The next few minutes pass in a blur of nerve and desire. I set my things on the stone and begin undressing, trying for casual confidence despite the open-air setting and his unwavering attention. His gaze follows each revealed inch of skin with such focused intensity that I can almost feel it like a physical touch.
When I’m finally bare, I step toward the pool. The first touch of the water pulls a gasp from me—it’s cold, but after the sweaty hike, gloriously refreshing.
I wade deeper, letting the chill water rise to my waist, then my shoulders. When I turn back to face him, Roark hasn’t moved, but the patterns across his skin have intensified.
“Your turn,” I say, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. “Don’t tell me the cold bothers you.”
“I have spent centuries in depths where sunlight never reaches,” he replies, moving toward the water’s edge. “This is tropical by comparison.”
He slides into the pool with barely a ripple, his movements fluid and controlled. His tentacles spread beneath the surface, creating gentle currents that brush against my legs.
“Turn around,” he says, his voice gentle but commanding. “Let me help you.”
I comply, facing the waterfall. A moment later, I feel him behind me—not touching, but close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body despite the cool water. Something small splashes nearby, and then his hands are in my hair, working some kind of lather through the tangles.
“What is that?” I ask, leaning back slightly into his touch.
“Soapwort and aloe. A natural cleanser.” His fingers massage my scalp with just the right pressure. “When you live between worlds as I do, you learn to utilize the resources of both.”
I close my eyes, surrendering to the sensation. His touch is careful but confident, those powerful hands capable of such gentleness. One tentacle curls loosely around my waist, steadying me.
“You’re tense,” he observes, working at the knots in my neck.
“Mmm. Committee meetings will do that to you.” I tilt my head, giving him better access. “Among other things.”
“Tell me,” he says, guiding me backward to rinse my hair in the clearer water away from the waterfall’s churn.
I hesitate, not wanting to ruin this peaceful moment. But the concern in his voice—genuine interest in my troubles—breaks something loose.
“There’s a festival coming up. The Maritime Festival.” I keep my eyes closed as he works the lather from my hair, his fingers careful not to tug. “Nothing unusual—just the annual lobster rolls and tall ship tours.”
“Yet something troubles you about it,” he observes, his voice gentle.
“Not the festival itself. It’s what came after at the committee meeting.” I sigh, the tension returning to my shoulders. “This museum director, Sebastian, proposed a new event. A historical reenactment of the town’s monster-hunting ‘heritage.’ Complete with sailors putting on a show.”
Roark’s hands pause momentarily before continuing their gentle work. “I see.”
“I objected. Probably too strongly. Drew attention to myself.” I exhale slowly. “Marina thinks I should keep my head down.”
“Marina is likely correct from a strategic perspective,” he says, his voice neutral. “Though I appreciate your indignation on behalf of my kind.”
I open my eyes and tilt my head back to look at him. “It was disgusting. He had these old photos of hunters posing with their… trophies. Sentient beings displayed like prize marlins.”
Something dark flickers across Roark’s features. “Cape Tempest earned its reputation. Few places along this coast have as bloody a history regarding sea monster kind.”
“Well, now that same town is planning a festivity that sounds like a celebration of mass murder,” I say, turning fully to face him. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”
Roark studies me, water droplets clinging to his face. “What would you wish to do?”
I hadn’t really considered that question. WhatdoI want? To stop Sebastian’s plan, obviously. But beyond that?
Still, Roark seems less upset about it than I am. He continues, “The Great Unveiling wasn’t that long ago. A town with as deep a history as this one won’t adjust so quickly. It will take time. Andperhaps this demonstration will open the eyes of those who’ve never really considered how bad it once was.”
I blink at him, water dripping from my eyelashes. “Wait—you think theyshoulddo this?”
“I think,” Roark says carefully, his tentacle loosening around my waist, “that forcing a confrontation now may do more harm than good. For both the town… and for us.”
The way he says “us” makes my breath catch. I try not to acknowledge it. “You’re surprisingly chill about a historical reenactment of your kind being hunted for sport.”
