13. Moss

13

Moss

Raw mussels.

He was a chef with so many prizes under his belt, he could pile them up in a hoard and sit on them like a dragon, and he was reduced to serving his mate raw mussels.

With nothing to cook them over and no knife to shuck them, the meal was more seagull frenzy than haute cuisine. He and Carol experimented with smashing the mussels on rocks, and smashing rocks onto the mussels, and Maggie became an expert in darting in to snaffle up the meat from the shattered shells before either of the adults got a look in.

The few morsels the baby dragon deigned to let them eat were delicious. And gritty with pieces of broken shell. And half-smushed from being pounded with stones—not in a carpaccio way; in a hit-with-a-rock way. And…

Food was his job. He was meant to be good at it.

Carol caught him looking. Staring? Scowling? He rallied his expression, but it was too late.

She put a hand to her mouth. "Sorry. Was I…?" She trailed off, her face turning pinched.

Fuck.

She was still trapped partially shifted. Her teeth sent a guilty, delicious thrill through him every time he glimpsed them—it must be weird as hell, trying to eat through a mouth that was suddenly a different shape inside.

"It's nothing you did," he reassured her. "It's what I didn't do. Cook."

She kept her mouth covered, but her expression relaxed. "I'm not complaining. Neither's Maggie."

"I'll complain enough for the three of us, then."

Carol laughed. A weight seemed to have lifted from her since they figured out they knew the same people. If he let himself think about the number of near-misses they must have had—the chances there had been that they might have met before now, before the kraken took hold of his soul…

He shook his head. If he started down that hole, he'd never escape it.

Carol was happy. He would be grateful for that, for as long as he was around to bask in it.

"I don't know what you would do about it, though. Unless you're hiding a lighter in your pocket with your keys and flashlight?"

"I'd hope that if I did, I would have remembered it by now. Bit embarrassing if I didn't." He stripped the beard off another mussel, cracked it open and downed it while Maggie's back was turned. The shellfish was sweet and chewy, and still salty from the sea. It was delicious.

But was this all he was going to offer her? Lunch and dinner and however long they stayed here, meal after meal of raw shellfish? She'd have a better feast shifting into shark form and hunting out her own food.

He had so little time to live up to what a mate should be, and so far he was doing a shit job.

He stood up. "Right. Enough of this. I'm going to build a fire."

"How?"

"The old-fashioned way. With sticks."

Some time later, he still didn't have a fire going, but he'd also managed to dodge any further questions. Good to know his ability to slither out of tricky situations hadn't disappeared along with his octopus.

Avoided any questions about how and why his family knew about dragons—check.

Dodged the whole if-dragons-exist-then-what-about-other-mythical-shifters issue—check.

His mate had no idea there was a monster hiding in his soul—check.

God, he was a prick.

But the worst thing of all was hiding how bloody hot he found her. She was trapped where no shifter wanted to be, partway between her animal and human sides. Her mouth was full of razor-sharp teeth. It didn't matter that he found them sexy; it mattered that she must constantly have to watch herself to avoid cutting up her lips and tongue. And her eyes? He wanted to lose himself in them. He wanted to turn around in the dark to find her watching him. Meanwhile she must be counting the seconds until whatever mental block was stopping her from shifting properly disappeared.

Even her desperation to go swimming—she must have hoped that taking her shark form might reset things and let her shift back fully into human form. Poor bloody Maggie had put an end to that.

He should be thinking of a way to let her try again, not wondering what her teeth would feel like dragging against his skin.

But what was he doing, instead of either of those things?

Rubbing two sticks together like an idiot.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Carol sounded cautious, like maybe he didn't already know he looked like a dumbass, and she didn't want to break his delusion.

He had scoured the island for dry wood. Problem one. The island had just been smashed by a massive storm. Dry wood was in short supply. But he'd managed to find some driftwood that had washed into sheltered cracks in the cliffs, probably during previous storms, and had brought it back to their little cave.

Now he was holding one stick between his palms, rubbing them back and forth to drill the pointy end into another stick.

"What, you never tried this as a kid?" he joked.

"If any of us wanted to play with fire, there was usually a match or lighters around. If my brothers had anything to do with it."

"You and your modern technology…" He trailed off. Was that smoke?

"How about you?"

"Oh, sure. We did the magnifying glass thing until one of the aunties caught us at it. Cracked rocks together to see which ones made a spark. And there were always bonfires or barbecues going… hangi pits when the whole crew was together and we had the time…"

"Hangi?"

"Earth oven. Dig a hole, light a fire in it to heat up rocks, chuck the food in and bury it while it cooks—bit more complicated than that, but you get the gist…" He trailed off, peering at the stick. Even if he squinted and pretended really hard, there was still no smoke.

"We could try that. If we're going to be stuck out here a while."

He looked up. Damn. He didn't deserve the smile she was giving him.

"If we get the fire going," he added. "And if you don't mind a couple rocks exploding on you, cos I'm not sure I can remember how to pick the sort that don't go bang when you heat them up."

Maggie nosed her way over. She'd gorged on mussels, and now she was glaring—suspiciously—at what he was doing with the sticks.

Which were nowhere close to smoking, let alone kindling a flame.

And eeeeveryone was watching.

Something moved in the depths of his soul, and the backs of his eyes prickled with awareness. Great. Now the fucking kraken was watching him fail to light a fire, too?

Its curiosity bore down on him. He shielded his own thoughts against it, like a tiny bug clinging to the earth as winds raged overhead.

"I'm not sure this is going to work," he admitted.

"Preeooo?" Maggie prowled closer. "Phwoof!"

"That's what we're after, yeah. Phwoof , and a big flame to cook tea on."

"Phwoof!" she repeated, and breathed flame onto the sticks.

Carol stared wide-eyed. Out of the corner of his mouth, Moss asked: "Did you know she could do that?"

She shook her head.

He stared at the little dragon, who was puffed up almost spherical with pride. "Did you know you could do that?"

"Pree- thwwwwp. "

"I guess that answers that."

Carol sat back, stunned. "On the one hand, having a fire is good."

"On the other?"

She grimaced. "On the other, I don't know how I feel about Maggie having even more special powers to freak me out with. Invisibility and teleportation were enough, you know?"

"Invi—what?!"

She looked at him strangely. "I thought you knew about dragons already?"

"Sure. I know about them. They're basically our neighbors down south. Doesn't mean we know all their tricks, though."

To his surprise, she accepted his answer. Unease twisted in his gut.

The day crawled by. They had a fire now. Moss busied himself building it up and figuring out their next meal, pulling together more shellfish to cook on the coals and kelp to wrap them in. Carol and Maggie went out to look for more driftwood. He found oysters off the other side of the island. Fresh oysters! It was so close to a fantasy island getaway.

And so fucking far from it at the same time.

When dusk began to creep over the horizon, it was a relief. It was another night on a lumpy cave floor with no idea where the hell they were, sure—but they had hot food, a warm fire, and the sky wasn't dumping an ocean's worth of rain on them. Sideways.

There had been no sign of the creatures that had attacked Carol and Maggie.

And no sign of his kraken, either. For hours.

He could practically taste the lure now. The bright and shiny promise of a future where the kraken stayed dormant. Nothing more than an extra pair of eyes behind his, content to watch the world go by.

If he wasn't careful, the hook hiding behind that shining hope would gut him.