Filed To Story: The Saltwater Curse Book PDF Free
My mind conjures memories of Dad.
For the first decade and a half of my life, we would have fish for dinner every eighth day in memory of the woman who gave birth to me. Apparently, Mom was horrendous at fishing. After years of trying, she finally caught one, then eight days later, she caught another. By a stroke of luck, another eight days rolls around, and a fish ends up caught on her line. She never managed to catch another fish after that, so it became their thing to eat fish every eight days. A little inside joke.
My father never cried. He didn’t when he broke his arm, or when he fractured three bones in his hand. He didn’t when my grandparents died, or when my uncle was diagnosed with cancer. But on those nights, every eight days, I’d see him shed a tear when he thought I wasn’t looking.
He didn’t believe in soulmates, but she was the sun, the moon, the stars, and every wave he’d ride. She was everything to him before I came along, and she was still, long after I took my first steps or rode a bike alone. Not once did I see him look at another woman or go on a single date after she died.
Dad loved me with every fiber of his being, gave me the world and then some, but there was always something missing. Mom.
A dry cough rattles through my lungs. I choke into my shoulder before rasping, “What makes you so certain I am your mate?”
A deep divot forms in Ordus’ forehead. A tentacle curves around my lower half, staying on the ground, and I don’t bother pushing it away. It feels nice. A cushioned chain. Bedazzled shackles.
His stare lands on the spot where our skin touches. He softens, eyes brightening like I’ve just given him the world. “As cubs, we are taught about souls and the Goddess’ influence on them. I spent an entire lifetime thinking she forgot to grant me one, or that she may have started with mine but left too many fractures she did not want to bother fixing. When I saw you, that was the first time I felt my soul sing. I felt complete.”
I shift my gaze, unable to look him in the eye. “I feel nothing.”
Is that a lie? I’m not experiencing the full scale of hatred and loathing someone in my position, with my background, should feel.
I’m sympathizing with him, thinking he’s attractive. I even felt tingles between my legs last night when he took advantage of my vulnerabilities. Is that because of fate, or because I’m fucked in the head?
“You are human,” Ordus answers, confirming my earlier assumptions. “Damaged.” My eyes fly to him.
Excuse me?
“By the hands of another,” he explains before I can lash out, even though he’s correct. “Lost. Running. Alone.” I’m not sure if he’s talking about himself or me. “Do you feel your soul, Cindi?”
I… My throat bobs.
If I had one, there’s nothing left of it. I got rid of it for the sake of keeping my heart beating. Is that why I don’t feel the pull toward him, or am I entertaining the ramblings of a species different to my own?
The waves brush my feet, sending cool splatter up my thighs. I focus on it to keep myself from spiraling, reliving everything that happened over the past five years.
This would be a good surf spot. I’d have the whole beach to myself, decent waves, silence, an aquatic lifeguard.
My brows knit together as I watch Vasz bustle out of the sea, drop something on the beach, then hack up liquid like he’s a typical dog who thought drinking saltwater was a good idea.
Fucking Vaseline.
We both watch as he picks up the round thing he dropped and coats it with his slobber before trotting over to us, tail wagging, ears flopping, paws pitter-pattering on the ground. He disregards Ordus, coming to a stop in front of me. The coconut thuds as it hits the sand, and he noses it toward me, growling when the waves move it back to him.
I blink at the green-yellow item. A
coconut.
Wait.
I hesitate when I reach for it. “Is it for me?” I swing my gaze between the two creatures.
Vasz chuffs a noise that sounds eerily like “Duh.”
I snatch the coconut off the ground before he can change his mind. I use more of my energy reserves to turn the fruit around to search for major cracks. There are holes from his teeth, but they haven’t punctured very deep.
“The knife.” For the first time today, a flutter of hope starts in my chest. “Get me the knife,” I repeat to Ordus.
He leaves without question, saying something to Vasz in a language I don’t understand. The shark-dog rolls his eyes then fixes his focus on me, tipping his head side to side. I study the fruit, praying to every god and goddess it’s not filled with seawater.
I look around the beach for a solid surface and pull myself onto my feet to stumble for it. I’m panting from the minute walk it takes to reach the stone.
Ordus returns soon after, handing me the weapon with no care that I might use it to kill him. I stare at the blade for a moment. It’s different to the one I stabbed him with.
Grabbing a fistful of my dress, I clean it as best as I can. I’ll just need to accept that food poisoning is my other greatest threat.
Taking a deep breath, I balance the coconut on the stone and raise the knife above my head.
Here goes nothing. I use the force of gravity to plunge the blade into the upper half of the fruit before taking it out.
Liquid sputters and spurts from the gap, foaming around where the thin hole is. I repeat the process three more times, careful not to crack the husk. Each stab takes more energy than the last until I’m buckling over, my injured hand splayed out to hold my weight as a wave of lethargy hits me.
I can feel the two creatures watching me—a quick glance at Vasz tells me he thinks I’m committing sacrilege.
There are better ways to be doing this, but I don’t trust myself not to fuck it up and waste any juice that might be inside.
I rock back on my heels, inspecting the banged-up square I’ve made, wedging the pointed edge to dislodge the lid so I can peek inside. It smells like coconut and the sea, and I can’t for the life of me figure out if the liquid inside will kill me or not. I don’t know jack shit about what the inside is meant to look like. I only know what it looks like in a can, plastic bottle, or a glass mixed with rum and pineapple.
Giving up, I bring it to my mouth without hesitation, ignoring the fact that I swear I can taste Vasz’s slobber. The first drop of liquid hits my tongue, and my eyes drift shut. Sweetness explodes over my taste buds. It trickles down the back of my throat. A moan builds deep in my chest, and I’m out of fucks to stop it.
I might as well be drinking the elixir of the gods.
It’s the best thing I’ve ever had.
I can’t think about pacing myself. I drink every last drop, tipping my head back and shaking the coconut until nothing else comes out.
I grab the knife and chop the top off with renewed energy, scraping the flesh before I put that baby right into my mouth, nibbling at the meat I’ve never dared to eat before. I try stripping the skin off instead to savor all I can.
By the time I’m done, the sun has fallen beneath the horizon, and I learn what a shark-dog looks like when he’s mortified.
“Good boy,” I say without thinking, patting his head.
My stomach is full, my throat doesn’t feel like sandpaper, and I think I could cry from such a simple joy.
I scratch the back of his ear, muttering, “Good job, Coco. You’re so good. You’re such a good boy.”
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