Jewel of the Sea (The Kraken Book 2) Read online

  She lifted her head and scanned the room. The dresser drawers were partially opened, their contents disturbed, and the objects on her table had been moved. Her attention caught on her satchel.

  It had been laid atop the table, flap thrown open, papers spilling out.

  “No,” she rasped and quickly crossed the room, somehow missing the glass shards. She stood the satchel and pulled out the papers with shaking hands. “No. No!”

  Every drawing she’d made of Arkon — every single one! — was gone.

  Icy fear flooded her, thawed by rage close on its heels.

  How dare he?

  He’d come to her this morning in peace, but it had all been a lie. His kindness and friendship were false fronts meant to lull her into lowering her guard.

  Aymee left her room, striding toward the front door.

  “Aymee?” Jeanette frowned as Aymee passed her. “Aymee!”

  She ignored her mother as she threw on her shoes and stormed out, stalking down the street toward the town center. She paid no mind to the people milling about the square.

  Shoving the double doors open, she strode into the town hall.

  Aymee swept her gaze over the room and spotted Randall standing at one of the tables, bent forward with his hands on the tabletop. He turned his head, eyes widening when they fell on Aymee. The other two men — Cyrus and one she hadn’t met — shifted their attention to her, as well.

  “Where are they?” she demanded, closing the distance between them.

  Randall quirked a brow. “Where are what, Aymee?”

  “My sketches,” she bit out. “You took my sketches!”

  He frowned, but the mild confusion on his face didn’t fade. “I gave them all back to you after they fell. I handed them directly to you.”

  “But you came for them. You searched my damn room for them!”

  “Hell, Randy, this one’s a firecracker.” Cyrus wore an amused smirk beneath his hard-eyed gaze.

  Aymee turned her glare to him, meeting his gaze unwaveringly. “I want my sketches back. Now.”

  “I don’t have them, Aymee. I’m not a damned thief,” Randall said.

  “That’s right, Aymee,” Cyrus drawled. “He doesn’t have them.”

  “You do,” she said.

  Cyrus stepped around the other ranger and approached her. He towered over her. “Prove it, fish-lover.”

  Aymee balled a fist and, without thought, she punched Cyrus in the face.

  His head snapped to the side. He slowly turned it back to her, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “Gonna have to do a lot better than th—”

  A choking noise cut off his words as Aymee rammed her knee into his crotch. He doubled over, face red, hands dropping to his groin. She placed her palms on his shoulders and pushed him to the floor.

  “Do not speak to me that way again,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Cyrus grunted and reached up. His face darkened as he took hold of the table’s edge and dragged himself to his feet. “You little fish-loving—”

  Randall and the other ranger imposed themselves between the two at that moment. Items rattled on the table as they restrained Cyrus. Before Aymee could get another shot in, Randall caught her wrist.

  “Enough, Aymee. It’s probably best you go,” he said.

  She yanked her wrist out of his grasp and stepped away from him. “I want them back, Randall. Someone was in my room. Someone took them, and I don’t care if it was you or him. I want them back.” She turned and stomped toward the door.

  “That’s not what we do, Aymee,” Randall called, raising his voice over Cyrus’s swearing.

  Aiden blocked her. “Are you okay, Aymee?”

  “I’m fine. Sorry for the disturbance.”

  He looked over her shoulder, toward the rangers, for an instant. “I’d kick them out if I could, but…” he whispered.

  “I know. Thank you.”

  He nodded and moved aside, letting her leave.

  Chapter 9

  The evening sun crept toward the watery horizon, its angle casting illumination on most of the sand beneath the overhang. The scents on the wind teased a coming storm, but only sparse white clouds drifted across the sky.

  Arkon clenched his jaw as he stared at the tiny stones and shells scattered in the sand. He’d intended to create something new for Aymee, another surprise, but his plans had met only frustration. He was too preoccupied. Whenever he sought a potential pattern in his mind’s eye, his thoughts returned to that morning two days before.

  To the hurt in her voice.

  He raked his claws over the design he’d etched into the sand. For all his curiosity, all his excitement, all his interest in Aymee, he’d fled the situation. He’d allowed his lack of experience to become a lack of self-control, and she had paid the price.

  The tip of his tentacle still tingled with the remembrance of her taste, scent, and feel. It had been so potent he’d nearly tasted her on his tongue. In that moment — when he’d touched her, flesh to flesh — he’d wanted her so much it hurt. He’d extruded almost instantly. The immense, aching pressure in his shaft would’ve burst at her slightest touch.

  He stared down at the backs of his hands and the tiny grains of sand sticking to them. Creativity had never been difficult for him; he saw intricate patterns everywhere, and his visions for his work were always clear from their inception.

  That had all seemed to flee him after hurting Aymee.

  Lifting his head, he glanced down the beach. His hearts stilled when Aymee rounded the bend in the cliffside and entered his view. Her brows were drawn, and she wore a troubled frown. Turning away, she walked backward, seeming to search the beach behind her.

  Arkon pushed himself upright. He’d never seen her in such a state, and he’d only himself to blame. Perhaps he valued knowledge and learning more than any of his kind, but he’d been a fool.

  She faced him again and approached, the canister swinging in her hold. She wore a bandage on one hand.

  “What happened, Aymee?” He moved close and gently took her wrist, raising her arm to study the cloth wrapped around her knuckles.

  “I lost my temper with one of the hunters.”

  His muscles tensed, but he was careful not to strengthen his grip. “Did he harm you?”

  “No. The others caught him before he could.” She tugged free of his hold. “I can’t stay. And this...needs to end.”

  Arkon’s arms fell to his sides. His chest tightened and his brow furrowed as he processed her words, and his initial response — What? — caught in his throat. A strange sort of anger followed; it wasn’t directed at her, but at the situation, at the hunters, at the world.

  “No.”

  Her eyes shot up to meet his. “Yes, Arkon. It isn’t safe.”

  “Life isn’t safe. Fear and intolerance separated our people long ago, and I refuse to allow the same keep us apart.”

  Aymee squeezed her eyes shut, and a pained expression flitted across her face. The container dropped from her hand and hit the sand with a soft plop. When she looked up at him again, she pressed her fingers to his chest.

  “We’re asking for trouble,” she said quietly. “They took my sketches, Arkon. They know what you look like now, and at least one of them knows about my trips to this beach. I won’t be coming here again until they leave town.”

  The finality in her tone sapped the strength of his resolve. He didn’t want this to be the end, couldn’t bear it to be, but the choice, ultimately, belonged to her. Just as it had from the beginning.

  And she was right.

  “Holy shit,” said a deep voice from behind her.

  Arkon lifted his gaze. A human male had just rounded the bend, a long gun in his hands. He was large enough to rival Macy’s father, Breckett, but there was something harder about this human — an emptiness behind the gleam in his eyes.

  Aymee spun toward them. “No!”

  Arkon swept her behind him as two more humans came
into view, both with similar clothing and weapons.

  “They’re real,” the first man said, mouth spreading into a wide grin. The expression drew attention to the cut on his lower lip and the purple, swollen flesh around it. “The damn fish men are real.”

  “Just turn around and walk away,” Arkon said, fire flowing into his veins. “No one needs to come to harm today. Our people are not enemies.”

  “And they do talk!” The man turned to one of his companions, a younger human with a strained look on his face. “You were right, Randy.”

  Randy’s eyes were on Aymee. The emotions in his features were jumbled; Arkon guessed they bore a deeper meaning but had no idea what.

  Aymee ducked beneath Arkon’s arm and inserted herself between him and the humans. “Arkon, go. Now.”

  “I am not going to leave you alone with these men, Aymee.”

  “They won’t hurt me, but they will hurt you. Go.”

  “Nobody needs to get hurt,” Randy said. “He just needs to come with us willingly.”

  “Krullshit,” the first man spat. “I owe her, and I’m not giving this thing a chance to get away.” He shifted his gaze to the third human. “Joel, you bring that rope?”

  Joel shifted his long gun into one hand and reached behind him, removing a coil of rope from his belt. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his skin nearly as dark as Dracchus’s, head shaved bare. “I did. It gonna hold him though, Cyrus?”

  “He’s not going with you,” Aymee said.

  Cyrus casually moved a hand to the bolt of his long gun and slid it back, checking the chambered round. “He is. One way or another. This bullet’s big enough to go through you on its way to him, so think real hard about how much you want to argue with me.”

  “Stand down, ranger,” Randy said through clenched teeth.

  Cyrus’s grin faltered; he pressed his lips into a tight line. “Excuse me, Randy?”

  “Stand. Down.”

  “Arkon, go,” Aymee hissed over her shoulder.

  “I am not leaving you with that man.” Arkon didn’t take his eyes off Cyrus. This was the human Aymee had stricken, the one she’d lost her temper with, and he was threatening her. “Come with me.”

  “Neither of you are going,” Randy said.

  Aymee backed up into Arkon.

  “Just one bullet, and we’ve got our prize and her mouth is shut for good. Worth a round of ammo,” Cyrus said, “maybe two.”

  “No. We’re here to protect people, damn it.” Randy met Arkon’s gaze. “Just give yourself up. You were right; no one needs to get hurt today. Cyrus, Joel — guns down.”

  Joel grimaced, but leaned over and stood his long gun against the cliffside, its butt in the sand.

  “Fuck that.” Cyrus raised his gun, barrel pointed at Aymee.

  As Arkon grabbed hold of her and spun to shield her with his body, Randy caught the barrel in his hand and halted its upward motion.

  “Taking one alive was the plan from the beginning, wasn’t it?” Randy demanded. “He hasn’t threatened us in any way. Weapon down, now.”

  “I can’t tell if your daddy would be proud right now, or if he’d be beating the snot out of you.”

  Arkon watched over his shoulder as Cyrus tugged his gun out of Randy’s grip and tossed it into the sand. They all wore knives and smaller guns on their belts, but hadn’t drawn them yet.

  “We need to go,” Aymee whispered, clutching his arm.

  “If we try to flee, they will shoot us,” Arkon replied. His options were limited in this situation; he wanted to believe the Randy, who appeared to be their leader, but — apart from Aymee and Macy — could humans be trusted? “I need to go with them.”

  “You can’t! They’ll hurt you.”

  “It will be all right, Aymee.”

  “Arkon, don’t. This is not like what happened with Jax.”

  “I know.” He reached up and cupped her cheek with his palm, brushing the pad of his thumb over her soft skin. “But the stakes are just as high. If we resist or run, you’re likely to get hurt.”

  “If this doesn’t move along, I’m just going to shoot him,” Cyrus said.

  Arkon smiled down at Aymee, turned toward the hunters, and raised his hands. He kept his breathing steady and willed his hearts to slow. He realized, as the humans cautiously advanced, that he’d lied to Aymee for the first time.

  There was little chance things would be all right.

  The three males stopped a short distance from Arkon and stared up at him.

  “Are all of you this big?” Cyrus asked.

  Arkon made no reply; instead, he met Randy’s eyes.

  “Joel is going to restrain you,” Randy said.

  Joel stepped forward — without hesitation, though it must have been strange for him to be so close to a kraken for the first time — with the rope in his hands.

  Aymee approached them. “Randall, don’t do this.” She motioned toward Arkon. “You see him with your own eyes, now, and he’s complying. He isn’t a threat to anyone.”

  “He’s a predator.” Cyrus scowled at Aymee. “That makes him a threat.”

  “So are you,” she shot back with a glare.

  “None of this is necessary,” Arkon said calmly. “I will go with you, but I will not be restrained. If I am expected to trust you, then you must extend similar trust to me. I would like us to be friends. My understanding is that humans do not make captives of would-be friends.”

  Randall hesitated, seeming conflicted.

  “Shut your mouth and put your hands behind your back,” Cyrus growled. “I’ve had enough of her running her mouth. I’m not in the mood to hear you, too.”

  Cyrus tugged the rope out of Joel’s hands.

  “Take it easy, Cyrus,” Joel said. He hadn’t removed his eyes from Arkon. “We don’t know what this thing’s capable of.”

  “We don’t, but I guarantee you my gun can put a hole in him as big as it would in anything else.” Cyrus grasped Arkon’s wrist.

  Aymee leapt forward and grabbed hold of the rope. “You’re not taking him.”

  Releasing his hold on Arkon, Cyrus backhanded Aymee across the face. The force of it sent her to the ground.

  Something within Arkon broke. Though it happened in a fraction of an instant, he was acutely aware of the process — it was as though a wall had collapsed, and rage like he’d never felt poured in through the opening. His skin shifted to crimson.

  Randall took a fistful of Cyrus’s shirt and hauled the man backward, shock and anger on his features.

  Cyrus scowled. “Stupid little—”

  Arkon wasn’t interested in hearing anymore. He swung his left arm, the back of his hand connecting with Cyrus’s mouth. Twisting, the human tumbled to the sand.

  The other hunters were quick to overcome their surprise. Joel stepped forward and hooked Arkon’s arm with his own and extended a leg behind Arkon’s tentacles, pulling back as though to drag the kraken off-balance. It was little surprise that a land-dwelling being would resort to such tactics — someone with legs would have fallen.

  Arkon shifted his weight, spreading his limbs wider to remain upright, and wrapped a tentacle around each of Joel’s legs.

  “Stop!” Randall shouted.

  Arkon pulled Joel’s feet out from beneath him, and the man hit the sand hard, the back of his head striking the cliffside as he fell. Ignoring Randall, who hadn’t moved to attack, Arkon returned his focus to Cyrus.

  The man had regained his feet. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and he wore a ghastly grin. He pulled a long knife from his belt. The blade glinted in the evening sunlight.

  “Come on, then. Nothing wrong with a little sport.” He spat crimson onto the beach.

  “God damn it, that’s enough!” A desperate tone had entered Randall’s voice; the situation had spiraled out of control. Arkon knew well how that felt.

  “I accept your challenge, Cyrus,” Arkon said.

  “This has gone far enough! Both o
f you, stand down!”

  “Quiet now, Randy. Let the adult settle this.” Cyrus advanced toward Arkon.

  Randall drew the gun from his hip, raised it, and fired into the sand in front of Cyrus. The boom was deafening, amplified by the rock walls.

  Cyrus halted, turning a furious, wide-eyed gaze to Randall.

  “I said stand down, ranger. That is an order,” Randall said.

  “This pulling rank shit doesn’t work in the field, kid. Only thing that matters out here is respect, and you don’t—”

  “Don’t what? Have yours? You think I care, Cyrus? I gave you an order. We’re doing this my way, so back up and put your knife away.”

  “Arkon isn’t going with you,” Aymee said, voice hard.

  All eyes turned to her; Cyrus’s blossoming smirk quickly faded. She stood beside the prone Joel, clutching the man’s sidearm in both hands. Her arms were steady, keeping the barrel pointed toward Cyrus and Randall. Arkon recognized the fire in her eyes. It was more intense now, but it stemmed from the same passion she displayed for art, for joy, for life.

  Randall neither raised nor lowered his gun; his face was contorted with conflicting emotion again. “Aymee—”

  “No! I’m done hearing about your good intentions. From what I’ve seen and heard, there was no intention of letting him live.”

  “At this point, I don’t have any intention of letting either of you live,” Cyrus said.

  “You kill me, and the entire town will turn on you.”

  The man’s grin might as well have been filled with razor-sharp teeth — they would have accompanied its malice rather well.

  “Most of the townsfolk think these things are dangerous. We tried to save you, but the monster was too quick…so we took it down to avenge your death.”

  “Is that so, Randall?” Aymee asked.

  Randall dropped his gaze. “It doesn’t need to be. We just...we just need to put the weapons down, and we can still talk this through.”

  Something flickered in Aymee’s eyes as she looked at Randall — a hint of sorrow in her anger. “You’re just as monstrous as him.”