Page 11 of Rising from the Depths

For years, Kronus had dismissed another kraken, Arkon, as being foolish for pursuing similar creative endeavors. All the kraken had, save for Jax the Wanderer, the one who’d changed everything by rescuing a human female during a storm. What would Arkon think if he knew Kronus had been shaping blocks of wood into crude figures?

Arkon’s opinion wouldn’t have made a difference, but Kronus had a feeling the other kraken would’ve been enthusiastic and supportive despite Kronus’s past behavior. That was a hard truth to accept.

Every truth revealed over the last two years had been hard to accept.

Kronus had spent his time in The Watch clinging to whatever distractions he could find — working with the fishermen, venturing into the outskirts of the jungle to find suitable wood for burning and carving, and cooking food; they were all things he wouldn’t have done were it not for the humans. Each task was a little escape from the memories ceaselessly roiling just under the surface. Every task granted a brief reprieve from the hardest truth of all — the truth ofhimself.

He adjusted his hold on the wooden figure and set the knife to it again. It was best not to follow those paths of thought, best not to reflect upon why he’d shaped the wood into the form of a human female.

He’d done his part already. There was no reason for further concern, no reason to think aboutheranymore.

Gritting his teeth, he slid the blade along the outside of the figurine’s thigh, slicing away a tiny ridge left by his prior shaping. He continued to smooth the imperfections along the leg, frowning as he found new ones to correct. The gradually building tension in his hands was lost to him until it was too late. The blade sank deep into the wood, splitting off a large chunk. He halted the knife and tried to ease it back before causing further damage.

The blade slipped. With asnap, the figurine’s leg broke off at the knee.

Kronus stilled but for his trembling hand. After seeing to the dead razorback on the day of the attack, he’d given in to Breckett’s gruff insistence and gone to the clinic to have the gashes on his back tended. While Aymee had sealed Kronus’s wounds, she’d mentioned that they’d had to amputate Eva’s leg just below her knee.

The deaths of the three humans and the grievous wound Eva had suffered crashed down on him again, as they had so many times over the last five days. He released a harsh breath through his siphons as his chest constricted. Dropping the carving and setting down the knife, he grasped the edge of the table and shoved it away before taking his temples between forefinger and thumb.

All he’d wanted in The Watch was a fresh start, a chance to distance himself from his past mistakes, an opportunity to move on from his guilt. What had happened to Eva and her companions was not his fault, and he had no reason to feel responsible for it. He had no reason to care beyond three of the four victims being females.

And yet Eva had remained a steady presence in his head. Images of her flashed through his mind constantly — her steady stare, brimming with barely restrained curiosity before the attack; her panicked, wide-eyed expression as Kronus had taken hold of her; the contrast of crimson against pale sand. Sometimes, he thought he still felt her cold, weak, desperate grip on his wrist and tasted her blood on his suction cups.

He looked at the one-legged figurine again. He’d never meant for it to be Eva, but it had become her despite his efforts and intentions.

Kronus needed something else to occupy his mind. Night had not quite fallen, and it would feel all the longer if he couldn’t shift his thoughts away from Eva, if he couldn’t find peace or—

There was a knock at the door.

He drew himself upright abruptly, hearts booming. A warm tingling sensation spread across the surface of his skin. He stood for several moments with hands raised, ready to fight, before he realized his skin had shifted to an angry red.

The knock sounded again. Though loud in the relative quiet of his den, it conveyed no threat; there was an odd hesitance to it.

Kronus lowered his hands and reverted to his normal color as he moved to the door. Keeping his body back, he extended a tentacle and grasped the latch. He opened the door warily; he was unaccustomed to visitors, and he was completely taken aback by who stood outside.

Aymee’s dark eyes met his, and she smirked. “Surprised to see me, I take it?”

He glanced past her, ensuring that she was alone. “Why are you here?”

“You know, it’s usually customary to greet someone or invite them inside when they come to visit.”

Drawing in a deep breath, he willed his hearts to slow. “Hello. Why are you here?”

Aymee stared at him silently for a moment, her face void of expression, but then she snorted and broke into laughter. “Still haven’t forgiven me for punching you?”

Kronus’s brows dropped low, and he scowled. “I have no patience for games.” He shifted himself forward, grasped the door handle in one hand, and pushed the door closed.

Aymee stepped forward and pressed her hand against the door, stopping it before it shut completely. “Okay, I’m sorry. No messing with Kronus, got it. I came because I thought you might want to know that Eva woke up yesterday.”

A pulse of warmth flowed through him, speeding his hearts again. “And?”

“Are you going to open the door, or are we going to talk through it?”

Sighing, he backed away and pulled the door open again. Aymee stepped inside. Whatever playfulness had gleamed in her eyes a few moments before was gone now.

“Is she all right?” he asked, voice low.

“She’s…not so good. Mentally, that is.” She glanced around the room, then met his eyes again. “She doesn’t remember what happened.”

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