I blink. He wants to be around humans? “Which one?”
“The busy one.” Ordus waves his hand in the general direction of where the main towns and cities are located. “You can eat at a human place.”
My jaw drops. When he said he’d take me to the mainland, I didn’t think he’d let me go anywhere but my old place and somewhere small where he could easily catch me if I tried to run.
My stomach grumbles at the idea of eating something other than seafood and eggs. “Will you eat as well?”
He blanches. “If you wish.”
There’s no fighting the tug at my lips as they stretch into a small smile. This man really will do anything for me. “Then lead the way.”
Traveling by kraken will never get easier. I’m grumbling curses under my breath, wringing my hair out and squeegeeing the water off my body. I’m just about ready to scream when I shove myself into my stiff dress, flinching at every shadow and sound.
The material sticks to my wet body and scratches the tattoo on my back. It’s been fine for the past month, but the six plus hours of underwater travel has pissed it off again.
I huff and quickly stomp out of the shadows toward a waiting Ordus, who looks out of place against the backdrop of racing motorbikes and the flurry of tourists and locals, laughing and checking out the menus of restaurants along the beach.
I take a deep breath and instantly regret it. After over a month of fresh sea air, the smell of cigarette smoke, exhaust fumes, and trash gives me a migraine.
And the noise?God, the noise. The cacophony of honks and chatter and engines and clattering. It’s overwhelming.
Ordus grits his teeth, jaw feathering, surveying our surroundings. His shoulders are stiff, and he has a white-knuckle grip on the waterproof bag holding our clothes, a hand towel, water bottles, sandals, and cash.
It was too dark for anyone to see us emerge from the water. If they did, well, tough shit. They would’ve gotten an eyeful of Ordus’ human junk I’ve been trying hard not to look at. It makes my skin prickle with the familiar unease of physical contact.
Consciously, I’m aware it’s the same male who has eight limbs and cuddles me to sleep every night, but my body refuses to listen. It recognizes his human body as Tommy’s counterpart, and it’s setting me on edge.
Everything’s setting me on edge.
Each honk. Every male voice. The eyes that glance my way.
I look over my shoulder as I hurry to Ordus’ side, pulse thumping in my chest and flip-flops slapping against the pavement. I wipe my clammy hands on my saturated dress. I don’t miss this.
I thought I was longing for civilization. Now, I’m seriously questioning whether I do. I hate this paranoia, the constant, sinking feeling I’m about to die.
Ordus grabs my hand and pulls me to his side. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing.” I give him the most reassuring smile I can muster.
I throw a longing glance back at the water. I want to be back on the island, lounging on the beach or reading a book in the cave without a care in the world that I might run into a Gallagher.
Or pirates—fuck, I almost forgot about them.
The irony isn’t lost on me. I traded the risk of krakens for men who call themselves pirates.
I press closer to Ordus’ side, cringing when he lets go of my hand to place his on my back as he leads me down to the more populated street. I can’t believe I prefer him in his kraken form.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye. He’s hating this as much as I am. I trust him to be miles better at spotting danger, but I can’t help darting my eyes to everything that moves—and everything is fucking moving. It’s peak dinner hour. The streets are filled.
No one gives two shits about us—I mean, people are ogling Ordus because he’s a giant, but no one is looking at me.
My plan solidifies more with every second. We’re going to get food and get out. I don’t care about the four hours I have. Hell, I’m willing to eat seafood at this point. I want out of here as soon as possible. My stomach will hate the postdinner swim, but I don’t want to be this exposed for a second longer.
I canfeelthem. The Gallaghers. They’re hiding around the corner and watching me through cameras.
Sweat trickles down my spine. I want to reach for Ordus’ other hand and grip it for dear life. He’s the only reason I’m not power walking with my head down. At least I have a knife in my bag—fuck. No, I don’t.
A familiar tinkling laugh has my feet faltering in front of a food stall. I frown, turning my head toward the sound.
