15. Moss

15

Moss

Way to ruin it, dick. Moss was still trying to find the right words to strike the haunted expression from Carol's face when she threw herself at him.

Neither of them was ready. She tangled her hands in his hair, elbows and knees knocking clumsily as she climbed him like a goddamn mountain. It was like when they'd clung together in the storm, only this time they weren't holding desperately to one another to stay alive; they were holding desperately against the fear that they would never have this chance again.

Never. A lifetime without her. No glinting smiles, no stolen glances, no tantalizing hints of her scent. No push-pull of her sudden movements and stops, the way she could go from predatory stillness to striking speed in the blink of an eye.

No wondering what she tasted like. No knowing what she tasted like.

Then her lips found his, and he couldn't think about anything else.

She was all urgency and roughness, her body stumbling against his the way she sometimes stumbled over her words, and then—something changed. The tide turning. A wash of cool water over sun-baked sand. She melted against him, her lips softening, her body pressing against his. He pulled her close into his lap, and she let her legs fall either side of his hips. Possessive and welcoming.

But she had no idea what she was welcoming in.

His arms tightened around her. He shouldn't be doing this. He had no idea what sort of danger he might be putting her in.

The kraken never had a mate.

There had to be a reason for that.

He broke the kiss, pulling away just enough to whisper an apology. "Carol, I—"

She made a tiny noise of frustration and kissed him again. Her tongue traced the seam of his lips, and what the fuck was he meant to do now?

What if they only had tonight?

He kissed her back, opening his mouth to taste more of her. She gasped, and he held her tighter, and she held him, matching his desire with her own. God. This woman. Everything that he was longed for her. To lose himself in her. Forge the bond that would let them belong to one another forever.

Forever. An echo of the deep and the dark, a loneliness that wore away at the soul until there was nothing left. No darting smile. No heart-racing glint of those jagged teeth.

He flinched, and pain bloomed in his mouth.

Carol froze. Then, fast as a knife, she jerked away, horror filling her eyes.

Moss raised a hand to his mouth. Blood. What had—?

Ah, fuck.

"I'm sorry!" Carol yelped, hiding her mouth behind one hand. "I didn't mean to—"

Bite me. A not entirely unpleasant shiver tickled its way up Moss's spine. The fuck was wrong with him? He pushed the feeling aside. "It's nothing. Don't worry. I've done worse to myself in the kitchen."

"How? Chewing on knives?" She groaned and covered her entire face this time. "Sorry. This is all going wrong. I shouldn't have…"

"Pounced on me?"

She peeked at him through a gap in her fingers. He made sure she saw him smile, one eyebrow raised teasingly. Some of the horrified tension eased out of her shoulders.

"If a bit of biting's the price I have to pay to be pounced on by you, that's a deal I'm happy to make." He tugged her closer, and she let him pull her against his chest, tucked in like the precious treasure she was. "It's okay."

"You're bleeding. "

"I'm a shifter. It'll fix." He raised one hand, showing her the scars. "You want to really make a permanent impression, you'll have to try harder than that. Like—there. Chuck a roasting pan right out of the oven at me. Or that one—not paying attention fileting a swordfish."

Her body softened against his as she relaxed a fraction more. "Did the fish get you, or the knife?"

"Here's where I lose all my dignity in your eyes and tell you it was both."

She turned his hand over. He tried to brand it all into his memory—her fingers, so delicate next to his work-scarred hands, the way she touched him as though he was the delicate one. "How bad was it, that it scarred like this instead of healing normally?"

"Not a case of how bad the one instance was. More like how many times did I screw up and get myself burned or sliced up. Eventually even shifter healing says screw this." He flexed his hand. "Besides. Can't be a chef without a few scars. All the other chefs would tease me if I turned up looking like I never grabbed a knife by the sharp end before."

"I've seen other shifters with intense scarring before, but that was… not like this."

He caught the edge of hesitation in her voice. "Not a happy story?"

"It had a happy ending?" She sounded uncertain. And when she looked up, her dark eyes worried, it was bleeding obvious that the question in her voice wasn't about whatever other shifter she was talking about.

Guilt twisted in his gut. "One bite isn't going to doom us," he said, the lie of what he wasn't saying burning like acid. Nothing Carol did could doom them, because he was already doomed.

"But what if—what if it happens again?"

"I can talk about all the dumb shit I've done in the kitchen again. If that helps."

She smiled—a small, self-conscious smile that didn't show her teeth. He tried not to be disappointed. "Yeah. It helps."

"Like I said. I don't mind a few bites." He gently brushed her lips, then the corner of one eye. Her gaze sharpened. "But this can't be helping."

She went completely still.

"You're still stuck in your shift," he continued. "Once you're back to normal, it won't be a problem. We can wait until then. If that's easier."

An emotion he couldn't identify scudded across her face like clouds across the sky. "Would you prefer that?"

"I prefer you. However you are."

"But it would be easier if I looked properly human again?" she asked slowly.

Moss swore, loudly, in the privacy of his own head. He couldn't tell her the truth. That no matter what she looked like when she was fully human, her current appearance was hot as hell. What would that make her think?

That he was the sort of monster who preferred her when she was so traumatized she couldn't even control her ability to shift?

He grimaced. But before he could say anything, Carol flashed a tight-lipped smile.

"Today's been a lot," she said, and fuck, she was definitely hiding something. "Maybe we should get some sleep."

They lay down together. Him on the outside, with her curled in his arms and Maggie between her and the fire. Big spoon, little spoon, and tiny, fire-breathing spoon.

The most uncomfortable silence he'd ever known.

"When I yelled earlier—" Carol broke off.

"I told you. You don't need to apologize."

"But it would help to explain. Wouldn't it?" She sounded uncertain now, and he understood how much effort it must have taken for her to come out with that first broken-off sentence. "Or—no, we said we'd sleep."

"Talk," he said gently.

She let out a breath so hard her shoulders caved with the weight of it. "When I said I couldn't just sit around and wait—I've done the search and rescue classes; I know the best thing we can do is find shelter and stay put until someone comes and finds us. Especially now we know the others survived the attack on the plane. I want to swim and search for them, in the direction Maggie showed us before—but they'll be doing the same thing. They'll be looking for Maggie and the eggs."

"And you."

"And me." She fell silent for a moment. "This isn't—it isn't the first time something bad's happened to me. It's just the first time I've been around to deal with what happens next."

Moss froze. Somewhere deep inside him, the kraken stilled as well. He hadn't even been aware of its movement until it stopped. "What?"

"It's nothing—I wasn't—I'm fine." She made a fluttery, dismissive gesture with one hand, but her back against his chest was stiff as a poker.

"No, you're not." He was too intent on her to see the shadows deepening all around them.

"No, I'm not." She relaxed slightly, as though admitting it relieved some great tension inside her. "Maybe that's why—I don't know."

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"A fun campfire story?" When he didn't reply, she took a shaky breath. "After Maggie hatched, someone on our side tried to take her. I got in between. I don't know what I thought I was going to achieve. I didn't have a weapon on me. If I shifted, I'd end up hurting the wrong people. Not that there was time to do anything. He shot me."

" What? " Outrage coiled through him. "After Maggie hatched—she's still a hatchling! When was this?"

His mind scrambled. Carol had been attacked—maybe weeks ago, maybe days, and he hadn't known. He held her close, as though he could reach through time and keep her safe.

"Were you even safe on the plane, before—"

"Before I was attacked? Again?" The ironic edge to her voice was wobbly. "Yes. Of course. I—I probably shouldn't have been on the mission, but after they got to where Maggie's uncle was meant to be staying—it, um, it blew up? And he wasn't there. Maggie starts to get distressed whenever the people she's decided she really likes get out of sight for too long, so… I came along. I'd healed by then, anyway. I was fine."

"Were you?"

"It was only a taser he shot me with?"

"Is that a question ?"

He couldn't stop himself. He rolled her onto her back and rose over her, hands planted either side of her slender shoulders, his legs bracketing hers. She stared up at him in shock, eyes wide and beautiful as the deepest ocean.

"You tell me you've been shot, and you say it was only a taser like you're questioning whether you're allowed to be upset about it happening?" He wanted to kiss her and didn't know what would happen if he did. His body was too small to contain the rage and care and love boiling inside him. "Who did this to you?"

She stared up at him. Not afraid, even though he'd just rolled her onto her back and dived on top of her. Her eyes searched his, and—

Hell's bells. If she found the truth there, then she would be scared.

He closed his eyes and lowered his head until their foreheads brushed. Her breath whispered against his cheek.

"It was—" Her voice hitched. "Someone I thought was my friend. Or—who I thought tolerated me, at least. He got me coffee when he went out of the office sometimes. Helped me out when my swipe card didn't work and I got locked in the stairwell." Her words shriveled with misery, twisted by the same humiliation that had made her admit to being tasered like it was something to be ashamed of. "You said you trusted me because I work for Lance MacInnis. Well, he did too. And it didn't stop him from being a bad guy. So maybe you should go back to not trusting me—"

"Too late for that," he growled, and her laughter sounded more like a sob.

He'd never felt more helpless. She was hurt—she'd been hurt and was still hurting, someone had done this to her, and there was nothing he could do. Even lying with her like this, all he could feel was the shaking tension that racked her body.

He wanted to do more. He had to be able to do more. To protect her.

And something deep inside him agreed; the kraken's heart, mirroring his own.

Carol's voice was barely more than a whisper. "I never saw it coming. I thought he was nice. " She closed her eyes. "Story of my life."

"This has happened before?"

"Not—as recently. I h-have a habit of trusting the wrong people."

Darkness was rising inside him, but he forced it back. The woman in his arms—warm and small and incredibly strong—was the important one here. Not revenge on some faceless enemy.

I'll kill him later. Whoever he is. And anyone else who hurt her. He didn't know whether the thoughts were his or the kraken's.

Maybe both. And for once, he didn't care.