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8

Cindi

What the actual fuck was that?

I’m going insane.

Absolutely fucking insane.

There’s no way that was real.

I’m imagining things.

I drank too much. I’ve been drugged.

Or I have a concussion from hitting my head when those guys tried to capture me.

This is like that time Tommy threw me into our basement and locked me in there for three weeks.

There was no light, no window for me to look out of, no sound.

Just my thoughts and the one time a day he’d visit to feed me.

I heard voices—Dad’s.

Thought I saw my mother too.

They spoke to me, kept me company, and checked on me when no one else did.

Maybe I’ve just lost the plot, because there is no universe in which an eight-legged tentacle creature just saved my life.

An eight-legged tentacle creature changed from two legs in a second flat.

One I’ve run into twice in two days.

One who I thought was the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.

He’s an alien. He has to be.

There’s all that shit on the news about how they live in the ocean and can shapeshift to pass off as us or whatever.

I haven’t got a clue what else he could be.

Scrubbing my hand over my face and looking around my bedroom, a wave of fatigue has me tripping over my feet and leaning against the wall to catch my breath.

I need to leave. Tonight.

Once is an accident.

Twice is a coincidence.

Three times is a pattern.

I’ll be damned if I stick around to see that thing a fourth time.

The shit that’s gone on with my alarm and the pirates is reason enough.

Tonight’s events are expediting my departure.

Those men are a mystery to me.

One of them was European, and the other might have been Indonesian—I don’t know.

It was dark, I was scared, and I couldn’t make out their faces.

I didn’t understand a word of what they were saying or whether they were complete strangers or pirates or Gallagher connections.

Tears spill down my cheek.

God, I hate that I liked it here.

I liked my cabin. The two friends I made.

The beach. The food.

The smell of the fresh air in the morning.

The whistle of the wind between the trees during a storm.

I shouldn’t have gotten attached.

Furiously swiping at my cheeks, I run around the house, shoving everything I can into my luggage—laptop, burner phone, cash I’ll strap to my body later, more fake passports, more fake IDs, disguises, toiletries.

My go bag already has everything I need, but it’s better to have more, since I still have the work car to run away with.

It was only a matter of time before the Gallaghers followed me here.

It’s a miracle I’ve even lasted this long.

The thing that killed those men could be connected to either of the people who have it out for me, or maybe someone else I’ve inadvertently pissed off without realizing.

My best bet would be to find a quiet area in the middle of nowhere, far from civilization and cameras, and lay low.

Go radio silent. Maybe try going back to Thailand to hide out on a secluded island.

As I shove my things into my bag, I decide I’ll stick with my initial plan.

I’ll drive to Bandung to hide out for a bit and keep minimal contact with Nat and Deedee.

Once the heat dies down, I’ll leave Indonesia.

I’m not sure where to yet, but I’ll figure it out.

I scramble to my dresser and yank a drawer out, sending it clattering onto the tile floor.

Its contents spill around the room, and I drop to my knees and run my fingers around the wood to feel for the false bottom.

I turn my nails into a makeshift crowbar and pry the wood off before chucking it aside.

My hand hovers over the drawer.

These are the most important items I have, priceless beyond reason and completely irreplaceable.

Choking back a sob, the tears fall harder down my cheeks, onto my dress.

More blotches of darkness bloom across the darkness with each tear.

My trembling fingers trace the picture of Dad holding up a child-sized me and beaming with pride over my first solo surf.

I remember the joy in his voice as he called up my uncle and one of his buddies to tell them all about how well I did.

He boasted about the size of the wave, my form, and how I kept my two little feet stable.

He went on and on like I was a legend in the making.

He carried me on his shoulders to get my favorite treat, and we both went crazy from the sugar high.

I can still recall the different ice cream flavors we got, how terribly I failed at devouring the six scoops.

Clutching the bundle of photos to my chest, I squeeze my eyes shut to try and focus on my breathing.

I miss him so much.

I slip a chain around my neck and hide the ring Mom gifted him beneath my dress.

It doesn’t make me feel any closer to him, but wearing it makes it seem like he’s watching over me.

What would he say about where I ended up?

Hell, what would Mom say if she knew the daughter she gave her life to birth is running from both the law and outlaws?

Sniffling, I pull myself back onto my feet and carefully tuck the pictures away in my handbag.

It’s all I have left of my dad.

The front porch groans, and I freeze, pulse skyrocketing.

A bang shakes the house.

Self-preservation kicks in, and I’m on my feet, bolting out of the bedroom.

The smell of rain wafts through the house, carrying traces of the sea and the intoxicating warmth of him .

That—that thing .

My heart stalls when I catch the vision before me.

It’s straight out of a horror movie.

The top of his dipped head and broad shoulders brush the doorway—fills it.

The moon backlights the man standing at the door, illuminating his hard edges like he’s the devil himself.

A harbinger of death.

The faint light coming through my bathroom catches on the water droplets dripping from his hair down his bare chest, rippling over each curve of his abs.

A shudder works down my spine.

An odd, almost animalistic sound rumbles from him, pulling me from my stupor and bringing me firmly back to the present, where I’m meant to be running from my life after seeing a man transform into a tentacled monster.

The same monster standing at the door.

My pulse roars in my ears, and my feet move before my head catches up.

I dive across the living room for the back door.

Footsteps bound behind me, and a cry tears from my lips when something lashes out at me.

Why the fuck didn’t I get a weapon first?

It wraps around my waist and hauls me back against his chest. “I caught you.” His deep voice rolls through my veins.

“ Mate .”

No, no, no, no, no.

I’m meant to be getting away.

My eyes fall to the tentacle around me, and I lose it .

I scream at the top of my lungs.

I fight, throw my head back, try to kick my legs out, hit the fucking tentacles curving around me.

Nothing works. It’s like it barely inconveniences him.

A tentacle wraps around my shoulders so my body stays upright, but my injured elbows can swing free.

He’s going to kill me.

He’s going to take me to the Gallaghers, and they’re going to torture me.

“Let me go!”

“Only in death,” he promises.

I suck in a shocked breath, momentarily disarmed by the declaration.

His suckers pucker along my skin, and a ripple of fatigue rolls up my spine.

No, not fatigue—something similar, where my muscles feel like they’re going limp, but not quite.

Soft fingers trail over my exposed arm, and when his sharp nails graze my skin, I flinch, bucking against him to break free—but all I can think about are how his hands are on me.

The monster’s smooth, almost gentle touch is so unlike Tommy.

His grip is firm but not painful.

Tight, just enough to keep me pressed up to him.

It’s not the same blinding terror of having regular hands on me, just a different kind.

My skin doesn’t crawl, and I’m not nauseated imagining myself standing in the white mansion, waiting to be struck.

Every inhale drags more of his scent into my lungs, spreading warmth through my veins from feeling like I’m out on the beach when there isn’t a single soul in sight.

It’s messing with my brain.

He’s messing with my brain.

Something’s not right.

“No!” I throw my head back in the hopes it collides with his nose—if monster-him has one of those—but it has the exact opposite of my intended effect.

He nuzzles his face against mine.

His warm breath fans my cheek, holding me in place.

Vibrations start up my back, an odd sound that warms my stomach and sends soft tingles down my spine.

Is he… Is that a purr ?

“We will go home now.”

What does he mean by?—

Movement at the door catches my eyes.

“What the fuck is that?” I screech, thrashing harder to get away.

The shark-dog peels its lips back around the coconut in its mouth, continuing his trot into my living room.

“His name is Vasz,” the voice comes from behind me.

It— Vasz —lowers his ass to the rug, swishing his shark-shaped tail behind him, giving me what can only be described as a nod of confirmation.

I swing my gaze from the shark-dog to the tentacles feeling me up, then backward to the open suitcase on my bedroom floor.

Laughter bubbles up my throat.

This is actually happening.

“Oh, God. I’ve gone insane. I have fully, completely, and utterly lost it.” Wave after wave of hysteria hits me.

“I do not understand.” I can hear his frown.

“What is funny, Cindi?”

Oh my God, he speaks.

The tentacle monster thing fucking speaks.

And he knows my name.

Of course, he does. I obviously widely advertise it.

The whole country definitely knows who I am.

So why wouldn’t the ten-foot-tall, clawed, eight-tentacled monster with pointed ears know my name?

Laughter turns into heaving.

Tremors rack my body.

This is happening. It’s actually happening.

My lungs scream with desperation as I try to suck in oxygen.

“She is not crazy,” the man-monster thing hisses.

“She’s perfect.”

And he talks to himself too.

This is great. Amazing.

Splendid.

“It’s okay.” The words come out gentle, like I’m a delicate thing he’s trying to appease.

And the—the purr deepens.

The tentacles dip beneath my dress, winding around my legs, writhing in an almost…

exploratory motion.

I shake my head.

No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

“Please don’t take me to them. Please. I’ll give you whatever you want,” I beg.

I know what the Gallaghers are capable of—the level of hell they’d inflict on me.

But maybe this monster will do me the kindness of killing me quickly.

My back snaps straight when his hand skims the line of my jaw.

His scent changes from fresh sea breeze to the oaky cologne Tommy always wore.

I suppress a whimper, stilling, because maybe then, he won’t feel as compelled to strike out.

Maybe it’ll hurt less.

His purring grows louder as he turns me in his arms and tucks me against his chest, legs curled bridal style as he moves us to the door.

“Once we bond to each other, there will be no more reason for you to feel fear.”

Bond to each other?

“The Goddess chose you for me. The Curse will finally be ended, and it will all be because of you. My family can rest in peace, and we can enjoy our time together. I will protect you as any mate should.”

He’s not making any sense.

I can’t move, can’t run, can’t speak.

I’m back there, in the cold mansion, sitting on the floor, huddled against the wall, hoping and praying he doesn’t break a bone and it’ll all be over quick.

Staying rigid in his hold, I choke back a sob.

No one likes the sound of crying.

It aggravates people.

Rain hails down on me and yanks me out of my frozen state.

“No!” I cry, using every ounce of energy I have to break free.

I squint against the pelting drops to make out the trees flying by.

My fist slams down onto his tentacle.

Blinding agony ruptures through my wrist, and I cry out, cradling my hand to my chest as the pain radiates up my arm.

I can hardly breathe from the agony of a thousand knives stabbing into my elbow down to the tips of my fingers.

Tears stream from my eyes unbidden.

I can’t stop them, no matter how hard I try.

“Do not cry, my little mate,” he purrs, squeezing me like he’s genuinely trying to comfort me.

“All will be right soon.”

The smell of the sea grows stronger, the crashing waves louder.

Panic claws through my throat.

Where is he taking me?

The road is in the other direction—the Gallaghers are in the other direction.

“Please,” I beg. “Take me back.” Whimpers tear from me at the flash of pain.

It worsens every time I move, a million pinpricks to my skin as the dagger pierces bone.

“Please,” I moan, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain.

Kill me. Drown me. Throw me over a cliff.

I don’t care right now.

Make the pain stop.

“Do not worry, my Cindi. I’m here now.”

The suckers pucker hard against my skin, and the same ripple of fatigue wavers through my bones.

I can’t do more than squirm as the tears pour down my eyes.

Each time I move to fight him off, it feels like my arm is getting torn off, and it’s now a limp hunk of flesh.

I try to focus on anything else but the pain, telling myself it doesn’t exist. My arm is fine and it’s all in my head.

I can just feel his hand against my skin, but it’s all dull against the mind-numbing pain rendering me paralyzed.

I’m vaguely aware we’ve reached the bank of the beach.

The distance closes faster than I can process.

Sprays of water splatter me, soaking my dress as he carries me further and further away from my house.

A wave crashes into my side, and I clamp my jaw against another sob.

The cold bite of the sea sinks its teeth into my organs, and my teeth chatter despite the humidity.

“What are you doing?” I croak, screaming at myself to fight, to get over the pain and throw my weight so I can run.

But I can’t move.

Fuck you, Tommy.

Fuck you. I killed you, and you’re still controlling me from the grave.

Half my body submerges underwater.

Panic slaps me into consciousness.

I push the monster. Shove him.

Elbow him. Anything I can do as he shifts me from his tentacles to his arms.

“I’ll drown.” I clamor up his body to keep from going under, squinting against the rain and the endless darkness ahead.

Finally, I look up and falter, momentarily disarmed by my first good look at him.

Beneath the night sky, he doesn’t look so monstrous, more a fallen angel with shadows across his face and the faintest glow from the moonlight.

He still has the same striking features of the heaven-made Adonis I stumbled into yesterday.

A sharp jaw, a strong nose, deep cheekbones, gills along his neck, raven hair that looks smoother than silk.

Except, in this form, he has faint dots around his eyes and arms, threads of blue in his skin, and big ears shaped like a spiny dorsal.

The monster’s eyes brighten when they land on me.

“I told you—I am bringing you home.” His voice holds an excited yet hesitant lilt.

“I will take care of you. You will always be safe as long as I’m here.”

The waves climb up my body.

Panic overtakes pain.

I claw at him, feeling nothing.

“ No, no, no, no. I can’t! Stop! Sto?—”

Saltwater floods my mouth.

Every ounce of my fear manifests into pure energy.

I push against him with all my might, sinking my nails into skin, hitting any surface my fists will meet, until oxygen slams back into my lungs.

I sputter, coughing up the harsh liquid.

The sound of rushing water comes from all around me.

I quickly peel my eyes open.

It isn’t the sprawling sea or stormy skies that come into view.

Beneath the dull, muted glimmer of moonlight, all I can make out is the faint outline of the creature who stole me and the barest glow of bubbles curling around my head like…

a glass dome. A fish bowl.

Lifting my good hand up to my face, I squint, gasping at the feel of water trickling down my arm.

My eyes widen when the beast’s chest rattles.

Is he…chuckling? Purring?

My jaw clenches as I swallow back a whimper.

“How?”

If he responds, I can’t hear it.

The cold current wraps around my body, heightening the pain.

I have no way to tell how fast we’re going or where he’s taking me.

My fruitless attempts only last a couple more minutes until the agony and the hopelessness win out.

What would be the point?

He’s far stronger than I am.

If I manage to break free from his hold, do I seriously expect to outswim him?

How far from land would I even be?

If a shark doesn’t kill me, the storm will.

What about the thing chewing a coconut?

I didn’t come all this way to die because of my own stupidity.

What does this monster want from me?

Is he planning on killing me?

Forcing himself on me?

Eating me?

I need to run the second I get the chance.

Scream like hell, find a weapon, increase my kill count to two if necessary.

The monster knows where I live, so I’ll need to head straight to the factory, get myself a new passport, and catch the first flight out of this country without turning back.

I don’t bother trying to suppress my sob.

I wish my dad were here.

I wish he was never taken from me so I didn’t have to suffer through all this bullshit alone.

If the monster wants to kill me for crying, drowning isn’t the worst way to go.

I lost my father, killed Tommy, ran from the Gallaghers, made and sold fake passports, all to be captured by a monster.

What am I even fighting for anymore?

I have no one. Nothing.

Deedee and Nat are my friends, but I doubt they’d do more than shed a tear for me at my funeral.

The cold makes it feel like my arm is being sawed through.

Whimpers fall from the worsening pain.

I press my face against the monster’s chest, keeping my hand between us to absorb his body heat, taking comfort from him.

Three chilling realizations hit me at once.

He’s not taking me to the Gallaghers.

He isn’t working for the pirates.

He wants me for himself.

And that might just be worse.