“I’ll be back tomorrow, then we can pick up where we left off, because that wasn’t nearly enough for me.”
“Good,” she replied, a grin spreading across her face. “Because I definitely need more of that rough side of you.” She roseonto her toes and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I lingered for half a second longer before stepping back, watching as she turned and slipped inside her cottage.
As I made my way back down the path, one thought stayed firmly in place—tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.
Chapter 15: Kara
THE COTTAGE FELT DIFFERENT now, like it had finally decided to stop trying to kill me and instead settled into something thatactuallyresembled a home. And somehow, along with it, I felt like I was finally finding my place in this town.
I stood in the middle of the room with my hands on my hips, surveying everything like I was personally responsible for the transformation. Which, okay,I wasn’t,since Octavius had done most of the heavy lifting. But still, I had contributed. I had supervised, after all, which was a very important role, if you asked me.
I bent down to pick up a stray sock from the floor, tossing it onto the growing pile of laundry I was determined to “organize,” even if that mostly meant shoving things wherever I could find space. As I moved through my home—cleaning, adjusting, straightening things that didn’t technically need straightening—my thoughts drifted, like they had been doing a lot lately, to the man who had come out of nowhere: the octopus shifter I was hopelessly, undeniably in love with.
The last few nights had been incredible. Every evening, he stayed over, and I had a feeling our littleadventureon the porch a couple nights ago had something to do with that. Though I knew that wasn’t the only reason he kept coming back. I knew he cared about me just as deeply as I cared about him.
It showed in the little things—the way he always made sure I had a proper meal, the way he asked before touching, even when he didn’t have to, and the quiet, almost reverent way his gaze lingered on me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, like I was something rare, something precious he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed to hold.
It was strange, realizing how different he felt to me now. When had he gone from the broody,slightlyintimidating octopus shifter who showed up uninvited during a storm to the person I looked forward to seeing more than anything else? When had he become the brightest part of my days?
I paused, resting my hands against the edge of the table as the thought settled deeper in my chest. Because it wasn’t just him who had changed—I had, too.
I wasn’t looking over my shoulder anymore. I wasn’t bracing for the next thing to go wrong. No one was watching me, no one was controlling me—aside from my very possessive, eight-tentacled lover, that was.
But even that felt different from the den. With him, there were no expectations, no conditions. He never asked anything of me except to be myself when we were together. And after wearing a mask for so long, after hiding behind that careful, practiced poker face, it had become far too easy to forget who I was... who I used to be.
But with Octavius, I was starting to remember.
I had always been fiercely loyal. I mean, that was how I had gotten myself into that situation to begin with. But even then, I had been brave. I took risks without thinking twice, threw myselfheadfirst into things most people would hesitate over. Back then, nothing had really scared me—until Zavier had nearly broken my spirit.
But now, I was finding that version of myself again. Piece by piece, day by day, with Octavius’s help.
Because of that, tonight I wanted to do something for him. Something that might make his stomach twist just a little, sure, but I was confident enough in my skills now to give it a real try. Because tonight... I was cooking dinner.
I pushed off the table and moved toward my small kitchen, determination settling in as I took in the ingredients spread out before me. Everything was prepped and organized—well mostly—and I was absolutely determined to pull this off. Because if I had to hear one more subtle jab from Octavius about mypreviousculinary skills—or lack thereof—I was going to lose it.
He was coming over again after work tonight, and I was going to prove, once and for all, that Icouldactually make a decent meal.
“Okay,” I muttered to myself, rolling up my sleeves like I was about to take on something life-altering. “How hard can it be?”
I stared down at the ingredients then at the dusty cookbook that had apparently come with the house, bracing myself as I officially began my redemption arc in the kitchen.
I started chopping the vegetables carefully—because I absolutely did not need to lose a finger—and as I worked, I found myself smiling for no reason at all. I could already picture it: him walking through the door, that look on his face when he realized I had actually cooked something that didn’t involve the microwave, followed by his inevitable skepticism.
