It’s a lie. He’s not surrendering. He’s lulling me into a false sense of security.

I swallow an angry, fearful sob, keeping my head down, gaze averted, not daring to make a sound, even though I want to scream for being the way I am, for not being strong enough to look him in the eye and tell him to go fuck himself.

I wish I buried that blade into his neck yesterday so I didn’t have to discover every fear I had was true.

Ordus is a monster, one as bad as the rest of them.

I was beginning to think maybe he isn’t a monster. Maybe he’s just misunderstood. Maybe he’s nothing like the faces I passed day after day, fooling me into believing the true monsters are the ones hiding beneath the bed while they smile with their straight teeth.

I’m a fool for thinking he held any goodness in him last night when all he wanted was to wait until I was asleep before taking advantage of me. I don’t know what he’s done to me. My underwear feels like it’s in place. My dress is right. It doesn’t feel like anything has been in there.

Still, I have no way of escaping. Scaling the wall to get to the hole proved impossible. With Vasz playing guard dog, I won’t make it far. And what? Do I think it’d be even remotely possible to outswim Ordus if I fail at killing him?

This is all my fault.

I should have stayed awake, ran at the first sign of trouble days ago. I should never have stopped moving.

My tongue flicks over my dry, chapped lips. I covertly feel the ground around me for the weapon I fell asleep with, but I come up empty. I start to shuffle back, only to stop when an indiscernible rumble starts in his chest.

“Don’t,” I whisper, staring at the two tentacles coming toward me.

I flinch when one gently wraps around my ankle with hardly any pressure; I could yank myself out of his hold with ease. Ordus speaks before I get the chance to run.

“I was looking at your teeth.”

My stare flicks up to his. “What?” I run my tongue over my gums to make sure nothing is missing.

“You were obviously badly injured, yet you told me you were fine. I was…checking for anything else that might be bringing you pain. Sometimes—sometimes, my tooth aches, and I do not want to eat. I thought perhaps…” Ordus’ brows flatten as every guilt-laden word drips out from him. He sinks onto the moss across from me, shoulders slumped, filling the cave with his tentacles.

I study his face for signs of malice or manipulation in the crinkle around his eyes or the downward tilt of his lips. Except it’s like looking at a reflection. His self-loathing is written in the pain behind his eyes and the slightest tremble in his hands. That’s not something anyone can fake. My chest squeezes, and I’m struck with the urge to tell him it’s alright, to apologize for accusing him of something so heinous—but I can’t have that type of weakness.

“I—” He stops, clears his throat, and drops his gaze to the tentacle wrapped around my ankle. “I am unsure how to help with your arm, but it is possible for me to forage for supplies to treat other issues.”

I notice belatedly that the sound he started making is his purr, not a growl.

My attention falls on the fresh wrapping around my feet and shin. He’s…he’s telling the truth.

Ordus might have been taking advantage of me while I was asleep, but it was just… It was for my benefit.

At least, I think it was just for my benefit.

“Why do you care?” My words crack and scratch from the lack of water.

The tentacle curls up around my calf. He raises his hand like he wants to touch me. Thinking better of it, he drops it to his side, holding my gaze with a weight that’s suffocating in its reverent intensity. “You are my mate.”

My stomach drops. He’s said it a few times already, called me his mate. Whether out of pure delusion or genuine fear, I disregarded it, shoved it to the back of my mind. Too many crazy things have happened.

“Are you Australian?” I blurt.

Please say yes.

I’ve read enough romance books to know the alternative is something I’m not willing to accept as fact.

Even though, apparently, krakens are fucking real.

If a mate or soulmate means the same thing to him, as it does in every single fated mates book on the market and the general world renown meaning of a soulmate, then there is absolutely no way I’m getting out of here.

“Your soul called to me from across the sea.” Ocean-blue eyes hold mine with the ferocity of a chemical fire. It’s an oath, adoration packaged in possession. “The moment I saw you, the course of my life was altered to become wholly devoted to you, your every whim, your every thought, need. The Goddess deemed I belong to you, and you belong to me. The rest of my days are yours. If you are not with me, I will cease to exist.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

I’m screwed.

Completely and utterly screwed.

I think I’m going to have another panic attack.

My pulse races. “The Goddess was wrong.”

Ordus’ look of honeyed admiration fractures. The brittle edges of his cracked mask splits open. His guilt and sorrow seeps through, casting his skin in a sullen shade. “She is never wrong. You feel it too.” He adds the last part hesitantly.

“I feel nothing but contempt.”

What I feel is, I’m about to relive years of abuse in a less-gilded cage. My experiences have made me soft and touch-deprived enough that I would seek any semblance of pleasure from someone who’s keeping me hostage. I’ve been without warmth for so long, I’m willingly touching fire.

What I am feeling isn’t the effects of fate or a divine being. No, it’s the side effects of a broken psyche drowning beneath a decade of failures.

We aren’t mates.

I’m not here to question the existence of the concept or the will of who decides pairings. I know deep in my heart that my reaction to him isn’t the result of fate, but of desperation. Ordus is attractive, strong, and has been gentle with me in a way I forgot was possible.

Whether he’s lying to me or he genuinely believes it to be true, whatever it is, it’s not because we’re mates. He’s got it wrong.

Ordus winces like I’ve struck him. I almost feel guilty for it. The reaction is more extreme than the times I really did stab him, and those cracks widen. His guilt and self-loathing aren’t oozing out anymore—it’s pouring, spilling down my paling skin to pool at my torn feet.

“I’m sorry.” His shoulders fall, dejection thick in his voice. “There is nothing I can do.”

“Let me go,” I whisper, frowning at the building pain in my elbow and fingers. I massage my shoulder and tricep muscles. “Return me to the house.”

He tips his head to the side to study me. “You’re like that bird that repeats the same words.”

“A parrot?”

“Yes, yes.” He sighs, eyes brightening at my amusement. “Let go of me. Take me home. Don’t touch me.”

Is he…teasing me? What the fuck? “Probably because that’s what I want,” I snap.

I gasp when a tentacle wraps around my bad arm and does a weird, warming, puckering thing that distracts me from the pain,

“Then I suggest you find new desires, mate.” The creases around his eyes soften.

“No, Ordus.” I shake my head slowly. If there’s one thing he’s said I believe to be true, it’s that he’ll never let me go—the jury’s still out about my safety. He needs to understand staying here will kill me. “You care about me, right?”

“Of course.” He nods, brow wrinkling in annoyance that I’m even suggesting he doesn’t. “More than anything.”

His answer tips my axis. I believe him at the same time I reel at the blatant manipulation.

I’d rather be a cynic than be made a fool of again.

“Then you can’t keep me down here. I’ll grow crazy. I need food and water,” I insist.

A piercing pain shoots through my stomach at the reminder. The last time I was deprived of food and water, it was because Tommy thought I embarrassed him at dinner because I reached over someone to get something. It was so mundane, I can’t remember who or what was involved.