I believe he has the bottle in his cave somewhere, probably beneath a mountain of husks and random objects he’s chosen to bring back.
My tentacle moves against the floor, tasting my mate’s blood on the stone. If I discover he’s harmed Cindi, I will revoke his access to the underground system of the island.
I reach my hand out for her.
“What are you—get away from me.” She stumbles back, that familiar shuttered expression crossing her eyes, souring her scent the same way it does each time she looks like this.
Her dress falls away from her legs to reveal the small cut on her shin and the blood coating her feet.
Guilt burns up my throat. I should have brought her shoes so she can move without worry. My siblings would never have made such a foolish mistake.
“You’re bleeding because I wasn’t here to keep you safe.”I let you down.
Her brows stitch together in a flicker of confusion she quickly wipes away. “You give yourself too much credit. Rocks aren’t the danger here.” Cindi gives me a pointed look, as ifImight be the one to hurt her. I’ll prove her wrong. “I’m fine.” It’s a sentiment she poorly confirms by wincing, stumbling when she attempts to stand.
I point two clawed fingers at my face. “Do you know what these are?”
She blinks in shock, glancing around the cave like she’s uncertain I spoke. “Uh…are you talking about your eyes?” Cindi’s words are partially slurred.
“Yes.Eyes. And they are seeing you are not fine.” I motion toward her injuries. Sighing, I raise back up to my full height, watching the way she stiffens as I do. It infuriates me that she thinks I would hurt her.
“It’s a little cut. I’ll live—where are you going? You can’t leave me here,” she calls when I turn, moving toward the water.
First, she wants me to get away from her. Now, she doesn’t want to leave. Humans are very confusing.
I try not to let the false hope get to me that she might actually want me to stay. I have done nothing to garner her change in feelings toward me since coming back, and I doubt she has seen sense in the past couple of minutes since my return.
The muscles in my tentacles stretch, pushing me higher off the ground to reach the nook in the rock wall where I keep my meager supplies. Cindi’s wild stare never leaves mine, butthere’s something else there too. It lightens her scent and brings some familiarity back to her face, like when I was watching her from afar.
I bite back my irritation at the spike in her fear. I am just putting the chest on the ground? Why does she perceive that as a threat?
I force myself to release it, fighting my inner beast’s need to hold her in my arms and reassure her she will never know a moment of pain.
But even if I think it, I know it will not be true.
Cindi will suffer as long as I live because the Goddess has cursed her to be my mate. She will spend the rest of her days resenting my mere existence, lips curled into a perpetual sneer from being in my company.
Like she is now.
Violent, hateful, afraid. The scent from her emotions is scattered through the air, thick enough to choke on.
My jaw aches from clenching hard. Emotions do not matter. I must tend to my mate’s injuries.Thatis the priority. Humans do not have the magical healing powers krakens do, and I intend to keep my mate alive at all costs.
The hinges of the chest creak as it opens to reveal the few pieces of kelp, clean cloth, and a half-empty tub of healing paste I made. Regret churns in my stomach over putting off its restock for months. I only ever use it when Vasz picks a fight with something a quarter of his size then cries at the smallest bit of pain. The only thing that would make him stop talking about it is if I treat his nonexistent injury.
Now I have a mate with real wounds, and she’s acting like it’s barely more than a scratch.
They will both age me. I’ll be a fifty-year-old kraken looking a hundred in no time.
I move to grab Cindi with my tentacle, and the ensuing whimper chills me to my very soul, a sound that echoes and vibrates like the strings of a guitar. Every instinct tells me to attack whatever it is causing her distress, even though I know it’s all my fault.
I’m the problem.
Always the problem.
“Stop being stubborn.” My words come out sharper than I intended them. How is one meant to react at the realization that the hope I’ve been clinging to since I was a cub is a lie?
“You’re the one who insists on touching me—” I disregard her protests and hold her in my limbs. My other tentacles wet the cloth in the pool. “No!”
