Page 19 of Kept By the Kraken

My heart aches as the words spill out of my mouth. “Thora used to say ‘hope returns’ each time I came home after a long voyage at sea. I always brought a bundle of crocus for her and daisies for my daughter to weave in her braids. It can’t be a coincidence that you found those today.”

She pulls back from our embrace, her face bunching in confusion and her brow furrowing. “What do you think it means?”

I stare into those beautiful eyes, the same color as the flowers. “Hope. Penelope, you’re my hope. I was fighting the connection between us because I didn’t want to betray my family, but I think maybe this was a sign that it’s okay to hope.”

Her lips part and I can’t resist her any longer. I don’t even want to. I pull her mouth to mine and surrender to my mate. The kiss is soft at first, bittersweet with sorrow and compassion, but before long, the heat between us ignites.

Penelope pushes against my chest, sucking in air and stumbling from my arms. I’ve been the one resisting the pull between us, but I think this time my mate has hit a wall with all this new information.

She holds out her hand to stop me, pacing and gesturing wildly. “So let me see if I have this straight. You’re a Viking. Like an actual Viking? And a shifter? Is that what you’re called?”

She pauses in her pacing to turn to me, an expectant look on her face. I nod.

“I’m your mate.” Her voice rises, a sort of hysterical sound full of disbelief.

She’s from the modern world, where magic isn’t real and the gods do not intervene so freely in people’s lives. I’ve told her too much too fast, but I don’t know any other way.

“I know I sound insane. But I’m from a world that was ruled by magic. Dragons lorded over the skies, wolves reigned in the forest, and our krakens had dominion in the sea. You see my Beast. You know what I say is true, even if it doesn’t sound possible,” I plead with her, begging her to believe me. Part of me wishes she wouldn’t, that she would do the smart thing and flee. But that possibility vanished when my kraken branded her. She is mine now, our souls forever tied.

“And you’ve claimed me? The pull between us is real. What does that mean?”

My head lowers in shame. She asked my kraken to take her, but she didn’t understand the meaning of her request. “My Beast tethered your soul to mine, bound you to our magic.”

Her palm traces the branded circles on her neck, her voice frantic. “What does that mean? To be bound to your magic?”

“When you met my Beast in the water, you awakened the bond, but he sealed the magic with his claim last night. That’s more than a mark.” I point at her neck. “It means my kraken has claimed you. You’re not only human any longer, but something different. You’ll stop aging so rapidly. You can breathe underwater. You can have my young and take my knot easier. You can?—”

“What?”

“You’re my mate, made for me in every way. You are a gift sent by the gods and the sea. Though why they have chosen me after I’ve failed, I don’t understand. I promise though, I will do everything in my power to prove worthy of you and atone for the way I have treated you since our meeting.”

“Stop.” Penelope holds out her hand and shakes her head. “I’m pretty sure you just told me I’m gonna turn into a mermaidand have fish babies. I think I need a drink before you tell me any more.”

Chapter 11

Penelope

The hike back to the lighthouse ends too quickly. We spill out of the forest and into his yard, but I’m not ready for what comes next.

Yesterday morning, I was a scientist with a shitty ex-husband. Now magic exists and I have a mate. What the heck do I do with all that?

Bjorn walks beside me, his large presence bristling with pent-up tension. Sometime during our walk back, he’s lost his tentacles, his shifter features melting back into his skin. My mind processes it as an observation, but the usual questions don’t come.

My body is in a kind of stasis, stunned even though it continues to move. My mind was so full of questions that the weight of them caused a collapse, and now it’s a blank void full of whooshing white noise. Despite my numbness, there is still this smoldering ball of heat in my chest, almost an ache, that I now recognize is my bond with Bjorn.

He pauses before the doorway of his house and leans down to look into my eyes. The rough pad of his thumb scrapes across my chin. It looks as though he’s going to speak, but then he looks away. His beard twitches from the tic in his jaw.

Instead, he picks me up and carries me inside the house, then sets me down on the worn sofa. He busies himself by building a fire. The warmth of it tingles, bringing awareness back to my limbs. I think I’m in shock.

Bjorn leaves the room and I stare at the flames. My hand idly traces the imprinted circles on my throat. They’re already healed, the raised skin smooth. A warm down blanket is pulled around my shoulders and I blink back to the moment. He hands me a steaming mug that smells spicy.

“Drink,” he commands. His voice is the rumble of waves against the shore, deep and soothing. The sound makes my core ache and pleasure zip down my spine.

I blow on the drink and take a sip. It’s citrusy, with dark cloves and a strong bite. The warmth settles in my belly, and I take a longer pull this time. Bjorn makes an approving grunt and returns to the kitchen.

The clank of pots and cabinets being opened is followed by chopping knives and the aromas of cooking. I finish the drink and look at the flowers I still grip in the other hand. The crocus is a brilliant violet. The color of my eyes and the name he calls me. I felt drawn to the forest this morning, pulled by a yearning I didn’t understand. When I saw the flowers, I had this overwhelming urge to pick them. I wonder if he’s right, if they’re a sign.

Bjorn had a wife and child. He’s a shifter.

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