Filed To Story: The Saltwater Curse Book PDF Free
A dangerous warmth slithers into my stomach. I feel my eyes burning with pathetic, unshed tears. The only person who ever put in any effort for me was my dad. It’s been years since anyone has done something solely for my benefit without wanting anything in return.
But that’s not true, is it? He does want something. An exchange, of sorts. He wants me alive and to accept being his mate, to end the Curse. It’s as much for him as it is for me.
Even so, he didn’t need to bring me my surfboard to keep me alive—in fact, it’s putting my life more at risk. He brought spices, books, more clothes, skincare, a fucking dildo, all so I don’t have to survive off bare necessities.
My throat bobs. At no point while I was packing did I point the gun at him. I had countless opportunities to put a bullet in his head while we were still on the mainland, and I didn’t. I let him live. I let him bring me here.
Giving him the side-eye, I amble over to the bench to peer at the source of the smell. Right there, in black and off-white, is the fish my nose picked up, skinned, filleted, and deboned.
“It’s for me?”
What? Like he’s about to eat it? Think before you talk, Kris—
Cindi.
He nods, giving me the universal “try it” look. My stomach rumbles at the thought of food. My lips press into a thin line as I grab the handle. I mean, it looks legit? Seared on both sides. A little burnt, if anything. If the waft of pepper is any indication, it’s seasoned as well. Maybe overly.
“Did you wash it?” I grill him.
Ordus hesitates. Nods.
Fuck it. I don’t care. We’ll find out later if I’m poisoning myself.
I cautiously scoop a bite into my mouth. My body’s rejection of it is instantaneous. Out of pure stupidity, or a misguided affront to make him feel good about his cooking, I swallow the salt-and-pepper-drenched fish and start hacking up air like I’m Vasz after he drinks half the ocean. I sputter and cough, eyes watering from the pepper in my eustachian tubes.
Ordus is on me in a second, clutching me to him, rubbing my back, voice panic-stricken. “Tell me what is wrong, Cindi.”
“I’m fine,” I rasp. He passes me two of the
Aqua cups I point to, and I down a whole one in a single go.
Oh, motherfucker, I already feel my indigestion coming on.
I lean back to catch my breath. I can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of what just happened. It’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me that has failed so horrifically.
“Next time, less seasoning, ‘kay?” I chuckle hoarsely, glancing up at him. The corners of my lips twitch up, because his head is lowered, all bashful.
“Seasoning?” Ordus’ hand goes firm on my hip, claws grazing me over my tank top. He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck and stills, as if suddenly remembering his hair’s been braided. He drops his hand to his side, a slightly panicked look in his eyes, like he’s worried he’s ruining it.
I point at the jars and bottles on the shelf he no doubt used. Ordus takes the pan and spatula from me with his spare hand and a tentacle. He breaks off a piece only slightly bigger than I did and slowly brings it to his mouth.
Has he ever tried human food before? Maybe I should warn him what he made is lethal.
But I don’t, because I’m a sadistic bastard who wants to see how a monster reacts to over-seasoned food.
My lips curl into an excited little grin, and dare I say it, he becomes both alarmed and downright gleeful at the same time. Blue orbs glint like a misty-teal sea against a cloudless sky.
This is the most at ease I’ve felt in…in a long time. It’s foreign, not feeling compelled to check out of each window every few seconds, not feeling like there’s a gun trained on my head, or that I’m perpetually running. God, I can’t remember the last time I felt comfortable with my guard this low.
Whatever Ordus sees in me gives him a boost of confidence to take a bite. Barely two seconds pass before he’s choking and sticking his pointed tongue out.
“Vile,” he spits.
Laughter tumbles out of me. It’s absurd to watch this monstrous giant gagging over his home-cooked meal. He repeatedly swipes the back of his hand over his tongue to get rid of the taste, gagging and making pained sounds.
“It burns,” he hisses. I rip open the plastic seal of the water cup and shove it into his hand. He gurgles and gulps it down before agreeing, “No seasoning next time.”
“Less,” I correct, grinning up at him.
His eyes drop to my lips, and his own curl to match mine. “Less. Next time.”
21
Cindi
I bat a fly away from the properly cooked fish before dipping it into sambal, letting my bad arm rest at my side. I showed Ordus how to make it properly this morning, then supervised his dinner attempt. Then he grabbed a deck chair, and we made a ten-minute trek through the forest to the beach to watch the sun set beneath the shore.
I’ve bathed, moisturized, cleaned, and de-matted my hair. My organs still feel a bit rough from the whole dehydration thing, but I’m feeling exponentially better. Refreshed—at ease.
The breeze is cooling my face, the sand soft beneath my feet, I have good food, and no human could be hiding behind any tree—I cast a brief look around to be sure.
The fear is still there, but I haven’t felt this truly at peace in so long, I forgot this feeling existed.
Ordus’ stray tentacle has been wrapped around my bad arm every chance it gets. I should probably hate it, but whatever magic it is that Ordus has, his little ministrations make the pain in my arm subside enough for me to have a coherent string of thought.
We spent the day setting up containers around the island to collect rainwater. Ordus never asked why, or what the purpose of the containers was. He just did it happily without question. But when I explained to him what it’s for and how it’d work, I half regretted it.
The only time Ordus left my side was for about half an hour, when he came back with three big drums. I felt like throwing my bachelor’s degree out the window when he was the one who suggested a filtration system with mesh from the mainland.
I am equally impressed and mortified that a kraken out-engineered me.
I’m pretty sure he picked up on it, so he took the back seat and let me order him around as we put it together—not that I was much help, since my elbow decided to become completely useless after I made lunch. At least the rain saucer was my idea.
I peek at Ordus out of the corner of my eye. His braid falls over his shoulder, and he carefully touches the green scrunchie as if it might break. Every time I see him looking down at the hair tie like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, my stomach does a flip.
He looks at me the same way, I realize. That same awe, like I’m more than just a body he needs to marry to end a curse. Like he might want me for me, not because I’m something a divine being threw his way—or out of a sense of duty.
It doesn’t matter whether I like it or not. My feelings mean nothing.
I won’t stay here permanently. I need to figure out a way to leave so I can keep running until my eventual death. But…would it be so bad if I hung around here for a while to catch a break? Whoever was at my place will probably think I did a runner again and be looking for my trail in the wrong direction.
It’d be a chance for me to regroup and recover, make a plan, then go for it.
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