Page 72 of Rising from the Depths

He halted and slipped his hands to her backside to support her. Relief flooded him suddenly, unexpectedly, and he pressed his lips to hers in a desperate kiss. All those thoughts he’d cast aside earlier — all the things that could have happened — rushed back to him in that moment. He let them come so he could cast them all aside. She was safe, she was in his arms. That was what mattered. He would not torture himself over what could have been when he had everything he wanted, here andnow.

Her lips moved over his, kissing him back just as fiercely. When she pulled back, her eyes met his. “Take me home, Kronus.”

Chapter 20

Leaning both elbows on the table, Kronus dipped his head to study the little figure, turning it delicately between the pads of his fingers. He flicked his eyes to the piece of paper laid on the table nearby. Aymee had drawn a reference of the creature based on holograms from the Facility after extracting a promise from Kronus to make a wooden carving of one for each of the younglings who lived in the houses along the ridge. He’d reluctantly agreed.

This one was both the first and the most special. He was surprised all its limbs remained intact; two more months of practice since the incident with Blake hadn’t much improved Kronus’s skill, but he was determined to keep to his word. Absently sliding his tongue between his lips, he carefully carved a tiny sliver of wood away from the figurine’s eye.

When this carved octopus was done, it would await the birth of his coming youngling and be the baby’s first gift.

He glanced at the drawing again. The tentacles and siphons were familiar, as were the pupils, but the rest of it seemed so alien and strange. Arkon had explained that these creatures — native to the same far away, impossible planet humans had come from — had served a major role in the kraken’s creation. Kronus wasn’t sure if he believed it or not, but he’d learned not to question Arkon on such matters.

Putting the carving tool down, he held the octopus and its curling tentacles flat on the palm of his hand and raised it to the light streaming in through the window.

Arms slid around his neck, and Eva pressed against his back.

“It’s coming along,” she said.

“Is not the sayingit’s coming along nicely?” he asked, emphasizing the last word.

Eva laughed. “It’s coming alongnicely.” She lightly trailed the tip of her finger over one of the wooden tentacles. “It’s cute.”

“I intended for it to be menacing, not cute.”

She turned her head and nipped at his siphon. It sent a tingling thrill across his skin. “Nothing can be as menacing as you.”

He smiled, choosing to take that as a compliment. “Aymee said she would paint them when they are done. Would it be menacing if she painted this one orange?”

Eva hummed, and he could hear the smile in her tone. “It would look just like its father.”

Father. It wasn’t a word he’d ever thought about before humans came to the Facility; males sired younglings, that was all. But now that word filled him with equal parts joy, anticipation, and terror. It didn’t seem a role for which one could prepare. As Jax had said, it was a matter of learning as you went along.

Somehow, that was more intimidating than a razorback hunt — and more exciting.

Kronus reached forward and placed the wooden octopus on the windowsill. As he did so, Eva plucked up the carving he’d made before she came to share his den — the one-legged human female.

“I still can’t believe the leg broke off this by accident,” she said.

“Do you doubt my honesty, female?” he asked, turning within her arms to face her.

“No,” she replied, setting the figurine down and smiling at him. “I’d call it…fate.”

“A suitable enough word.” He raised a hand and cupped the back of her head, drawing her down into a kiss. Her body molded to his, and she moaned against his mouth as her lips parted to accept his claim.

When he finally broke the kiss, he leaned his forehead against hers. “I hunger, Eva.”

“Well, the picnic is due to start soon.”

“Too many people. I would rather stay here.”

“You promised you would go.”

He growled low in his chest. “I do not hunger forfood.” He moved his hands down her sides while sliding a pair of his tentacles up her legs, slowly lifting her skirt.

“We’re going to be late,” she whispered, but her gentle shiver conveyed urgency only for one thing.

As the hem of her skirt reached her mid-thigh, he rose to his full height, lifted her off the floor, and turned to face the table. With one hand, he swept the wood shavings and tools off the surface.

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