Page 21 of Guarded By the Vodnik

Normally, I spent entire days surrounded by people, especially children. I used to work full-time in a kindergarten, and a few days a week I volunteered in the Minnesota Children’s Home after work. It was an institution housing orphaned and abandoned children while they waited to be placed in a suitable foster home.

Since the law favored foster care and adoption by parents of the same species as the child, finding proper care for a kid was sometimes a challenge. Some species were generally more eager to foster, while others—not so much. Children’s homes around the country were supposed to serve as temporary care homes, though in reality, children often spent years in them, some never entering the foster care system.

And while children’s homes were well funded in terms of the basic necessities, there was one thing that the overworked staff couldn’t possibly offer their charges: affection.

That was the gap I filled with my volunteer work.

I spent the fifth day of my de facto solitary confinement crying silently on the couch while a stupid car racing movie played in the background. I kept thinking about the children I’d spent years becoming friends with, reading to, and playing with. I thought about some of the babies I rocked, hugged, and sang lullabies to days before this entire ordeal began, and I couldn’t stop sobbing into the couch cushion.

Who was going to give them warmth and connection now that I was gone?

Volunteers had to undergo a lengthy vetting process to even be allowed inside a children’s home. Few people felt like jumping through so many hoops only to read books to other people’s children, often of various species.

My loneliness, coupled with all the grief and longing for simple connection, made that day the most miserable one of my adult life. I’d kept it together until then, but I was only human. Finally, I had to crack.

After crying for a full day, I dozed off. I woke up in the middle of the night, still on the couch. The lights were turned off, and when I sat up, a soft blanket slid off my shoulders. Vodyan must have covered me when I slept.

That was when I decided I’d had enough. And even though Vodyan probably hated me, he was the only person available. The blanket showed he cared, at least, and that gave me hope.

I went to sleep in my bed, and the next morning, I knocked on his door.

When it remained closed, I pressed my ear to the cool surface. There were faint splashing noises, but otherwise, it was silent. I knocked again, louder this time. There was a sudden big splash, and then nothing.

I was already fuming at his rudeness when he finally spoke up. “Yes? Do you need me?”

Fuck, yes, I needed him. Treating his words as an invitation to come in, I opened the door and stepped inside.

“Whoa. This is different.”

My bedroom was generic in a minimalist, hotel-room sort of way. Vodyan’s room was a cavern. It was dark, the walls, ceiling and floor painted black and lit with faint, greenish lights placed just above the floor. The biggest source of light was a setup of over a dozen screens covering an entire wall.

A rectangular, sunken pool, also painted black, took up most of the room. It was filled almost to the brim with water, and Vodyan lounged inside, looking more relaxed than I’d ever seen him before.

His muscular arms were draped over the edge of the pool, and his tentacles spread wide, taking up the entire surface area. Manspreading, vodnik edition, I thought, my cheeks flushing with heat.

I didn’t know why, but the way he commanded so much space was wildly attractive. It spoke of power and confidence, and I drank him in until his blue eyes flashed as he sat up straighter.

“What is it?”

His voice was low and a bit hoarse, as if he hadn’t used it much and, in all fairness, that was probably the case. I cleared my throat, hesitantly taking a step closer.

“You have to talk to me,” I blurted out when I stood at the edge of the pool. “I’ll go crazy all on my own. I’m already halfway there.”

From the very edge, I saw the bottom of the pool was also lit with tiny pinpoints of green lights. They weren’t bright enough to spill out of the water, but etched his tentacles in an emerald glow. My hands burned with a need to touch him that was so powerful, it almost knocked me off my feet.

I hadn’t felt that need acutely during my five days of isolation, but now that I was in a room with another breathing, living person, my chest caved with the longing for touch. In my life before Matthias Carver, I hadn’t lived through a single day in which I hadn’t touched somebody, and now I was in withdrawal.

My hands shook.

The water splashed as Vodyan’s tentacles tangled together in a mesmerizing heap of powerful, muscular flesh. A big, dark sucker flashed in the light, and I bit the inside of my cheek to stop the words gathering on the tip of my tongue. If he refused me, I was ready to beg him for a crumb of connection.

God, this was embarrassing.

“What do you want to talk about?” he asked, turning so he faced me directly.

I almost sobbed with relief as I sank down to the floor and sat cross-legged on the damp tiles.

“Anything at this point. My life. Your life. The benefits of veganism. Chicken keeping. Art and architecture. This stupid movie I watched yesterday that I don’t even remember. We can talk about that eclectic porn collection that I, by the way, haven’t touched but felt tempted to. That’s how desperate I am for something that will keep me sane.”

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