Page 70 of Evil Hearts

“Not that way,” I growl through my clenched teeth. “Yourpieceswill stay out of my trousers, thank you very much, or I’ll cleave them to brisket.”

“Oh, dear me, it’s too early to discuss what’s in your trousers. No wonder you are so upset. That’s not what I meant at all. I didn’t give you eggs, pet. I gave you gills.” His voice deepens as I pull away. I sheathe my knife. “You are meant to be mine because your body didn’t reject the gill tissue I put between your ribs. It’s how we’ll travel…”

His words sail between us, but I no longer hear them. I lift my shirt to my dairy and trace my fingers over the slits. My two middle ribs have a bloody line the length of my rigging knife blade between them on both sides. There’s a line above my bottom rib too. Saltwater would burn those like the devil unless he scorched me when I was too out of it to notice. No wonder it burns to lift my arms—the kill devil played surgeon.

“Look, my skin’s dying out. I must return to the water,” he says, slumping into a heap on the ground. “Let me show you how to breathe underwater with your new gills. Once you masterit, I’ll take you on adventures and show you the sea as you’ve never known. If you hate it, I’ll dump you on the nearest boat or coastline. If you love it…”

“What? If I love it, you expect me to ride the St. George on your…” I raise an eyebrow at him as he slinks around me. There’s no way I’ll ever be desperate enough to quiff an octopus. I wouldn’t know what to stick up my quim, and what could be singular or plural. Oh, my, what’s wrong with me that the thought of my quim stuffed with tentacles covered in suckers raises my Jolly Roger?

“Ride the what? Oh, the phrases that pop out of your mouth are precious—” He pauses to sigh as his tentacles meet the water’s edge. I had no idea the power I had over the beast. He eats humans and is three times my size. However, if I keep him away from the water, he dries out in minutes.

“Yes,” he says with a groan as his tentacles disappear beneath the water’s surface. “If you love the adventure, you will agree to be mine. You will let me provide for you. When we aren’t traveling, you will live here. Eventually, when you feel ready, you will take my eggs and raise any young who happen to be communicating like myself. Those who are devoid of my skills will be released into the ocean.”

“And if I’m never ready?”

“Then you aren’t who I think you are,” he replies before dunking himself fully.

Why am I so offended? I held my blade to his head moments ago. Incapable of carrying eggs—me? I’ve carried wounded men—three times my size—on my back when cannonballs have hit them. My first chore was carrying rations to the men in the crow’s nest, scalding myself with tankards of spiked coffee as I climbed the ratlines. I fume with my fists clenched at my sides. When he surfaces, I’ll—

He doesn’t need to surface,pudding head,he’s an octopus.

I charge for the water. My stomping boots splash and slosh water up to my knees. I hope I stomp on his tentacles—although the element of surprise would have better suited me. White-hot pride burns in my heart as I cup my hand over my nose and mouth.

Let’s see what these gills can do.

Atlas

Now I wait.It shouldn’t take long for the little human to follow me into the water. I hurt her pride—an easy target when she wears it on her sleeve. She’s full of vinegar, the opposite of Maria’s sweetness. Jane hasn’t asked me for anything. Maria announced herself and demanded I make a fire immediately as if she were my queen. By the time we parted, she was. This little pet wants nothing but to escape. She’s like a delirious bird, rattling around in her cage.

She splashes into the water with the grace of a walrus.

Oh, how precious! She holds her tiny hands over her nose and mouth as if to stop them from stealing life-giving oxygen. Those won’t hold once her body realizes it must change its ways or die. I must intervene—even though I hate to damage the fragile truce building between us.

My tentacles coil around her to bring her close to me in the open water. If she can touch the bottom, this won’t work. She will use the ground as leverage to push her way to the surface. I must throw her into the worst-case scenario to make swimming with me seem easier. My three hearts ache as she allows me to draw her into my embrace. I’ve longed for affection and hate that I’m about to endanger it. She will experience the terror ofdrowning until she saves herself…or leans on me. I will never leave her side in the water.

We drift for precious seconds where I soak in her slight weight and tangling limbs against me.

Then her panic begins.

Eyes wide, she fights my hold with kicking legs and flailing arms. Her mouth presses shut, hiding her lips. Doesn’t she realize water rushes into her nose? She would be dead if her belly weren’t pumping water over the gills I etched into her torso. The button on her abdomen pulses against my tentacle with each breath she takes from the ocean, yet she claws at me to let her go to the surface.

I let her fight and strike at me for a few minutes in the hopes she’ll realize she’s safe. Her blunt nails score my tentacle as she fights to free herself. Every time she reaches upward to swim to the surface, I bat her arm down. Her boots bruise my tentacles with her kicks. She fights for her life when there’s no danger.

Oh, hell, she’s not going to catch on.

My thickest tentacle slithers up her body and coils around her arms to pin them to her side, leaving a gap for her gills to function. Bubbles expel from her mouth as she curses me in her colorful language. My suckers don’t like the taste of her shirt, but feast on the delicate skin between her collarbones. I sample every inch as my tentacle winds up her neck. Drunk on her essence, I wiggle the tip of my tentacle into her mouth.

The caress of her lips against my smaller, more sensitive suckers rolls my eyes into my bulbous head. To my delight, I’m not bitten—quite the opposite. She sucks on it as I explore her tongue and teeth. I press inside her mouth as far as a dare. She doesn’t need the orifice to breathe, but from what I remember, activating her gag reflex isn’t a pleasant sensation—and I want everything I give her to excite her.

She stops yanking her arms upward against my grip. Her legs wrap around one of my thicker tentacles. Does she hope to climb up it to my beak to injure me? Now I’m the one with difficulty trusting her. Relax the limbs. Sheathe the claws. She’s my mate. I allow her to cross her ankles, clamping tightly onto my tentacle. I wait for the pain. How will she attack? She could bite my suckers caressing her teeth—which would hurt more than the robust swimming tentacles her legs hug—

Oh.

She writhes and wiggles, pumping herself against me in the ways of human mating. My little pet has a hunger that doesn’t involve food. With a bond so fresh, she shouldn’t be affected by my mating fluids yet. It isn’t until her body associates my scent with pleasure that the dripping fluid from my suckers would induce the urge to mate. Unless this pet is a better match than Maria…better for carrying my eggs…easier to please…oh, my…

Her wicked little tongue darts between my suckers. They bend and fold on themselves to allow her invasion, electrifying me as if I’m fighting an eel. Her cheeks cave in between her jaw and cheekbones as she increases the suction on my tentacle—yet her lips’ hold forbids me to penetrate her deeper. Her shirt rides up as my tentacles slide back and forth up her body. I must gather her scent. I’m wild with need. Her fingers fight the laces on her trousers when I tease the tight buds of her nipples. Squeezing her breasts makes them more pronounced and easier to torment. My mating arm extends and releases fluid around us. It glides into her gills, inducing a mating frenzy I hadn’t thought possible so soon.

Could she have an egg for me to fertilize?

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