Thomas Gallagher was never the cuddly type. I had foolishly assumed his way of showing me he cared about me was through gifts and quality time. In hindsight, he was only buying my freedom.

Blue light filters through the darkness, and I blink against the first pass of the glowing algae. We’re plunged into darkness again before the light grows until it’s near blinding.

The dome pops. Saltwater rushes into my mouth before I break past the surface, gasping for air. I swing my attention toward the sound of movement. Vasz perks up into a sitting position and patiently watches as Ordus lowers me to my feet.

My legs wobble from fatigue and overuse, and he catches me before my knees can slam against the hard ground. He sets me closer to Vasz, deposits my things against another wall, gives me a swift, “I will return soon. Stay,” and he’s off, leaving me in my jail cell for the indeterminate future.

I blink at the space he once occupied. Before I can begin to question where he’s going in such a rush, Vasz nudges my shoulder then stares down at the coconut skin he’s dropped beside me. His eyes flick between me and the fruit.

“Thank you,” I say, cautiously patting his head. “Keep it.” I sigh, pushing the coconut back to him. “You deserve it.”

Silver lining? I’ve always wanted a dog.

OceanofPDF.com

19

Ordus

“Please,” the human begs, throat bobbing against my hand.

I believe it might be his third time saying that word. Or the fifth. I’m unsure. I was distracted again.

Leaving her behind on the island makes me nauseous, but I’m comforted by the fact that she isn’t alone. Vasz is protective of what he deems as his. I’ll allow him to view Cindi as his Queen Mate if it means he will play guard while I’m away.

I don’t like it, but I will allow it—for now.

He’s cheap labor. That mutt will do anything for a coconut husk.

“Is it money? Do you want money? I have money?” the tourist rambles.

No. I have money, should I need it. If I do not have any, I can just take it anyway.

I squeeze his throat and use a quarter of my power to slam him against the wall. His yellow hair falls over his face as he grips my arm in panic.

As I left the island, I didn’t have a set plan as to whom my prey would be, only that they be in the right place at the right time for me to drag them behind a building enshrouded in darkness.

The tourist was the first convenient male.

He opens his mouth too much. And should bathe. And look into his oral health—teeth shouldn’t be that yellow.

“I have questions,” I say carefully. I’m in my human form, but anything I ask cannot give away that I am…not as I appear. Granted, I do not look like the average human either.

The male shakes his head frantically. “I don’t know anything, man.”

He’s a human. So, yes, he does know.

“How do you make fish edible for your ki—you?” I correct myself, loosening my hold to allow him to speak.

“I… Is this a joke?” His brow line flattens. “Did Mitch put you up to this? Because if he did, you can tell him I’m kicking his ass and telling Chelsea he was chattin’ up a hooker last night.” He forces a chuckle.

“Answer.” My patience is waning.

“Seriously?” He chokes when I retighten my grip. Humans are so annoying. Not my Cindi, though. Well—no. She’s perfect. “What the fuck is this? It ain’t funny, man.”

I want to kill him. It would take me less than two seconds. He wouldn’t have time to see it coming.

Alas, I cannot kill the human yet. His brain still holds use.

For now.

“I will ask you one more time. How do you make it?” I’d like to learn for my mate, prove to her I can provide for her and any future cubs we may have.

“Okay, okay.” He holds up his hand in surrender. “I cook it? I don’t know. What do you want me to say?”

“How?” I growl. Does he take me for a fool?

“Are you—” I shake him. Have humans always been this difficult? “Okay, fuck, okay.” He raises his hands, palms up again. “On—on a pan, or a skillet, or—or a grill.”

What are they? “From the start. Step-by-step⁠—”

His forehead wrinkles. Whatever useless thoughts filter through his head must be put aside, because he does as I command. “I—I mean like—” He swallows. “My pops would skin it, gut it, and give it to me sealed. I’d wash it, pat it down, drop some butter in a pan, throw some seasoning in, then add the fish. Fuck, I think that’s it. I don’t know, man. I can’t cook for shit. Is that what you want to hear? Can I go now?”

This pan again?

“No. Show me.” There are human establishments that serve food. I’ve tried looking, but there’s no way for me to see how they do it without arousing suspicion or killing more people than necessary.

“Like—like a video?”

I nod. I’ve heard humans talk about videos before. It’s not a word I have been able to translate into my language.

“Okay, okay. Yeah. A video. Yea—” He reaches into his pocket and holds his hands up to stop me from slamming him into the wall again. “Woah, woah, woah. I’m just taking my phone out. Chill.”

Phone. A sound? Voice? What is that?

The tourist reaches into his pocket, and I frown. I do not understand how the small rectangular box helps. I’ve seen many, many humans hold something like that—more so recently. They sometimes hold it up to their ear or stick wires into it. I’ve never cared to look closer. Maybe Cindi has one of these phone things? Will she be happy if I give her one?

The male’s hands shake as he taps the black box. Light suddenly flashes, and a still dog appears on it. A photo, I believe the humans call it. I’ve seen many on paper around the mainland. It is far superior to the paintings and art we have at the palace. It’s like magic in the way it glows.

My eyes widen as the images on the box change with every flick of his fingers.

Maybe I will also get myself a…phone. It may be useful.

“YouTube good?”

I nod. I don’t know what that is either.

I release his neck to stand beside him to better see this…phone. He taps on a square, then symbols appear on the screen.

I never learned how to read English, but Mother insisted we learn the native language of the humans on the mainland. Admittedly, it’s been many years since I’ve attempted to read anything, and I’m finding it difficult to recall the phonetics for the tourist’s language.

Several images of human food pop onto the box. He clicks on the one with a snapper, and the picture begins to move. A male’s voice filters through the device.

Fascinating.

I will gift a phone to Cindi. My mate can watch the moving photos too, if she wishes.

My full concentration is on the device as the male talks through scraping off the scales of a fish, gutting it, then what they call filleting it.

“You do not like the bones?” I confirm with my prey.

“Uh…yeah?”

I nod. I understand. The scales are sharp, and the bones sometimes get stuck between my teeth. Cindi should never experience that.

I continue watching the human on the device clean the fish, then tap it dry. The male sprinkles salt and pepper—I will search for this—on both sides before pouring oil—I will add this to the list as well—on a flat silver item with curved sides.

Is that what that is called? A pan? Cindi packed something similar, except it had rounded edges that looked more like a bowl.

Now that I really think about it, I think I saw one in that shape but much smaller, in black. She was running around the house throwing things into bags, taking it out again, putting it back in, swapping it out for another item. I did my best to catalogue every item she was interested in bringing, but my efforts were mainly spent moving around to cushion her as she inevitably stumbled. I lost count of how many times she would’ve hit the edge of a table if my tentacle hadn’t been there.