Page 67 of Kiss for My Kraken
“Sam,” she gasped, her eyes wide and unfocused. “I’m?—”
“I know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Let go.”
She obeyed, letting the pleasure crest and break over her, wave after wave of ecstasy leaving her trembling and breathless. He held her through it, his movements never slowing, prolonging her orgasm until she was limp and boneless beneath him.
Only then did he let himself follow her into bliss, his own climax shuddering through him, filling her with liquid warmth. He collapsed against her, his weight a comfortable anchor as they both floated in a haze of satisfaction and love.
After what could have been minutes or hours, he carefully extricated himself from her embrace, slipping from her body andtransforming back into his more human shape. She made a soft sound of protest at the loss, and he chuckled softly.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, gathering her against his side and pulling a blanket over them both. “I just don’t want to crush you.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst way to go,” she mumbled sleepily. “What happens now?”
“Now?” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Now we sleep.”
“And then we live,” she finished for him, smiling against his skin. “Happily ever after.”
“Is that how human stories end?” he asked curiously.
She nodded. “The good ones.”
He was quiet for a moment, his hand tracing lazy patterns on her back. “I think I like human stories,” he finally said.
“Good,” she murmured, already drifting towards sleep, secure in his embrace. “Because ours is just beginning.”
As sleep claimed her, the images of the day drifted through her mind—the festival lights, the dancing, the acceptance in the eyes of her new community. But most of all, she carried the certainty that she had found her place in the world, her person, her home.
In Fairhaven Falls. With Sam. Forever.
It was, indeed, the perfect happy ending.
And an even better beginning.
EPILOGUE
Two months later…
Sam brokethrough the thin layer of ice with barely a ripple, slicing effortlessly through the frigid water. The December cold that turned the river’s edges to ice had little effect on him—kraken biology had its advantages. He surveyed the frozen shoreline, admiring how the fresh snow transformed Fairhaven Falls into something from a storybook.
White-dusted pines stood sentinel along the banks. The tavern’s warm lights glowed in the distance, a beacon in the early winter twilight. He’d make his way there soon to meet Nina after her shift, but first, he needed to check on the beaver dam upstream.
Almost two months had passed since the Halloween festival, two months of profound change. The transition from solitary river dweller to active community member had been less jarring than he’d expected. He found himself looking forward to his interactions with the townspeople, no longer viewing them as potential threats but as neighbors, even friends.
He dove deeper, his body perfectly adapted to the cold currents. Fish scattered before him, their silver bodies flashing in the murky light. The river felt different in winter—quieter, more contemplative, as if it too were conserving energy for spring’s inevitable return.
The beaver dam appeared intact, a solid construction of branches and mud that created a small, sheltered pool. The family had settled in for winter, their lodge secure against predators, and he moved on, satisfied. These small ecological checks had once been his private ritual; now they formed part of his regular reports to Aidan. Aidan’s initial interest in his observations had turned into weekly meetings to compare notes on water quality, wildlife patterns, and seasonal changes.
As he headed back to town, he reflected on how radically his existence had changed. His world had been defined by the river’s boundaries for so long, but now his days included regular ventures onto land, conversations with townsfolk, even attendance at community events.
Just last week, he’d helped judge the winter ice sculpture contest, his unique understanding of water in all its forms proving surprisingly useful. Children greeted him by name, begging for stories about life beneath the river’s surface. Some even left small offerings—colorful stones or handmade crafts—at the edge of the dock, gifts he reciprocated with polished river treasures.
The tavern came into view and he surfaced carefully, scanning for observers out of habit before pulling himself onto the small platform Ben had installed specifically for his visits. He shed his river form—not completely, never completely—but enough to walk comfortably on land, then dressed quickly in the clothes he’d stored in a waterproof container at the back of the platform.Simple jeans, a thick sweater Nina had chosen, boots. Still strange, still constraining, but increasingly familiar.
He made his way around to the front of the tavern, nodding to a few people he knew. Old Mrs. Hendricks waved cheerfully from across the street, no longer startled by his presence. Each small interaction reinforced his growing sense of belonging.
The tavern’s warmth hit him as he entered, along with the mingled scents of pine, cinnamon, and Ben’s famous winter stew. Christmas decorations hung from every available surface—Nina’s influence, no doubt. The grumpy proprietor had initially resisted her enthusiasm but eventually surrendered to her persistent holiday spirit.
“Look what the river dragged in,” George called from behind the bar, his werewolf senses having detected Sam’s arrival before the door fully opened.
