4. Moss

4

Moss

The kraken watched the plane for so long that Moss began to hope he'd been wrong. Whoever was up there wasn't the kraken's prey. It hadn't brought him here to kill.

Maybe it had never seen a plane before. He clung to the thought. His great-uncle had never been called from the deep to carry out his terrible duty. Nor any of his ancestors before him. If the kraken had never seen an airplane, maybe that was what compelled it to watch the lights blinking far above, the way little fishes swarmed towards the moon.

Then lightning jagged across the sky. Urgency flickered through the kraken's dark thoughts. * There!*

He looked with it, listened with it to the ocean's song, his heart filling with shards of ice as he found what it had seen.

A fleck of life, tumbling through the storm.

Far above, the plane faltered. But the kraken was fixated on the falling body.

*Ours!*

He was wrong. The kraken hadn't watched the plane like moths watch the moon. He'd watched it like a cat at a mousehole. Waiting for something to devour.

And that tiny, falling body was its prey.

He couldn't let that happen.

His octopus had always been under his control. This shape wasn't so different. Moss gathered his will, reshaping his mind until the countless tentacles that sprang from the kraken's bulk felt like his own limbs. He flexed them.

Nothing happened.

He tried again.

They were his limbs. His tentacles, splayed out and reaching like the tendrils of an invasive weed, ready to catch and dig and tear. But he couldn't control them.

It was like throwing himself against a concrete wall. A coffin enclosing him on all sides.

The figure was closer. But still too far away to touch. The kraken seethed towards it, stretching its tentacles far into the storm, but it would be precious seconds before the figure fell far enough to be caught. It struck out with its senses instead, calling on the ocean.

It wanted to taste its prey, but there was too much else around it. Gold flashed, a sizzle of fireworks and terror. And a darker, colder metal that tasted of earth and old blood. Lightning shattered over stained metal-feathered wings. Strange creatures wheeled around, screeched, and dived after the falling figure.

Rage boiled beneath the kraken's hide. * Mine!*

The metal-tasting birds flocked to the falling body like gulls to a tasty morsel ripped from the ocean's safety. * Mine,* the kraken repeated, its voice like the crack of mountains splitting, and tendrils made of magic and nightmares burst from it, reaching higher than its fleshy tentacles could.

One tendril caught the body and wrapped around it.

Around sweetness delicate as spring.

Around her .

A slender body soaked by the driving rain. Small. Helpless. But behind that small human form, a soul that called out to his own.

Moss's heart froze. Of course he went to her like a moth to a flame. She was the sun, and he was helpless in the face of her fire.

His tendril wrapped around her. Tighter. Drawing her closer, regardless of how she burned.

The kraken's thoughts echoed through him.

*Want.*

*Mine.*

*No!* Moss screamed. As the kraken's shadow-tendrils pulled the woman down into the dark hunger at its heart, he forced it back beneath his skin.

You can't conquer it. Everyone knew that. His grandfather had said it in grief, remembering his brother who was lost to it. The kraken was a curse that would protect the world—and destroy everything Moss loved.

But not this. Not her.

The woman falling from the sky, with the sun in her soul and the ocean beneath her skin, was his mate.

And he would die before he let the kraken hurt her.

His nightmare tentacles held her, slowing her fall. When she was a handful of feet above him, he managed to withdraw them completely. She fell into his arms. His human arms.

They clung to one another for one desperate moment before a wave crashed over them like a wall of stone. She tumbled through water black as tar. He swam after her, each stroke like trying to crash through concrete. The storm was too powerful. His human body wasn't strong enough.

He couldn't shift back into the monster and risk hurting her.

But she could. He'd tasted the shark beneath her skin. It would have more chance against the raging waters than her human form. Why wasn't she shifting?

She disappeared in the darkness. The kraken raged inside him. It could find her. It could snatch her from the waves, hold her tight—safe—

Not safe. Never safe, in the monster's arms.

He strove towards her. The ocean fought him as hard as he fought the monster within himself. At last he reached her. The water spun them around one another, waves crashing like falling buildings, air thrashed from his lungs—but she was there, curled in on herself, one arm clutched over her chest and the other grasping his shoulder.

Their eyes met, sudden and shocking, as lightning lit the world in white.

Dark eyes filled his vision.

She was beautiful.

Her mouth moved in the split second before darkness closed in around them again. She flung herself against him, and if he'd had any breath left in his body, that would have knocked it out. The solid knock-elbowed leg-kicking reality of her body as they clung to one another against the battering ocean took what was left of his soul and laid it at her feet.

Her mind sought his, tentative and limned with fear and wonder in equal measure. Oh god. If her mind felt like that, what did his feel like? She was a goddess, and he was a monster. A creature of death and destruction.

Whoever else he had been, that person was gone. He might still have his own mind and heart now, but before long, the kraken would drown out even that.

The storm tore them apart again, and he barely managed to grab her hand as the waves bore her away.

The kraken's voice thundered through him. * We could hold her.*

He gritted his teeth. No.

* We could wrap her tightly in our arms.*

No!

The kraken seethed beneath his skin. Why was he denying it this one thing it wanted? His human form was weak. The ocean was strong.

He should let it take over, before it was too late.

No. He gritted his teeth. If I die here, you lose her too. You want her? Then keep us both alive. Without touching her. Without EVER touching her.

Rage howled inside him, as though the kraken wanted to shred the flesh from his bones. An image appeared in Moss's mind: a darkness beyond black, a loneliness all the more painful because it was shared, a world where nothing good or light or warm ever touched.

I won't let you take her there, Moss snarled.

The storm howled all around. Tentacles burst from Moss's back again like monstrous angel wings, reaching into the darkness on all sides.

The water dragged him under, and his mate in his arms. His senses splintered. The ocean moved around him, or the kraken pulled him through the ocean so quickly his mind couldn't keep up, traveling under a procession of long, flickering shadows until—

Rock crunched beneath his feet. Gravel. The slick-gritty slide of seaweed. Land.

A wave crashed over his head. A breaker. A breaker, because this wasn't the deep ocean, this was a coastline, sand and gravel sliding under his feet, water sucking at his legs as it pulled back, ready for the next wave.

The woman in his arms swore. "Land? We're—we're alive. Are you okay? Are we—"

She staggered as another wave hit them. He tightened his arm around her automatically and caught the edge of a fractured thought: * —not gonna BE okay if I waste time talking—*

Rain pummeled down on his head and shoulders. He held the woman close and they staggered together up the shore as the water tore at them, crashing down to drive them to their knees, the sucking undertow trying to steal them back into the deep.

* Dry land.* He took a step that sank into gravelly sand and almost left his sock behind as he pulled his foot out. *Well. Dry-ish.*

He hadn't meant to joke, had barely noticed he was thinking out loud, but her surprised bark of laughter lit a flame in his chest. He glanced down at her. God damn, she was short. And it was so dark she was little more than a deeper shadow in the churning night. Would his kraken's eyes be able to—

No. Don't even think that.

Lightning forked across the sky. The rain, which had already been hammering them so hard it was like still being in the waves, somehow got harder.

And the glimpse of her face the light had granted him—tendrils of black hair sodden around a pale face, dark eyes like a starless sky—lit a burning need in his heart to see more.

First things first. Moss gritted his teeth. *Shelter. We need to get out of this storm.*

The storm took the opportunity to howl even louder around them.

* Do you—any idea where we are?* Her psychic voice felt like the sparkle of sunlight on rippling water. He ached for more. Then her arm tightened around his waist. * Up ahead. I think it's a cave.*

They half-climbed, half-stumbled up the shore together, until the shifting sand underfoot turned into rocks, then sodden tussock grass and boulders. Moss kept his arm around the woman's shoulders; she was still walking bent over, one arm over her chest. Something chittered at the edge of his awareness, like a small creature trying to stay hidden. Was she hurt? He hadn't sensed any pain in her mind when they spoke telepathically, but that didn't mean anything.

He reached for the woman's mind to ask her and caught the whisper of a thought: *It's okay. It's all going to be okay. *

Moss flinched so hard he almost let her go. He remembered the way the kraken's tentacles had wrapped around her. If she was hurt because of it—because of him—he would never forgive himself.

She bumped against him. * Are you alright?* The concern in her telepathic voice was so sincere, his chest clenched.

He kept his thoughts light. * All good. Lost my footing. Good thing I didn't fall. You'd never find me again.*

She let go of his waist. He stood completely still as her hand touched his side, his chest, then finally found his hand and squeezed it. * You don't need to worry about that. I don't need to see to find you. One benefit of being me.*

There was a strange twist in her voice, but before he could do more than wonder about it, she added, * There's a cave here. I think. Let's see how deep it goes.*

Without her as his guide, Moss never would have found the crack in the rocks. Hell, he probably would have walked straight into the cliffs and knocked himself out. His octopus would have found every nook and cranny, even the ones he never would have a chance of fitting in, and his feet stumbled as its loss struck him again.

But with her guidance, and despite the constant pressure to see if the kraken's eyes could peer through the darkness better than his human ones, he slowly made his way out of the storm.

And promptly knocked his head on the ceiling.

He swore. She made a wordless sound of sympathy and suddenly she was right in front of him, her hands in his hair, gentle, checking for injuries.

She tsk'd to herself.

"What?" he asked, lost in the sensation of her touch.

"It's hard to tell if you're bleeding when we're both soaked through." Her voice was soft. American. Had they been on the same continent all these years, and he'd never found her?

Why hadn't he looked?

She pulled away, slowly. He let himself imagine that she was as reluctant to let go of him as he was to be let go of. "At least we're out of the rain. Let's try sitting down without braining ourselves."

"You might be asking a bit much, there."

She laughed. She laughed. She'd just fallen out of a plane and into a storm that should have killed them both, and he made her laugh.

He was done for.

The cave floor was damp and gritty. He managed not to knock his head again on the way down but made up for it by leaning against a sharp outcrop of rock. Deep inside his mind, the kraken rumbled with alien displeasure, and he had the extremely discomforting feeling that it was doing the equivalent of rolling its eyes.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"What for?"

"I feel I could be doing a better job of heroics, here. Banging my head on the ceiling and whacking myself in the ribs isn't exactly—" The sign of a powerful mate , he'd been about to say. He bit the inside of his cheek. "Isn't exactly hero behavior."

"You're forgiven." She sounded amused but distracted. There was the wet scrape of fabric as she shrugged off her backpack and laid it on the ground. She moved as carefully with it as she had when she was checking his skull. "This is—this sort of thing is my job, actually. I'm usually a lot worse at it."

"Perfect. I'll keep playing the idiot and let you shine, then."

She let out a huff of amusement and sat next to him. Their shoulders pressed together. The cave was even darker than the storm outside; the whole world shrank down to touch and smell and sound. Slowly, tentatively, he put his arm around her.

She was wearing a sweater that must have been soft and cozy, up until she'd fallen into the bloody ocean. Beneath it, she was shivering.

And strangely… lumpy. Did she have another bag stuffed under there?

He cleared his throat. "I'm Moss, by the way."

"Moss? Like the…"

"Stuff that doesn't grow on rolling stones, yeah. My parents are big Stones fans. And suckers for a pun."

"I'm Carol." She laughed softly. "Like the songs. No guesses what time of year I was born."

"Easter?"

She laughed again. It was cold, and dark, and they were huddled together in a cave in the middle of who knew where, and…

None of this could be happening. It was all a dream. Had to be, right?

"Am I dreaming?" he said out loud.

"If you are, can you dream us up somewhere warmer?" she joked weakly. She wriggled slightly, and a moment later, she took his hand.

Her fingers were freezing. Hell, his fingers were too, but that didn't stop him wrapping his big hand around hers like there was any chance it would help her warm up.

Out loud, she was joking. But there was a tremor of fear in the air all around her, sharp and buzzing, that she couldn't hide, the same way she couldn't hide how icy her fingers were.

She took a breath, and he did too, searching for the words to say—he didn't even know what. How could any words be enough for what he needed to say?

I'm your mate. I'll look after you.

You're… mine.

Neither of them spoke. Their held breaths made the silence between them widen to a chasm.

And in that silence, something electric passed between them.

" Oh ," Carol gasped, and took a ragged breath, as though she'd been underwater and just come up for air. "Oh. Did you—is that—"

"Yes."

One word. That was all he could manage.

At least he'd said Yes . Not yeah. Or something equally irreverent. Yeah, nah , or—

The kraken moved inside his soul, and his throat closed over before he could say anything.

"I suppose—I mean, I guess we—" She broke off, and heat burned through him as her thoughts quested gently against his. * I guess almost dying isn't all bad, then? I mean—sure, we still have to survive the rest of it, but—*

Despite everything, he laughed. She giggled, then tensed and whispered, "I know. I'm just… working my way up to it." A current of fear rippled from her mind. She hid it quickly, but that one hint of it cut him sharper than any knife.

And there was something else. A lit-match spark of something crackling and bright. Another mind?

It was only the two of them here, right?

"Take a minute," he urged her. "Whatever you're afraid of can wait."

"I can't think of a single time when that's been true." She leaned into him with a soft sigh.

And something wriggled up from beneath her sweater and bit him on the chin.

He jerked back, swearing.

"Maggie!" Carol cried out.

Something whistled and cheeped next to Moss's ear, and tiny claws scrabbled at his shirt buttons. His shirt? How had it survived his transformation into the kraken? You shifted, you ended up naked, and you caught shit from anyone who caught you out. That was the way it worked.

"Preep!" the something chirped, agitated and demanding, as though it could tell his thoughts were spiraling away from it.

Carol gathered the tiny biting creature into her arms. "I know—I will—but it's dark. I don't want to risk dropping one of them and—and…"

Her fear jittered at the edge of his mind again.

If he was wearing his shirt, then the rest of his clothes must have survived, too. How had he not noticed he was sitting in damp jeans, and not with his bare arse on the cave floor?

Because all I could think about was her. His own body wasn't a priority. Hell. He'd deliberately pushed away as many of his physical senses as he could, to stop the kraken getting a foothold.

But if he had his clothes… his brain cranked slowly around to its conclusion.

"You need a light?" he asked. "I might be able to—here."

He hunted through his pockets. There it was: the tinny jangle of keys. He flicked on the tiny flashlight on his keyring. The beam of light was small but bright, perfect for peering behind furniture for whatever his octopus had lost back there trying to unscrew things that shouldn't be unscrewed.

Whatever he'd expected it to illuminate, the sight of a tiny golden dragon made every other thought vanish.

"That's a dragon," he said.

"Pree peep!" the dragon declared, standing up tall on its hind legs and stretching its neck up. It clicked tiny, sharp teeth at him, and he rubbed his chin. That explained the biting.

"Yes. Her name's Maggie. Say hello, Maggie," Carol said, her voice tight.

Moss's head was ringing. Nobody was meant to know dragons existed. He was—but nobody was meant to know that, either.

Carol's backpack was laid out in front of her. Now that he could see it, it looked more like a photographer's kit bag. "Okay. This is fine. I'm just—I'm just going to—" She squeezed her eyes shut. "I have to look," she whispered to herself, and opened the bag.

The bottom fell out of Moss's stomach.

Eggs. Dragon eggs. He'd never seen dragon eggs before, but what else could they be? They were the size of ostrich eggs, but like they'd been carved out of precious stone. They caught the narrow band of light from the flashlight and reflected it in a rainbow of colors.

The case must have been specifically designed for them. They were nestled into padded indentations the perfect size and shape to hold them safely. Carol checked them over one by one, carefully turning them over in the case and then lifting each one separately and holding it in her cupped hands for a moment, her eyes closed.

The dragon sniffed each egg as she put it back into the case, chittering softly to them and patting them with her little claws.

"They're both fine." Carol's voice was shaky with relief. She looked up at Moss, and for the first time, he saw her features clearly.

Out in the storm, her eyes had been dark. He hadn't realized how dark. They were a deep, inky black from side to side, entirely without whites.

His breath caught in his throat. Who was this woman?