piece of shit ex?

She’s probably thinking the worst.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I found a safe place to hunker down,” I say to slice the weird tension.

I motion to Ordus, inching toward him to make it clear he’s not a threat.

“He’s been helping me out.”

Deedee seems to snap out of whatever spell she’s under.

She sidles next to me, grinning and batting her eyelashes up at Ordus.

“And tell me about your friend?”

Something ugly and green turns my blood to simmering.

I want to tell her it’s none of her business, to put the focus back on me.

“Uh, Ordus.”

Her lips widen into a full-blown, satisfied smile.

“Single?”

The simmer turns to a boil.

Ordus steps in before I can ruin a friendship.

“No,” he snaps, like he can’t imagine anything more insulting.

I look over my shoulder at the same time Deedee’s bald friend stands and snuffs out his cigarette on the tray.

She giggles and playfully bats at Ordus’ arm.

He jolts away, clutching his elbow like she left a fatal wound.

Deedee’s attention falls back to me, so she misses him bare his teeth at her.

Her slender hand wraps around my arm as she all but yanks me toward her table.

“Come. Sit, sit, sit. Eat. Dinner’s on me.” She raises two fingers at the woman behind the counter and says something in Indonesian I don’t quite understand—other than the words for babi guling —roast pig.

The clerk nods, and her flip-flops clap against the tile toward the back of the shop.

Deedee hustles me into a seat beside her and points at a wooden stool at a free table for Ordus.

She moves empty plates and cups to the end of the table for the clerk to pick up when she passes, then mutters something in Indonesian to the guy beside her.

He nods.

Ordus drops the stool beside me and lowers him onto it more aggressively than necessary.

If I move even slightly, my knees will knock into his.

I’m struggling to recognize him in a sun-stained, blue Bintang T-shirt.

I must admit, though, I can focus a little better without his abs on display.

It’s comical how much he sticks out amongst everyone else.

Sure, he appears human, but if you stare long enough, you’ll start to notice there’s something other about him.

Especially in those murderous blue eyes.

We had a nice, long chat about human behavior, the dos and don’ts when we’re on the mainland.

One of those things was that there’s to be absolutely no attacking or growling at or killing humans under any circumstance.

Based on the sneer he’s directing at the four men, he’d be doing the latter right now if I didn’t tell him it might put me in danger.

I keep my sights on the street in front of me, making a conscious effort not to look any of the men in the eyes, lest it set off Ordus.

I’m lying to myself.

They remind me of the Gallaghers’ men.

If I look at them, I might throw up or run out of here like I’m on fire.

Half my butt cheek hangs off the side of the bench.

I’m careful to leave a couple inches of space between me and Deedee.

“Where’s Nat?” I force myself to ask to keep my mind off things.

I may question Deedee’s choice in friendship, but I know she would never put me in danger.

She’s the one who helped set up my surveillance system, and if there’s ever a riskier drop, she’ll send some muscle to do it for me.

We have matching tattoos, for crying out loud.

Sisterhood and all that.

“The lab.” She huffs, shaking her head.

“Works too hard, that one. We got a big order for Canadians. Good timing, though. We just moved the main op to bigger premises. I was about to look for another girl to take your place.”

I frown.

I was gone six weeks.

Before I left, we could barely make a decision on how the lab should be arranged, and suddenly, they’re moving to a bigger facility?

When we didn’t have supplies?

“So you managed to fix the machine?”

“Yeah, of course.” Deedee gives me the universal “why wouldn’t we” look.

“What happened to the stolen stock?”

The guy with the piercing snorts, taking a drag of his cigarette.

I drop my hand onto Ordus’ lap when he starts growling like a guard dog.

He stops the second I touch him.

I don’t want my dinner flavored with entrails.

Deedee waves her hand dismissively, not missing the mistaken show of PDA.

“I told you; it was all a nonissue.”

My lips flatten into a straight line, and I try not to glower.

“It clearly was an issue. Those supplies cost us?—”

I silence myself and mutter a quick thanks to the woman delivering my food.

I cast a nervous glance at Ordus, who’s looking at the plate like it’s a pile of the worst possible thing known to man.

His face is warped, like everything about dinner nauseates him.

His hand stops midair above the slice of pork.

“Are you sure you want to eat?” I interrupt.

It’d be rude not to eat it, but it would be far ruder if Ordus starts retching in the middle of the store.

“You had an upset stomach earlier. Maybe we get you something lighter and take this to go?”

Ordus’ shoulders sag in relief, and he immediately goes back to staring down the men and watching the street while Deedee studies him with rapt fascination.

It’s kinda irrationally pissing me off.

It can’t be jealousy.

I’m not the jealous type.

I mean, Ordus can see whomever he wants.

It just makes me sick picturing them hanging out—or with anyone else, for that matter.

Blind with rage, imagining him fucking her with his tentacles like he did to me…

Ordus drops his hand on top of mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze before caressing the soft skin there like he’s saying he’s mine, marriage or not.

I blow out a breath, trying to calm down.

Deedee waves down the waitress to pack away his share into a container, and I quickly surveil the streets for anyone who might look like someone I recognize.

“You don’t need to worry about any of it. I’ve got it taken care of.” Deedee fiddles with her bracelet, and the smile she gives me doesn’t reach her eyes.

I force food into my mouth, chewing without tasting.

“So tell me: where’ve you been? We were so worried. I tried looking for you everywhere, but you went completely off the radar. I thought it might have been because of the whispers of the American looking for you.”

The temperature plummets.

I drop my spoon. “What American?”

“Don’t know.” Deedee brings the cigarette to her lips and inhales deeply.

Tendrils of grey twirl from the glowing ember.

Plumes of the putrid smoke blow beside my head and stick between the strands of my hair.

“One of my contacts said there was a guy going around, offering money in exchange for a woman. He mentioned your— you know —your name. Had a photo too.”

I stop breathing.

My name? Photo ? It must be the same person Ordus smelled at my cabin over a month ago.

They’ve found me. I need to get out of here.

Now. The very first place that crosses my mind is Saelim Island, and despite the threat of other krakens, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

“What—what did he look like?” My voice cracks as I press.

Deedee shrugs. “Based on what I heard, like a bule .”

Like a Westerner.

That doesn’t narrow down anything.

“And what did your contact tell them?” I want to slap the table so maybe she gets how fucking serious this is.

She shakes her head like this is no big deal.

“He’s never met you, so he didn’t say anything. Just told me about it.” Her phone lights up with a notification, and she jumps to her feet.

Ordus and I do the same.

“Shit. I’m so sorry. I need to go.”

Wait.

No. I want to insist she stay so I can interrogate her for information.

When did they ask? Are they still here?

Who’s your contact? How many men were with him?

Did he leave a number?

Did they say anything else?

Deedee taps her phone screen again, and she gives my shoulder a squeeze.

“Where are you staying? I’ll meet you at yours so we can talk for longer.”

My pulse jumps, and I cast a nervous glance at the men going up to pay at the counter.

“I’m not giving out my location. Just in case, you know. It’s not that I don’t trust you, I?—”

She stops me with a shake of her head.

“I get it.”

I lower my voice, trying to inject every ounce of my fear and desperation.

“We need passports. As soon as possible.”

The men she was eating with wait for her on the sidewalk, splitting their attention between me and Ordus.

I subconsciously inch toward him, using the kraken as a barrier.

Deedee walks backward, giving me a noncommittal nod with the same blasé attitude she gives to everything that frustrates me to no end.

“Call me, okay? We’ll sort it. Everything’s going to be fine.”

I don’t answer.

Even if I wanted to, she already turned away, typing furiously at her phone.

Ordus and I watch her walk down the street with her entourage until she’s out of view.

Cold sweat trickles down my spine.

To hell with my four hours, I want to go right the fuck now.

But I can’t hide out on the island and wait for the heat to die down when there’s heat on the goddamn island as well.

“I do not like her,” Ordus says, stirring me out of my thoughts.

I drop onto the bench, realizing we’re still awkwardly standing in the middle of the restaurant.

I tug him down. “She touched you and made you unhappy.”

He’ll need to be specific about which instance he’s referring to: the hug, the not-jealousy, that my demons are here, or all of the above.

“I don’t trust her or her men,” he continues.

I shake my head, staring at the barely touched plate in front of me.

I’ve lost my appetite.

Without a word, the waitress boxes up my meal after I point to Ordus’ Styrofoam container, then my plate.

“Deedee’s my friend,” I tell Ordus, tapping the table as I wait for the clerk to return.

Is she my friend, though?

Would friends wave off every concern the other person has?

“She smells wrong.” We sit in silence for a moment.

“The American is your dead husband’s people?” He frames it like a question when he already knows the answer.

My throat is closed tight.

I can’t speak. The walls are closing in, and I’m on a sinking ship with a life raft being held together by duct tape.

We stay on the mainland, we die.

We stay on the island, we die.

We leave the mainland and abandon Vasz, and we all die.

We’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, and the glass floor we’re standing on is cracking.

“Let’s go home,” I whisper, swallowing down the panic.

Ordus watches me intently with both joy and…

shock? I replay what I said.

Home.

I blink, chewing over the word, but it never ends up tasting wrong.

Saelim Island is my home.

That realization hits me square in the chest. I…

I don’t want the past month and a bit of my life to be temporary.

Ordus takes the plastic bag with our food from the waitress, then grabs our waterproof pack and pulls me right up against him, leading us toward the beach.

It’s not making my nerves any better, but knowing we’re getting out of here isn’t making it any worse either.

I’m surrounded by ticking time bombs from all sides, and the only thing I’m certain of is that I don’t want to deal with it alone.

If I could choose anyone, I’d choose Ordus.

Still, it doesn’t stop my racing pulse or my short breaths.

I’m not any closer to being anywhere as delusionally carefree as I was all the times I was surfing on the island, blissfully ignorant to the fact krakens are dying and they want to eat me.

We spill back onto the beach, where people lounge on blow-up seats beneath glowing umbrellas, laughing, eating, drinking.

I follow him left, away from the congregation of people and overstimulating smells.

Cigarette smoke, the nutty notes of sate , the gag-inducing whiff of nearby trash, spilled gasoline and exhaust fume, cologne, perfume, body odor, alcohol, the hint of the ocean breeze…

The sound of chatter, roaring engines, and the bouncy beat of nearby music aren’t any better the closer we get to the portion of the beach encased in darkness.

“I got this for you.”

Huh?

I zero in on the black purse in his hands.

A Chanel bag. What the hell?

How did he—I quickly shove it back in the waterproof pack.

“Where did you get this?” I hiss, looking around to make sure no one saw.

Ordus frowns. “While we were walking to dinner, I saw it left on a seat.” He says it so innocently, I almost feel bad for my tone.

“You didn’t say I am not allowed to take items from the mainland.”

If his plan was to distract me from our impending doom, it’s working.

The water is in sight.

The safety of the cave is only a few long hours away.

We can talk about…next steps.

“This is stealing.” It’s my fault, really.

If I have to explain he shouldn’t murder someone, obviously I should’ve mentioned theft is also off the table.

We step straight into the water, since I can’t be bothered stripping.

My dress is already ruined.

“No, it isn’t. No one claimed it.” Ordus looks so genuinely confused.

“I saw other females wearing a bag, but you do not have one?—”

He suddenly goes still.

Muscles locked. Unblinking.

Frozen like time has stopped.

Alarm bells scream in my head.

Something’s wrong.

“Ordus?”

Nothing.

I gingerly touch his forearm.

“Ordus, please.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

What’s wrong with him?

I grab him by the arms and shake him.

He tips over, body stiff as stone.

Half his head is beneath the waves.

I don’t have the strength to lift him back up or drag him to the shore.

It’s the Curse. It has to be.

Goosebumps cascade over my flesh.

“Or?—”

His name catches in my throat, a warm, fuzzy ball of cotton that dissolves down my chest and acts as armor around my racing heart.

Time slows, and my muscles turn to steel.

Then, everything goes black.