Page 32 of Kiss for My Kraken
She watched him eat, fascinated as always by the subtle differences in his movements—the fluid grace, the controlled power. Over the past week, she’d cataloged a hundred small details: how his skin seemed to shimmer in certain lights, how his eyes brightened when she arrived, how his tentacles curled and uncurled when he was thinking deeply.
“Take me to your island,” she said suddenly.
He paused mid-bite, studying her face. “Now? In daylight?”
“Yes.” She gestured to the sky. “It’s beautiful out. I want to see your home in the sunshine.”
He hesitated, glancing around at the open water. “Someone might see.”
“Who? There’s never anyone on this stretch of river.” She leaned forward, dropping her voice. “Please, Sam? I’ve only seen it at night.”
His resistance visibly crumbled. With a nod, he disappeared beneath the surface, returning moments later with the small rowboat he kept hidden under her dock.
“Your chariot,” he said dryly, steadying the boat as she climbed in.
Ozzie hopped in after her, settling in the bow with the familiarity of a dog who’d made this journey before. Sam sent the boat cutting through the water with effortless speed.
The journey to the island took less than five minutes. What had seemed mysterious and shadowy by night was revealed as lush and vibrant by day. Weeping willows trailed their branches in the water. Wild roses scrambled over rocks. Bees hummed lazily around clusters of wildflowers. The island wasn’t large—perhaps half a mile across at its widest point—but it felt like its own complete world.
“It’s even more beautiful than I remembered,” she said, turning in a slow circle to take in the surroundings.
“You’ve only seen it twice,” he reminded her, but pleasure warmed his voice.
“Twice was enough to know I love it here.” She caught herself, wondering if the word “love” had been too forward, but he didn’t look alarmed. “How long have you lived here?”
“Ten years.”
“How old were you when you came here?”
“Twenty, perhaps. Or twenty-one.” He reached for the cabin door, holding it open for her. “I lost track of time.”
Inside the cabin, sunlight streamed through the windows, catching dust motes and turning them to gold.
“It looks different in daylight,” she observed, moving to the window that overlooked the water. “More like a home and less like a dream.”
He watched her from near the door, his expression guarded. “Does that disappoint you?”
“No.” She turned to face him fully. “It makes it real. I like real.”
Something shifted in his eyes—relief, perhaps, or hope.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “I have fruit. And bread from Grondar’s bakery.”
“I’m fine. May I join you?” she asked, gesturing to the open hatch where his lower body rested.
He hesitated, then nodded. She moved to sit at the edge of the channel, her feet dangling in the cool water. From this position, she could see more of him—the powerful tentacles that replaced legs, the gradual transition from human torso to something altogether different.
“Does it bother you?” he asked quietly, watching her face.
“No.” She meant it. The strangeness of his form had faded with familiarity, replaced by appreciation for its beauty and function. “I’m curious, that’s all.”
Their eyes met, and something electric passed between them. He moved closer, the water rippling around him, and reached for her hand, his touch sending shivers up her arm.
“I want to understand your world,” she said quietly. “Not just watch from the shore.”
A complex emotion flickered across his face—vulnerability mixed with longing. “Are you sure?”
Instead of answering him, she rose to her feet, then reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head, revealing the simple cotton underwear beneath. His eyes widened, his skin darkening with what she now recognized as desire.
