He nodded. “Do you need anything else for the fire, or is the wood enough?” he asked as he crossed the island.
Macy watched, fascinated by the way he moved. Though his body remained upright, he didn’t so much walk as drag himself along with his tentacles. It created an undulating rhythm to his movement; dipping, sliding, rising, tentacles in constant motion.
She tore her gaze away and got to her feet, ducking out from beneath her shelter. No more gawking at her captor. She had a fish to cook.
“Macy?”
“Oh, um…” She cleared her throat; what had he asked? “Oh! Kindling. Something that’ll easily catch fire.”
Brushing debris from her legs, Macy stepped around her tent and surveyed the crates. Some were metal with slits along their sides; she picked up the emptiest of them and dumped its contents into another bin.
Jax sauntered up alongside her. He handed her the cup; she passed him the crate.
“Bring that to the vines by the waterfall,” she said, sipping the water, “and keep it dry, if you can.”
He nodded. In the water, he moved with an otherworldly grace, arms raised over his head to hold the crate well above the surface. He was across the pool in seconds.
Setting her cup down, Macy entered the water and swam to the other side. It was cold, raising goosebumps on her arms and legs. She turned away from the waterfall as it misted her face; during the heat of the day, it would be refreshing, but it was too chilly now.
Jax leaned an elbow on the narrow ledge that ran along the length of the rock face, the crate perched beside him. Macy climbed onto the ledge nearby. She shivered immediately.
Shaking her hands dry, she forced her attention to the vegetation on the cliffside. The mass of vines clinging to the stone began at the top of the cliff — about fifteen meters up — and hung nearly to the water. Tufts of scrubby grass had sprouted from some of the cracks, with more growing along the base of the cliff.
Macy gathered all the grass within reach, piling the green handfuls to one side and the brown to the other. Once that was done, she went to work on the vines, shifting the glossy leaves aside to reveal the webs of branches and roots beneath.
The dead growth eventually gave way when she grasped it with both hands and leaned back, but the living vines were far more stubborn, clinging to the cliff face with silent desperation. She settled for tearing off some of the larger leaves, piling all of it into the crate.
After plucking the final leaf, she tilted her head back, trailing her gaze up the cliffside.
The vines are strong…
“Macy?”
Jax’s voice cut through her thoughts, and she turned back to the crate.
“There’s not much else I can get, right now.” She frowned down at her harvest. “Would you bring it back to the island, please? And again, try not to get any of it wet.”
He lifted the crate over his head and swam back to the island.
Knowing what to expect didn’t dull the chill of the water when Macy slipped back into the pool. She hurried after Jax, though there was no way she’d ever be able to keep up with him. He carried the crate to her tent, set it on the ground, and turned toward her as she pulled herself out of the water.
She shivered again, and when she looked at Jax, he made no attempt to hide the way his eyes roamed over her body — from head to foot and back again, lingering on her chest.
Suddenly self-conscious, Macy glanced down. Her soaked dress was plastered to her breasts and hardened nipples. Mortified, she crossed her arms over her chest, shielding herself from his gaze.
Jax shifted closer and tilted his head, brow creased. “Why do you cover yourself?”
Was it possible that her nipples tightened further under his scrutiny?
“W-we need to build the fire,” she said.
“What does the fire have to do with it?”
“It doesn’t.”
He held her gaze for several seconds, but didn’t press any further. Instead, he moved aside and hunkered down beside her when she knelt before the crate. She felt him watching her, and couldn’t ignore how tightly the dress clung to her body.
Keeping an arm over her chest, Macy removed some dried grass and vines from the crate and piled them on the ground. She arranged several pieces of driftwood over the pile, leaving room for airflow, and leaned back.
If they could get it lit, it would do well enough with the fish, but the relatively small fuel supply wouldn’t last very long. It was enough to cook three or four meals — maybe a bit more, if she was conservative.
One problem at a time.
“Okay. You said you had something to spark this, right?” she asked.
“Yes.” Jax twisted slightly, shifting his tentacles, and moved something into his hand. When he brought it forward, Macy widened her eyes.
“You have a gun.”
Jax raised the gun, tilting it nonchalantly. He didn’t point it at her, but that did little to ease her concerns. “For the fire.”
“How is a gun going to help us make a fire? Have you ever even used one before?”
“This gun creates heat.”
Macy stared at the weapon. He had to have taken it from wherever his people lived. There were similar weapons in The Watch, but they were rundown from centuries of use and increasingly improvised repair. Jax’s gun looked like it had just been manufactured.
“Okay.” She extended her hand, palm up.
He looked at her waiting hand, brow falling. “Have you ever used one before?”
“I’ve been taught to handle them.”
“More reason not to give it to you. Move back.”
Macy frowned, but she obeyed. Why would he hand her a weapon that could totally alter the power balance between them?
Turning toward the pile of fuel, Jax fiddled with a control on the gun; Macy guessed it was some sort of power setting. In one fluid motion, he dipped his torso forward and slid his tentacles backward, leaving him nearly on his belly. He held his upper half suspended just over the ground.
There was a soft, high-pitched whine, barely audible over the waterfall. He held the gun with both hands, pointed at the base of the kindling, and pulled the trigger.
At first, nothing happened. She was about to ask if something was wrong when a wisp of smoke rose from the pile. Within a moment, the fire ignited. Jax released the trigger and shifted into an upright position.
“It worked!” Macy grinned as the flames grew.
He watched the flames with slitted pupils. “It has a strange way of moving.”
“Just don’t touch it.” Macy rose and slid the crate to stacked driftwood, adding the remaining grass and vines to the pile. Then she flipped the crate over and scrubbed its bottom clean with a cloth. “Would you bring me the fish?”
Turning back to the fire, she set the crate over it, upside-down. The slits on the sides and base acted as vents, allowing air and smoke to flow freely, and provided a grill-like cooking surface.
Jax entered the corner of her vision. He held the fish in one hand, his clawed thumb hooked in its mouth. It curled its tail to one side, gills flaring.
Macy ducked into the shelter and removed the knife from its hiding place, unwrapping it. The grip was comfortable in her hand. She knew people in The Watch who would’ve killed for such a fine-quality blade.
“Where did you get that?” Jax demanded.
She stood and turned to face him, hiding the knife behind her back to keep him from grabbing it. “I found it in one of the crates.”
He extended his arm, holding his palm up. It was fast becoming a popular gesture between the two of them.
“I’m keeping it,” she said, lifting her chin. “I need it.”
“Why do you need it?”
“I need it as a tool. Not a weapon.”
“When I have more reason to trust you, you may have it as a tool.”
“Damnit, Jax! What do you think this is going to do to you? It’d be stupid for me to even try.
”
His brow fell low, and his pupils expanded to a strange hourglass shape. Macy held her ground — and his gaze. Finally, he lowered his arm in silent acceptance.
“Thank you,” she said softly and glanced at the fish. She raised her empty hand.
Jax passed the fish to her without a word and followed when she went to the edge of the water. He eased down beside her to watch; she wasn’t sure if it was an extension of further trust, or if he’d realized she truly didn’t pose any threat to him, knife or not.
She worked quickly, slicing open the fish’s belly to gut it before cutting a slab of meat from each of its sides. Her father had taught her the motions when she was young, and her hand moved with confidence and familiarity. Whenever she cleaned a fish, she couldn’t help but remember those days spent with him, before they lost Sarina. Her father often sang when he performed such tasks, making up the words as he went and never missing a beat in his husky baritone.
Her chest ached, and she paused. Her parents were likely worried sick if they didn’t already believe her dead.
One problem at a time.
After she’d stripped the skin from the two fillets, she rinsed the meat and her knife in the water.
“Are you not going to eat the rest?” Jax asked.
Macy glanced at the discarded pieces — skin, guts, bones, head, and tail — and wrinkled her nose. “No.”
“That is a waste of good food.”
“All yours,” she said, getting to her feet.
He gathered the scraps, leaving only the bones, and drew his tentacles together to raise his torso.
Macy entered the shelter, turned, and sat on the ground before the fire. She set the knife atop its cloth. Jax lowered himself into his version of a sitting position to her left as she selected the largest of the leaves from her pile. She folded them around her fillets.
The wraps sizzled when she laid them atop the crate, releasing a surprisingly sweet smell. She glanced at Jax and immediately regretted doing so; he was slipping fish guts into his mouth and chewing them slowly.
“That’s still gross,” she muttered, keeping her attention on her hands as she wrapped her knife in its cloth and tucked it away.
“Is that what you think of me, Macy? That I am gross?”
She looked up at him with a frown. Their differences were stark, but they didn’t matter; she’d grown accustomed to his appearance during their short time together. He was more intriguing than anything. There was undeniable beauty to his form and the way he moved.
“No, Jax. I don’t find you gross. Just…”
“Just good food.”
“It’s uncooked, and you’re eating its bowels.”
“There are no fires underwater, and all the soft bits are good. Perhaps humans don’t appreciate it because you have so many plants to eat.” He curled his lip slightly, giving her a glimpse of a pointed tooth.
“I doubt you’ve ever eaten the plants we do, so you can’t say anything about it. And humans don’t appreciate the parasites that come with eating raw meat.” She carefully flipped the meat, drinking in the aroma of cooking fish.
The sky was rapidly shifting to its normal blue, and the air was warming as sunlight streamed through the opening.
Jax’s nostrils flared. “The smell is…not unpleasant.”
The corner of her mouth lifted.
After giving them a bit longer to cook, she plucked both bundles off the crate and lay them on the ground beside her. She opened one, barely allowing it time to cool before she tore into the juicy, flakey fish. It was hot; she inhaled through her mouth to keep from burning her tongue as she chewed, but it was damned good.
“Its color is unnatural,” Jax leaned closer and studied the meat with unmasked curiosity.
Macy stopped her hand just before she slid another chunk into her mouth. She glanced down at it and held the piece out. “Want to try it?”
He accepted the offered morsel, lifting it close to his face to examine with narrowed eyes. After turning it from side to side and giving it a few squeezes, he brought up his other hand and, delicately, tore off a smaller piece with the tips of his claws.
“If you’re not going to eat it, give it back,” Macy said after swallowing another bite.
Jax swung his gaze to her. Without breaking eye contact, he opened his mouth and placed both pieces onto his tongue. His brow furrowed as he chewed. “This no longer tastes like fish.”
“It does. Like cooked fish. The leaves add some flavor to it, too.” She nibbled on another chunk; only a few tiny bits remained on the first leaf. “At home, we use spices to alter the flavor of our food and create variety in the tastes.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Like the smell, the taste is not unpleasant. But it seems like too much trouble when it already tasted fine as it was.”
She shrugged and picked up the other bundle. It had cooled enough not to burn her fingers. Unfolding it, she ate in silence.
“Still, it would be interesting to try these…spices,” he said after a while.
“Spices come from plants.”
Jax frowned, dropping his gaze to the charred leaves she’d used to wrap the fish.
“My dad loves his food spicy. He makes things so hot it feels like your mouth is on fire. I don’t know why he enjoys it, but he does, even if it makes him turn red and pour sweat.”
“So…spices make your mouth burn?”
“Not all of them. There are all kinds, and if you use them right, they can enhance the natural flavor of whatever food you use them on. There are even sweet spices we use to make treats.” She tilted her head. “You probably don’t know what most of that means, do you?”
“I don’t fully understand. I have heard some of the words before…but they have never held meaning to my people. Still, I think I understand enough.”
Macy finished her fish and slid the leaves into the fire through a slat on the crate. She sat quietly; only the ceaseless burbling of the waterfall broke the silence. This was the second day since she’d been brought here. She didn’t know if Camrin had survived, didn’t know if anyone would even consider them missing, yet.
How long before her parents thought they’d lost another daughter to the sea?
Here, Macy had no one. Jax came and went, and they were two different people from two different worlds. She felt…lost.
Warm tears slid down her cheeks. She hurriedly wiped them away.
Jax leaned toward her, gaze intent on her face. “Why are your eyes leaking, Macy? Is it some sickness?”
Macy got on her knees. “I swear I won’t say a word about you or your people.”
“I will not argue with you on this again.” He turned away and moved toward the water, his skin darkening.
“Where are you going?” she asked, brushing away more tears.
He didn’t answer, didn’t slow his movement.
“Jax?”
He continued forward. Macy’s heart quickened, and she scrambled to her feet. She didn’t want to do it again. Didn’t want to spend endless hours alone, caged in with nowhere to go, with no one to talk to. All she’d have were her thoughts, her guilt.
Her fears.
“Jax, please!” She raced after him, and — without thinking — plunged into the water.
He finally turned toward her. His features were hard, but he watched silently as she waded toward him.
“Please. D-don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone here again.” Macy sagged forward, despair sapping her strength. This was all too much.
Jax was there suddenly; rather than falling face-first into the water, she fell into the solid, velvet-draped planes of his muscles. His tentacles brushed her legs, unseen beneath the surface. She threw her arms around him and squeezed.
The thundering of her heart filled her ears. After ten beats, Jax embraced her and lifted her from the water. He cradled her against his chest. She slipped her arms around his neck and buried her face against him, letting her tears flow fre
ely as she sought comfort in his nearness.
Chapter 6
Macy’s skin was warm and smooth, the feel of it strengthened by the desperation of her hold on Jax. His hearts pounded in rapid succession and his chest was tight. This was a thrill not unlike that of a coming hunt, but it was a different sort of excitement, a new heat in his blood. Her body was soft; it molded to his, melted into his embrace, and his flesh tingled where it met hers.
He desired her. There was no hiding from the fact, no denying its truth.
Kraken females had pursued him for his prowess and ability to provide, but their numbers were few, and they’d always pushed for him to change. To deny his nature. That was not what Macy sought in his arms now.
She doesn’t want to be alone.
The realization struck him hard; he understood her loneliness, related to it, because he felt it, too. Years of wandering alone crashed up him like a wave battering the shore.
Her scent — a combination of salty and sweet, with a hint of earth and stone — washed over him. He tasted it through his tentacles, smelled it through his nostrils, and it permeated him. The only barrier between them was the wet cloth she wore. His memory of how it had sculpted to her body, accenting her tantalizing curves, sparked something in his gut.
A fire burned inside of him, and it was for Macy.
It took all his will not to extrude as his arousal grew; his emotions had never been so conflicted, his desires never so misaligned. He longed to take her but needed to comfort her. Macy’s sorrow flowed into him.
The water from her eyes — her crying — was hot against his chest. Her shoulders trembled with shaky breaths, and he smoothed a tentacle over her back, rubbing gently. She tightened her hold on him.
Instinct demanded he do anything he could to make her happy; her sadness was a blade twisting inside him. But he couldn’t give her the one thing she wanted. He couldn’t let her go. He knew it now, more than ever, and protecting his people was only one reason.
Jax held her until her crying subsided. By then, his hearts had slowed, but his blood hadn’t cooled. He doubted it ever would while she touched him.
Treasure of the Abyss (The Kraken Book 1) Page 6