Chapter 20

chapter 20

ELLE

I found out my imagination wasn't finished with me when I was sleeping, because I had the most wondrous dream.

You know how when you watch modern dance or ice skating, sometimes there's a moment when the whole stage is black and then just one person gets a spotlight?

It was kind of like that.

Everything was emptiness...and then there was Ceph. He was hovering, like he did in the water, but I was there too, and I was breathing—and dream-me was smart enough not to ask questions, especially when dream-Cepharius looked at me like that.

Like I was the answer to all of his dreams.

I couldn't imagine that I could be, but what was the harm in indulging myself? How long had it been since I'd had a dream like that?

Or since someone else had touched me, non-clinically?

You never knew how alone you were until you were in bed with someone who left you to yourself.

And so as the spotlights drew us closer, I followed, like a moth to a welcome flame, until they merged, and then somehow we were together, without any clothes. He didn't have his belt, and I didn't have to explain why my breasts were missing, or what I wanted—he just knew—and he was fearless. I was surrounded by him, his tentacles grasping and pulling me in a million different delicious directions, and then I felt his thick fingers parting me. He slid one in, and crooked it, as if calling me closer, and I came so hard, so fast, I didn't even get to warn him. Just one moment he was in me and the next I was thrashing, which would've been embarrassing except that I could tell it pleased him, and he kept going, thrusting his finger into me while his tentacles held me still, and I could watch myself being taken by his exceptional hand, attached to his marvelous arm, working on me like he'd worked on my cable and I squeezed my thighs together, shouting his name as I came a second time.

"Ceph, Ceph, Ceph!" I howled in my dream, right before waking up sweaty, slick, and uncomfortable.

It took a moment for me to get my bearings again in my unfamiliar room.

Oh yeah, Elle. You're still at the bottom of the ocean. And you're getting it bad for a kraken.

I closed my eyes to try to settle myself, and when I realized I wouldn't find sleep again, I picked up my tablet and brought it back to bed with me.

A few minutes later I felt Cepharius's mind. "Elle?" he asked, sounding worried. "Are you all right?"

I rubbed one of my eyes with the back of a hand. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're not sleeping, for one. "

I glared in the direction of my window. "Neither are you, apparently."

"I can go for days without sleep. You cannot."

"Can too," I muttered, turning my back to him.

I thought I could feel his frustration with me—or maybe I was just projecting—but then he asked, "Would you like me to help you?"

"How?"

"Let me back into your mind."

I sighed, put the tablet down, and then tried to relax. I felt his thoughts brush against mine, and I realized why I liked him—because he made me feel like Lena had when she was near. Like there was someone else strong, intelligent, and dependable in my life.

But I knew that feeling was temporary. Fresh sorrow hollowed me, until a hummed melody trickled into my mind, like a lifeline. It sounded entirely foreign, like background music at a restaurant whose cuisine you'd never eaten before, but I recognized its purpose just before he started singing.

In the deep where darkness sleeps,

And the ocean's secret keeps,

Gentle waves do softly sway,

Carrying all your fears away.

Rest now, young one, in the tide,

Where the ancients do reside.

Under stars that shine so bright,

In the sea's embracing night.

Where the seahorses parade,

And the light through water fades,

There, our tales of magic lie,

Underneath the ocean sky.

Close your eyes, let dreams take wing,

To where the mermaids softly sing.

In the depths, you're safe and sound,

With love and magic all around.

Sleep, young kraken, without care ,

In the sea's protective glare.

May the currents guide your rest,

In the sanctuary of our nest.

He was singing me a children's lullaby. I supposed I ought to be embarrassed, as a grown woman—but the linguist in me was charmed, because I was fairly certain no other human had ever heard a kraken's song before.

I started trying to commit the thing to memory, but I couldn't before I fell asleep.