She let out a nervous laugh, and from the way her shoulders tightened just a fraction afterward, I got the distinct impression she was enjoying this conversation just as little as I was.
Good. At least we were aligned on something.
“Just lie down on the table,” I said, turning back to prepare the oils. As I unfurled my tentacles from my back, she gasped. It wasn’t fear, more like she had simply been caught off guard. The way her eyes followed them made something in me shift as heat rose under my skin. It was like she had never seen an octopusshifter before, and the way she looked at me, like she was taking it all in, had my body reacting in a way I didn’t like... or maybe I did.
“Question,” she said, and I was almost grateful for it, for the distraction from my own thoughts. Her gaze lingered on my tentacles, something unreadable in her expression. I couldn’t feel lust from her, just hesitation, leaving me to wonder if it was fear or something closer to disgust.
As a shifter, I could choose to half-shift, letting only my tentacles free while the rest of me stayed in a more palatable, human-like form. For years, back in Japan, I had hidden what I was, so it had become second nature. It had been a while since I’d fully let go, though, and there was something relieving about allowing my tentacles out.
They looked like any other octopus tentacles, just longer and thicker, usually a shade of orange. The color could shift depending on my environment, or, more often in my line of work, my emotions—ranging from soft pinks to deeper oranges to dark, flushed reds. They were far larger than those of a typical octopus, unmistakably different, and people tended to react one of two ways. They were either put off or very much drawn in.
So which one was she?
I paused, my fingers stilling briefly over the glass bottle. “What?”
“Um... those things...”
“Tentacles,” I corrected, letting the irritation I assumed was judgment on her end slip into my voice.
“Yes, tentacles,” she said, letting out another small, nervous laugh. “Is that what has the magic? Like, are those the things that take the worry away? Because they look like they mean business.”
Ah, so not disgust, just curiosity.
The tension in my jaw eased slightly at the realization, and I turned back toward her. “Yes,” I said, my tone more even now. “I use them to work through the tension and draw out the stress. Your muscles will benefit from it as well.”
I caught the flicker in her eyes as she took them in again, subtle at first, then lingering just a fraction too long. Something shifted there, and I noticed a soft blush creeping along her freckled cheeks.
“Can’t wait,” she said, her voice still touched with nerves, but now breathier, softer in a way that didn’t quite match the words.
And then I felt it. A small shift in the tension I’d been sensing from her, loosening into something warmer as it lingered in the air around us. And there it was, that unmistakable hint ofdesire.
She was drawn to them, that much I was sure of, and it wasn’t a reaction I was unfamiliar with. Tentacle kinks weren’t exactly rare, and from the way Kara’s gaze lingered, paired with that subtle shift in her energy, it was becoming increasingly clear which of the two reactions I usually got she fell into.
That was a line I didn’t cross with clients, no matter how hard some had propositioned me. I had no interest in blurring that boundary, no matter how tempting the situation might be, and I had to hope she wasn’t the type to test it. The last thing I needed was a scandal tied to my name, not in a town like this, where word traveled faster than the tide.
Even if she was... distracting, I knew I needed to get it together and force my focus back where it belonged.
I moved to the end of the table and let my tentacles hover for a moment over the base of her neck without touching, centering myself the way I always did before making contact. It was a habit that benefited both the client and me, since I never truly knew how strong the emotions were until that first point of contact, and sometimes it could be overwhelming if I didn’t prepare properly.
When I was ready, I set my tentacles on her shoulders, and the effect was immediate.
Most stress came in recognizable forms—tightness, friction, and tension gathered into predictable patterns. With Kara, what hit me first was not tension but force. A rush of tightly leashed alarm shot through me so suddenly that my own jaw locked in response. It wasn’t stress that sat deepest in her—it wasfear.
Not dulled fear softened by time, lingering beneath the surface, butactivefear. Beneath that, there was exhaustion, layered so deeply it felt structural. And beneath that, there was still another layer. It wasn’t pain, exactly, but rather the anticipation of it, like her body was in a constant fight-or-flight mode with each drag of my tentacles, as if she were waiting for the moment the relaxing massage turned into something darker.
No wonder she always looked at the doors first. No wonder her smiles came so quickly, so carefully placed that they felt almost rehearsed, just a touch too polished to be real. And now, I understood why Mina had felt guilty turning her away.
She wasn’t just carrying the stress of a simple home refurbishment or a bad investment. No, this was something deeper than splintered wood and uneven floors. This was the kind of emotional weight that settled intoa person’s bones and refused to leave—the kind I wasn’t entirely sure I was prepared to take on tonight.
I couldn’t stop now, though, not when I was already in the thick of it. So instead, I worked in silence, pressing into the knots gathered at the base of her neck while my tentacles drew out the strain piece by piece. I focused on keeping myself steady as it slowly began to feel like too much.
Usually, clients softened within minutes, their bodies yielding once the first layers were undone. With Kara, it was working, but slowly. It resisted at first, like it had lived inside her for years and had no intention of letting go without a fight. I moved lower, working into the tension gathered around her shoulder blades, and the deeper I went, the more the emotional residue revealed itself. There was worry, shame, and loneliness—a lot of loneliness—and it hurt in a way I hadn’t expected. Not just physically, though there was that too.
I felt her stiffen beneath my tentacles, and for a moment I worried I was letting on just how much her emotions were affecting me. Her nerves only made it worse.
“You can breathe,” I said evenly, hoping that if she calmed herself, it would ease the strain on me.
“I am breathing,” she said, letting out an exaggerated breath for show.
