Page 8 of Bombshell

Kit was a human who’d come to Port Haven almost a year ago in order to learn freediving from the bar’s owner Randy—a merman with a beer belly who was gruff and rarely ever smiled.

The woman herself also rarely ever smiled, her blue eyes quick to skewer any of the supes who tried to flirt with her in place. She was scarier than any monster I’d ever seen and unfortunately the kid in front of me was completely smitten.

Santi’s cheeks flushed a dark red as he looked over his shoulder at her before glaring at Cash.

“Shut up,” he managed to sputter, his human skin rippling for just a moment to show the inhuman glowing green eyes beneath. “Don’t act so high and mighty just because you’ve got a wife now.”

Cash grinned, clearly happy that he’d managed to get underneath the other man’s skin—quite literally. “But it does make me high and mighty.”

The gargoyle stood and rifled through his wallet for some cash, tossing it down onto the table. “Now, if you boys will excuse me, this man has to head back to his wife before it gets too late.”

Before he left, Cash shot me a look. “If I were you, I’d apologize to Effie before it’s too late. You know she’s the most stubborn person in the entire shop and that’s saying something because you also hired Ambrose.”

With that, the gargoyle pulled the collar of his jacket up and stepped out into the cold February night, leaving me alone with Santi who was still muttering obscenities under his breath.

“Boss,” the kid began, using his nickname for me, “You’ve got to figure out your shit with Miss Effie and knock that rockhead off of his high horse.”

I just shook my head, taking a swig of my fresh beer. “Kid, you know I would if I could.”

Unfortunately for me, I’d chosen the most obstinate woman on this side of the hemisphere.

Well, chosen was maybe not the best word for it.

Fated was more like it.

From the day that I found Euphemia Finch water-logged and miserable sitting at the end of the Wharf with only a small duffel bag full of her things, I’d had a feeling she’d be someone special.

At first, I thought I was just helping her like I’d spent most of my life helping other supernatural creatures.

Before the Accords which allowed us to step into the light and be acknowledged by humans, I’d been at the forefront of protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves. After the Accords I’d moved to Port Haven to enjoy a slower life, bringing Cash and a very reluctant Ambrose with me.

So when Effie needed me, I kept telling myself it was for that reason.

We hadn’t been in our current shop location yet, inhabiting what was once a tiny old tackle shop next door to what was now known as Monstrous Ink. But when I saw her sitting in the rain, her pale green hair hanging around her face as she stared off into the foggy bay, I found myself reaching out to her.

She’d needed someone then and had been so young—only eighteen years old at the time.

I brought her back to the shop and set her up in the tiny apartment upstairs and she’d lived there ever since. I’d even gone so far as to expand her little apartment when the fancy restaurant owner next door sold his place.

The longer I knew her, the more I gravitated toward her, writing the protectiveness off as her just being one of my people.

Then she’d come to me with a harebrained scheme to use my ink in our tattoos to make them last longer.

Inking had always been an embarrassing evolutionary reaction that Cthulhu had when their emotions became too strong. It was like blushing—though we did that too—and I’d never done it in front of her before.

But somehow she’d gotten her mitts on a dusty old tome that wrote about my species’ ink and it had tickled the magical part of her brain to the point of her bringing it up to me.

That day I told her there was no way I was ever going to get angry enough that I would lose control and ink would come out.

Then Effie had lowered her pretty green lashes, her cheeks flushing and highlighting the green freckles on her nose, and she asked what if anger wasn’t the emotion we used to trigger it.

Realization had dawned on me like a damned boulder and I’d immediately rejected her, my mind suddenly filled with naughty thoughts that I never let myself fully consider.

She then continued to bring it up for the next few months, pestering me until I finally gave in, figuring that my ink would be a useless pursuit and we could both get it out of our systems.

I’d been a fucking idiot.

The first night we’d slept together Effie came away with fifteen bottles of ink and I’d come away with the realization that she was my mate. MyAnam Cara.

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