Filed To Story: The Saltwater Curse Book PDF Free
Cindi bobs with every wave, stretching her neck side to side. She doesn’t have the thick, white, sticky residue along her nose and cheeks that she likes to wear whenever she plans on spending a long time out in the water. I don’t like when she uses the paste. It tastes bad. Vasz always gags and shakes out his tongue as well.
Her eyes open, immediately finding mine. A soft smile spreads over her lips, plumping her sharp cheeks.
She’s looking at me again.
A trail of fire rushes through my body, ravaging every doubt I have about her feelings toward me. If she hated me, would she smile at me the way she is now? Light up like she’s happy to see me?
“You weren’t in bed when I woke up,” she says.
My lungs rattle like they did when I was a child and couldn’t get enough air.
I grunt.
“The filter on one of the drums broke from last night’s wind, but I managed to fix it—used almost an entire roll of tape to keep the fucker together.”
I nod.
I want her to keep talking. Her voice is like finding shelter as rain patters against the grounds. It’s bird song in the morning after a storm. The crash of waves against the shore after deafening silence. Cindi is my favorite sound.
She’s my favorite everything. Mate or not, I would choose her every time. There is nothing about her that doesn’t make my hearts skip beats.
The way she sits beside me and draws shapes in the sand before we work on building something together. The delicate touch of her hand as she helps correct my work and teaches me a better way to do it.
How she once offered a bat her food then screamed when it flew toward her. The string of conversations she has with Vasz, even though he isn’t following what she’s saying.
When she offers me her food, and the laugh she suppresses when I swallow the foulest thing I’ve ever tasted. Then, the brush of her skin against mine as she passes me one of her drinks to wash down the horrid taste.
Her soft snores, and the way she rubs her nose against my chest before thrashing around in her sleep to get comfortable. Then the drool that follows, the bright red on her cheeks when she notices the next morning.
How she continues to speak to me when I offer her nothing but my presence. She seeks my company out, and every day, I make her suffer the price.
I watch in silence as she stares up at the cliffs lining the tops of the island.
Every day, I question whether my silence is the right choice. It’s what Cindi would truly prefer. It’s not me she wants to talk to. It’s anyone willing to listen.
If I don’t speak, there’s no chance for me to say the wrong thing—like I did in the treasure room.
Cindi looks back down at me. “What does the island look like?” There’s a hopeful lilt to her voice.
That hope has dimmed with each passing day.
“Hold on,” I tell her.
She yelps when I pull her board forward with my tentacles. Her small hands grip the front of the board. I do my best to find an opening with the least amount of surface motion, but the waves on this beach can be violent.
I swim hard against a wave to keep her from crashing against it, but it’s no use. One of my tentacles grabs her arm when she sways dangerously. She bats me away, drops down flat onto the board, then says, “Now you can.”
A smile threatens to break across my face at her confidence and overt trust in me.
That’s who I am. A male Cindi trusts.
I use one tentacle to wrap around her and the board, keeping my senses open for any foreign scents in our surroundings. I spot Vasz’s fin in the distance, popping in and out of the surface before disappearing back under.
That mutt better not try anything stupid. He can hunt for his own food tonight if he nips at me.
Once we’re further out from the island in calmer water, Cindi wriggles against my hold until I release her so she can sit back up. Water drips between her breast, and I force myself to look away, willing my breeding arm to go down on its own.
Goddess, I can still imagine the glint of sunlight as it trickles toward her sex.
The sex in my direct line of sight.
I must think of something else.
Urchins. Sea lice. The sound of Vasz’s cleaning routine when I’m trying to sleep. Cindi’s cooking. No, I can’t think of anything to do with her.
“It’s like a banana boat.” Cindi chuckles. I snap my attention back to her when she starts splashing her feet, gazing out at the scenery, a beaming smile on her face. “I haven’t been on one in years.”
I know what a banana is, and I know what a boat is. What I don’t know is how those two words work together.
She must see my questioning look. “It’s an inflatable boat shaped like a banana.”
I am no closer to understanding.
“I didn’t realize how pretty it is,” she whispers.
I grunt, and a divot forms between her brows. I wish I could take it back. “I suppose,” I grumble.
I’ve never paid much attention before. The island simply…
is. I hold no opinion on its appearance. There are jagged cliffs and small openings along the rock surface for bats to nest. Greenery and moss, sharp edges against rounded trees. The golden beach glitters from this distance.
So, yes, I suppose it is pretty. But if my mate is sitting beside it, there is no question as to which takes my breath away.
“By the way,” Cindi begins, glancing back at me, “I think we need to redo the chicken coop. Cheeto ate a hole through the wood—or pecked, more like.”
Of course the—as Cindi says—little shit has.
I brought Cindi chickens from the mainland after I tracked down the human male tourist and made him show me more videos on his phone that doesn’t want to work without him. He said his favorite is the big animal that sometimes has horns. A cow? It would have been too difficult to bring it to the island.
After he showed me the chickens, I managed to find a few and a couple bags of feed, boated them to the island, and let them loose.
Cindi was shocked more than she was impressed. Then she paled and refused to eat them, instead naming the pests and allowing her favorite—
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