Page 13 of The Kraken Games

”How’s your breath control shaping up?”

“Good.” She thought about her trips underwater of late, fishing for her supper, or simply enjoying the deep. She’d always loved it below the surface. There, in the silence, she found peace. Sometimes she imagined—hoped—that was what it had been like for her mom and dad as they drowned. Peaceful.

But her little brother, Tomas. She was haunted by a constant, nagging uncertainty.

That somehow, somewhere, he could still be alive.

Remembering the kraken she’d met in the water two weeks back, she frowned. Why had she reacted like that? Since then, he’d occupied her thoughts, her dreams even. Only last night she’d dreamt of him. He’d swum toward her, touched her, his hand on her face, a tentacle pulling her close and then suddenlythe water had voided, and her little brother had been screaming in the kraken’s place.

The pleasure of being touched by a kraken had shattered, replaced by pain.

She’d woken with a start.

Aroused. Angry. Sad. All in one sweaty mess with the sheet rolled around her body.

She’d gotten up, made a mug of tea with shaky fingers, and walked out to watch the sun rise over the marsh grasses. The tiny blue and yellow wrens chittering in the cool damp morning air, the mist swirling away as the sun rose, like strange ghostly fingers. As she sipped her tea she’d tried to put the kraken out of her mind. After all, thoughts of kraken had caused her pain for so long, like some dark monster taking over her soul.

She didn’t need to be attracted to one of their evil kind. But it kept niggling at her: what if the kraken, the one that haunted her dreams, was her combatant.

Stop thinking. Focus.

Luna puffed up her chest and circled Marrick, eyes narrowed, pretending she was a she-wolf, and that this big green orc was small and feeble. Her prey.

“Catch me if you can, motherfucker,” she growled from deep in her throat.

An hour later when they broke for lunch, Marrick said, “I could kill for a bowl of chowder at Sweet Clams.”

“I had chowder last night.”

“Well, you can have shrimp then.”

“Ha, if Harper hasn’t given it all away.”

He cocked his head at her. Luna pulled a face. “She’s saving it for Noah.”

“Selkie Noah?”

“Yep.” Luna glugged down water, wiped her mouth on her arm. “Major crush.”

Marrick laughed. “Well, that rules me out then.”

“Didn’t know you were keen?”

“Harper’s super cute, but nah. I’m not ready to get serious, and she’s the commitment type.”

They chatted easily as they made their way to the quay. It was a fair walk from the East Quarter where Marrick and most of the orcs hung out, but it was a lovely morning. The wind was blowing the smog seaward, so for once the air was relatively pollution free. She’d have to go to work later, and the cleaner air on the docks would be appreciated.

But for now, with her big green friend at her side and a productive morning of wrestling under her belt, Luna felt almost… happy. It was a rare thing for her.

When they reached Sweet Clams, a quaint old building standing alone between rows of containers and cranes, with its thick Malibar stone walls and the criss-cross lead windows that belonged to a previous era of Motham, there was a big crowd gathered outside.

Luna was surprised. There was always a line for chowder, but this was unusual even by Sweet Clams’ standards. “Guess there’ll be no free shrimp for Noah today.” She smirked.

But as they got closer, her smile turned to a frown. “They’re not queuing for chowder.” A group was gathered around one of the outdoor tables on the sidewalk outside the café.

They were holding out bits of paper, notebooks, and pens to someone seated at the table.

The crowd parted as a gaggle of giggling kids backed away, comparing notes.

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