I’m curious to see how the fish tastes when it’s prepared in such a way.

“That.” I point at the metal thing the pan is on. The box goes weird when I touch it.

Wait. Yes.

The humans burn their food first. On fire. How did I forget?

I paid attention to where the humans were and where their attention was locked onto, but never much more than that.

I never cared to know how the humans lived beyond the trivial matters of where they congregate or the words coming out of their mouths. Had I known my mate would be human, I would’ve begun learning their customs years ago.

“A stove?” I do not appreciate the tourist’s condescending tone. “Seriously, dude. Is this a prank? Are you high? Because I’m⁠—”

“Get me one,” I snarl. My incisors threaten to make an appearance.

“I don’t live here. I don’t know where⁠—”

“Now.” No more excuses.

“Holy fuck. My Airbnb has one, okay? Is that fine? Just—just don’t hurt me.”

He speaks too much. “Take me there, and say nothing more.”

I snatch the phone—interesting choice of word—from him and shove him back toward the main street. I follow closely behind as he lumbers along, casting frightened glances back at me. “Will there be other hu—males there?”

He shakes his head. “Will you⁠—”

“No speaking.”

I only like when Cindi speaks.

It isn’t long until we’re entering an older villa in a quieter neighborhood not far from Cindi’s house. The male hands me the stove he mentioned. It’s much smaller than the one in the video. There’s only one of the places the fire comes from instead of six, but it’s little and can be easily carried back to the island. It’ll do.

The male shifts and slowly backs away. “Look, I don’t want any trouble⁠—”

I throw him across the room. He must hit his head in the process, because he doesn’t move again. I revert my attention back to the stove.

Yes. Tomorrow, I will cook a fish for my mate.

Cindi is a hoarder, I have learned.

She has many of the same items—which I do not understand. She has over six pairs of shoes, just as many pants, over ten dresses, and at least twenty tops. One or two, I understand, but ten seems a lot.

I suppose this means humans change clothes many times. How often are they meant to do it? Will they get sick if they don’t? Weren’t the sailors I saw always wearing the same thing?

Krakens do not require such things, but the noble ones flaunt their wealth with jewels they’ve acquired. Some wear belts with pouches to carry more supplies, or necklaces made from the finest shells they’ve found.

Cindi has very little jewelry. No matter. I am a king. She has plenty to choose from.

My nostrils flare as I sort through the clothes on the floor. The male’s lingering scent is faint. Vasz was unable to pinpoint his smell to track him. My mate says someone is after her. I need to change that. My stomach ached seeing her upset like that. I wanted to hold her and reassure her nothing will happen, but words mean nothing to Cindi. I have to prove it.

I stalk toward the open closet door once more. Did Cindi bring enough clothes for her to be comfortable on the island? She only had three bags. It couldn’t have been sufficient.

I place the clothing in the hard-shelled rectangular item on the floor that opens like a grey clam with four little wheels at the bottom. Like a chest…except not. There were some items in it already, but I want my mate to have as many of her things as possible.

Content that Cindi will be sufficiently warm, I move to the cupboards beside her bed. One side has been emptied already; the other remains standing, drawers still intact. I cautiously pull the drawer out lest I break the contents inside it and upset my mate.

I stare at the bright blue object at the very top. I tip my head and frown, then tip my head to the other side. What is…

I pick up the rubber object. It’s nearly as long as my hand, yet my finger doesn’t reach my thumb at the base. Why does Cindi have a tentacle?

Cindi’s scent is all over the house, lingering on every fabric. It’s different now. Stronger, mustier, more… I inhale deeply.

My cock hardens, moisture immediately leaking from the tip. The tentacle smells of my mate’s sweet sex.

Did she…she… Blood rushes from my head, and I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the rubber tentacle that’s similar in shape to my own. I breathe her in again, imagining her taking my appendage instead of a toy. The sounds she’d make. How her eyelids would flutter. How her full lips would pout.

My human mate is attracted to krakens.

The thought both thrills me and makes my hearts ache all the same. Clenching my jaw, I place the item in the clam-chest.

Attempting to dispel the thought from my mind, I move to the bathroom, where she has jars of potions along the shelves. Some are in plastic, some in glass. I’ve seen them in the human stores before, and I am unsure what purpose they serve. But if Cindi bought it, she must have use for them, no?

They go in the clam-chest as well.

As do the packets in the kitchen cupboards. The bottles of thick liquid. A large grey box she was tinkering with. The blankets on her bed. A cushion.

Once the chest is full, I heft one side of the clam over the other, and the zipper glides around the rectangular shell, shutting it tight so none of the items fall out. I lift it by the handle, pleasantly amused to find the wheels rolling along the floor.

Yes, I will keep the clam-chest. Cindi is a good procurer.

I jog down the steps to the dinghy I carried from the shore. I have to move the carved stone about arm injuries I took from the palace library aside to fit the clam-chest, placing it over the tools and other hardware I found in Cindi’s workroom and kitchen. The pans and the bowl-like instruments go in next, as well as the big board and a tire—just in case. Then I cover it all with a bright blue plastic I found in the building beside the house that acts as a messier, dirtier workroom for my mate’s land vessel. I strap it down with the rope I found there too.

With one last survey of Cindi’s house for things she might want, I close the door behind me, waiting for the beep to indicate it’s locked.

There’s not a cloud in sight. The water was calm on the way here, and the only time I can use the boat is under the cover of night to not alert the humans of an unmanned vessel traveling across the sea.

With the slightest grunt, I haul the boat above my head to make for the beach, then set it out to undress from my mainland clothing once I hit the shore. I thread thick ropes through the hoops I fastened beneath the vessel and tie it across my chest so the two cords intersect over my sternum.

I wade into the water, tugging the boat behind me. Once the waves hit my stomach, I check no one is around to witness my shift and then grab hold of the magic to release my true form. I dive into the water, swimming as hard as I can, careful to stay close to the surface so the dinghy doesn’t capsize.

I want the den to feel like home to Cindi, or else she’ll spend the rest of her life seeing it as a prison, and me, her jailer. But it is the truth. There’s no other way to put it. She didn’t come back to the island with me because she wanted me.

She didn’t choose me for me. She came because she had to. Because whoever it is she’s scared of is worse than me.

I’ve had days to come to terms with the fact that I will always be the problem, but it isn’t any easier to accept.

She wants to be on the mainland. She wants her cabin and her workshop and the loud music along the busy streets. I can’t give her everything, but I can bring her house to her. I’ll give her space, keep my mouth sealed shut, and watch her from afar, because my presence will only make matters worse.