He never told me I was pathetic, stupid for hurting myself, useless for not staying put. There was no inkling of disappointment or disgust, no displeasure over having to deal with my injury.

He never raised his hand against me. Put his tentacles around my throat. Yanked me around.

No snide remarks have come over my injured hand either. I expected… I don’t know what I expected him to say when he noticed it. Maybe talk about how weak I am? Laugh at it? Goad me. Tease me. Tell me I deserved what happened, and I wouldn’t be sore if I hadn’t pushed him to do what he did.

None of that has come.

He’s a monster, but he’s not acting like one.

When he was raging so hard, he left to calm himself down. Then later, he forced himself to breathe through his anger. His touch was soft, and even though I could tell he wanted more, he didn’t even try to take his pleasure out on me, didn’t ask or suggest. He could’ve pulled my dress down or spread me wide and taken what he wanted, but he didn’t.

And I don’t know how to deal with that.

I don’t know how to deal with any of this.

Not how gentle he’s been. Not the weird, romantic, creepy shit he’s been saying. Not the fact that he’s taken me “to bed,” which apparently involves zero funny business. The man—kraken—slithered us over to the side-cave, lowered us to the moss, wrapped both versions of his arms around me, closed his eyes, and started snoring ten seconds later.

I was gobsmacked.

I’ve been fighting sleep for the past two hours; this façade of his is bound to break soon. He’s luring me into a false sense of comfort before he does whatever it is he plans on doing with me.

Tommy’s needs never waited for daylight or full consciousness. Even if I was fast asleep, anything went. If there is a way to stay awake forever, to avoid opening myself up to that vulnerability, I would do it.

I don’t want to be around to find out what Ordus’ true intentions are. I don’t want to find out when it’s being forced upon me.

No one kidnaps people from their home if they’re a good person. Maybe this is a common occurrence amongst his kind—if there are more of him—but as far as I’m concerned, it’s not an excuse. Every creature is capable of good and evil. He’s choosing the latter.

With nothing to do and every intention of watching him like a hawk in case his plan was to fake sleep then pounce, he’s been my sole focus.

Light trickles in through from the ribbons of bioluminescent algae. It’s hard to pinpoint Ordus’ exact shade, other than the fact that it’s very distinctly not quite human. Sometimes his skin holds a blue coloring, while other times, it’s a medium tan over the center of his body that radiates into a reddish brown along his shoulders, arms, forehead, and the bottom half of his body. The light, spotted markings are more prominent along his tentacles like the local reef octopuses, dotted around his brow bones, beneath his eyes, along his shoulders and arms.

I’ve noticed his tentacles sometimes change colors as they move over the ground, darkening over the grey stone before shifting to a lighter brown over the driftwood and coconuts, then glimmering blue close to the algae. Even now, there’s a greenish tinge to the tentacles resting on the moss or over my damp teal dress.

It’s fascinating.

In Ordus’ sleep, he carefully wrapped his tentacle around my injured arm, keeping it slightly bent at the elbow, the wrist cushioned over the thick limb. Maybe I’m losing my mind, but the appendage seems warmer than all the others. The suckers might also be puckering slightly—I can’t really tell from the pins and needles. Either way, the combination is weirdly soothing.

I would rather be knocked out by painkillers, though.

Movement sounds from the main cavern, jolting me out of my half-asleep state. I whip my attention toward the noise, unsure whether I should wake Ordus up or hope to whatever god listening that nothing bad is about to happen.

There’s a steady clack, clack, clack of claws against stone, and before I know it, the shark-dog is flopping himself against my back, shoving closer so he’s flat against me, sandwiched between me and Ordus.

I hesitate. “Can you really understand me?”

His tail thumps the ground.

I’ll take that as a yes.

“Can you get me out of here?”

He snorts.

“I need to get out of here. My friends will be⁠—”

He slaps me with his tail, as if to say, “Shut up. I’m trying to sleep.”

“Are you going to eat me?”

I contort my neck to watch him turn to look between me and Ordus. He shakes his head no but shows me his teeth in a confident yes.

That’s not very assuring.

Vasz—or fucking Vaszeline—lies back down, effectively dismissing me.

If someone really did lace my drink, I must be absolutely tripping balls to be able to come up with any of this.

I swallow, attempting to lubricate my mouth and throat. I’m half tempted to wake Ordus up to demand he fetch me water, but I’m pretty sure he’s just going to direct me to the pool.

I can’t imagine explaining humans only drink out of clean, bottled water will go down well.

Or that I can’t eat the fish unless he’s going to start a fire.

I fight sleep tooth and nail, forcing myself to keep my eyes open and mind alert to any change in breathing, atmosphere, or twitching. But at some point I lose the battle, because everything goes black.

The sound of movement comes from all around me, and my brows stitch together at the odd sensations. The taste of salt spreading over my tongue registers in my senses as something glides over my gums. Something is wrapped around my waist and legs. I can’t move.

No.

No.

Not again.

Panic sinks its claws into me like a vice. My eyes snap open, and I clamp my teeth down without caring if something gets bitten off. The thing leaves my mouth in an instant. Screams rip from my throat. I throw every ounce of my weight against the ropes holding me down.

I can’t fucking breathe.

How is this happening again?

He’s dead

Tommy’s dead.

I killed him.

He can’t be here.

My legs hit the soft floor, and I scramble back, choking on terror as the tears start to burn my eyes. I can just make out the shape of a giant through my blurry vision, and reality comes crashing in.

Ordus. The kraken.

Not Tommy. Not the Gallaghers.

But a ten-foot-tall monster who has me imprisoned, starved, dehydrated, and injured. He’s strong enough to kill me with a single swipe. And he was—he was doing something to me while I slept.

There’s nowhere for me to go. I can’t outrun him. I’m trapped with a raging bull, and I’m guaranteed to lose.

I can still taste seawater on my tongue and Tommy’s battery acid at the back of my throat.

I whimper, curling up against the wall, hugging my legs to make myself smaller. God, I wish I were anyone else but me. I wish I could rage and have the strength to tear his throat out instead of huddling up to the wall, hoping and praying it doesn’t hurt that much.

Ordus isn’t going to be happy by my reaction. I hit him, just tried to bite him. Not for the first time, but I would’ve worn his patience thin already. Bile lurches up my throat, and I swallow it back down to keep from angering him further. If I throw up, my punishment would be brutal enough to leave me twitching on the floor, unable to move.

Nothing good ever comes from sleep. I was right.

God, I want to fucking scream.

People don’t wake up and feel better, open their eyes then forgive and forget. The memory of all my indiscretions would still be fresh in his mind. I was given a pass yesterday. It never extends to the next. Tommy taught me that, and I’ve been too stupid to remember.

“Cindi.” His voice is quiet, cautious. Ordus lowers himself closer to the ground, slowly approaching me with his hands out, palms facing upward.