Page 6 of Craved By the Kraken Warlord

A trap. It has to be. But the dare ignites something stubborn in my gut. Fine.

I reach out.

His breath hitches—a raw, human sound. My fingertips graze his chest.

Fire.

Not literal. Worse. A current races up my arm, lodging hot under my ribs. My pulse roars in my ears. The markings beneath my fingers blaze white.

He moans.

I jerk back. “What was that?”

He’s shuddering, tentacles thrashing the water. *“The bond. It… recognizes you.”*

“What does *that* mean?”

Instead of answering, he extends a hand. His claws—glistening, curved—retract, leaving blunt fingertips. An offering.

*“Take it.”*

“Why?”

*“You wish to leave.”* His voice strains. *“Hold my hand, and I will show you the price.”*

I stare at his palm. It’s massive, twice the size of mine. “Is this a trick?”

*“Yes.”* His lips twitch. *“But not the kind you fear.”*

Against every instinct, I lace my fingers with his.

The grotto vanishes.

Smash-cut to a memory not mine:

*Crashing waves. A storm identical to mine. A girl in white, sinking. Va’thar’s tentacles wrap around her—gentle, like with me. But she thrashes, screaming bubbles. The moment he breaches the surface of his grotto pool, she claws at her throat, convulsing. The bond’s light flickers, dies. Her body dissolves into foam.*

*Another girl. Another storm. This one prays, weeping. Va’thar tries to stay distant, but she begs for comfort. When he brushes her hair, she recoils. The bond fractures. She drowns in air.*

*A dozen more. All variations of the same tragedy. Fear. Rejection. Death.*

The vision snaps. I’m back in the grotto, gasping, still gripping his hand.

He looks wrecked. *“Without trust, the bond fails. The sea reclaims you.”*

My throat tightens. “But I’m still here.”

*“Because you are—”* He breaks off, teeth sinking into his lower lip. A bead of black blood wells.

“I’m what?”

When he answers, it’s threaded with awe. *“You see me and do not flee. You touch me and do not break. You are… the first.”*

His thumb strokes my knuckle. The contact sends sparks skittering up my wrist. We’re close enough that I catch his scent—stormwater and deep-sea brine. My free hand rises, almost of its own volition, toward his face.

He freezes.

The air crackles. His breathing turns ragged. The tentacles around him writhe, one snaking toward my ankle before jerking back.