Filed To Story: The Saltwater Curse Book PDF Free
I never learned how to read English, but Mother insisted we learn the native language of the humans on the mainland. Admittedly, it’s been many years since I’ve attempted to read anything, and I’m finding it difficult to recall the phonetics for the tourist’s language.
Several images of human food pop onto the box. He clicks on the one with a snapper, and the picture begins to move. A male’s voice filters through the device.
Fascinating.
I will gift a phone to Cindi. My mate can watch the moving photos too, if she wishes.
My full concentration is on the device as the male talks through scraping off the scales of a fish, gutting it, then what they call filleting it.
“You do not like the bones?” I confirm with my prey.
“Uh…yeah?”
I nod. I understand. The scales are sharp, and the bones sometimes get stuck between my teeth. Cindi should never experience that.
I continue watching the human on the device clean the fish, then tap it dry. The male sprinkles salt and pepper—I will search for this—on both sides before pouring oil—I will add this to the list as well—on a flat silver item with curved sides.
Is that what that is called? A pan? Cindi packed something similar, except it had rounded edges that looked more like a bowl.
Now that I really think about it, I think I saw one in that shape but much smaller, in black. She was running around the house throwing things into bags, taking it out again, putting it back in, swapping it out for another item. I did my best to catalogue every item she was interested in bringing, but my efforts were mainly spent moving around to cushion her as she inevitably stumbled. I lost count of how many times she would’ve hit the edge of a table if my tentacle hadn’t been there.
I’m curious to see how the fish tastes when it’s prepared in such a way.
“That.” I point at the metal thing the pan is on. The box goes weird when I touch it.
Wait. Yes.
The humans burn their food first. On fire. How did I forget?
I paid attention to where the humans were and where their attention was locked onto, but never much more than that.
I never cared to know how the humans lived beyond the trivial matters of where they congregate or the words coming out of their mouths. Had I known my mate would be human, I would’ve begun learning their customs years ago.
“A stove?” I do not appreciate the tourist’s condescending tone. “Seriously, dude. Is this a prank? Are you high? Because I’m?—“
“Get me one,” I snarl. My incisors threaten to make an appearance.
“I don’t live here. I don’t know where?—“
“Now.” No more excuses.
“Holy fuck. My Airbnb has one, okay? Is that fine? Just—just don’t hurt me.”
He speaks too much. “Take me there, and say nothing more.”
I snatch the phone
—interesting choice of word—from him and shove him back toward the main street. I follow closely behind as he lumbers along, casting frightened glances back at me. “Will there be other hu—males there?”
He shakes his head. “Will you?—“
“No speaking.”
I only like when Cindi speaks.
It isn’t long until we’re entering an older villa in a quieter neighborhood not far from Cindi’s house. The male hands me the stove he mentioned. It’s much smaller than the one in the video. There’s only one of the places the fire comes from instead of six, but it’s little and can be easily carried back to the island. It’ll do.
The male shifts and slowly backs away. “Look, I don’t want any trouble?—“
I throw him across the room. He must hit his head in the process, because he doesn’t move again. I revert my attention back to the stove.
Yes. Tomorrow, I will cook a fish for my mate.
Cindi is a hoarder, I have learned.
She has many of the same items—which I do not understand. She has over six pairs of shoes, just as many pants, over ten dresses, and at least twenty tops. One or two, I understand, but ten seems a lot.
I suppose this means humans change clothes many times. How often are they meant to do it? Will they get sick if they don’t? Weren’t the sailors I saw always wearing the same thing?
Krakens do not require such things, but the noble ones flaunt their wealth with jewels they’ve acquired. Some wear belts with pouches to carry more supplies, or necklaces made from the finest shells they’ve found.
Cindi has very little jewelry. No matter. I am a king. She has plenty to choose from.
My nostrils flare as I sort through the clothes on the floor. The male’s lingering scent is faint. Vasz was unable to pinpoint his smell to track him. My mate says someone is after her. I need to change that. My stomach ached seeing her upset like that. I wanted to hold her and reassure her nothing will happen, but words mean nothing to Cindi. I have to prove it.
I stalk toward the open closet door once more. Did Cindi bring enough clothes for her to be comfortable on the island? She only had three bags. It couldn’t have been sufficient.
I place the clothing in the hard-shelled rectangular item on the floor that opens like a grey clam with four little wheels at the bottom. Like a chest…except not. There were some items in it already, but I want my mate to have as many of her things as possible.
Content that Cindi will be sufficiently warm, I move to the cupboards beside her bed. One side has been emptied already; the other remains standing, drawers still intact. I cautiously pull the drawer out lest I break the contents inside it and upset my mate.
I stare at the bright blue object at the very top. I tip my head and frown, then tip my head to the other side. What is…
I pick up the rubber object. It’s nearly as long as my hand, yet my finger doesn’t reach my thumb at the base. Why does Cindi have a tentacle?
Cindi’s scent is all over the house, lingering on every fabric. It’s different now. Stronger, mustier, more… I inhale deeply.
My cock hardens, moisture immediately leaking from the tip. The tentacle smells of my mate’s sweet sex.
Did she…she… Blood rushes from my head, and I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the rubber tentacle that’s similar in shape to my own. I breathe her in again, imagining her taking my appendage instead of a toy. The sounds she’d make. How her eyelids would flutter. How her full lips would pout.
My human mate is attracted to krakens.
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