Page 18 of Hot Monster Summer

“Yes, I’d love that,” I say.

“I enjoy romance books,” he admits, almost shyly. “Human emotions are so vibrant, so strange. I envy them.”

I study him, stunned by the admission. “You want to feel that way?”

His tone is wistful, yearning. “One day, perhaps I will. You make me hope.”

"What kinds of romance do you read?" I ask, genuinely curious now. The image of this powerful kraken curled up with a paperback is oddly endearing.

"All kinds," he admits, a tentacle absently caressing my ankle as he speaks. "Historical, contemporary, paranormal, courtesy of the last renters, who stayed less than a day before we scared them off—though I find the monster romances rather inaccurate." His mouth quirks up. "We're far more civilized than most authors give us credit for."

I laugh, the sound echoing off the cave walls. "So you're telling me this whole 'drag the maiden to my underwater lair' thing isn't standard monster protocol?"

"Standard protocol would involve significantly less jewelry and considerably more terror," he says dryly. "I prefer the modern approach—seduction through literature and luxury."

"And how's that working out for you?"

His black eyes fix on mine. "You're here, aren't you?"

The weight of all the treasures he's draped on me suddenly feels less overwhelming and more... meaningful. As if he's trying to tell me something he doesn't have the words for.

"What's your favorite?" I ask softly. "Romance book, I mean."

He's quiet for a moment, considering. "There's one about a woman who falls in love with the sea itself. She gives up her life on land to be with something most would consider a monster." His tentacles shift restlessly. "The author understoodthat love isn't always convenient or safe. Sometimes it requires transformation."

My breath catches. "That sounds beautiful."

"It is," he agrees, then adds quietly, "I've read it seventeen times."

The vulnerability in that admission makes something flutter in my chest. Here's this ancient, powerful creature who's been alone for centuries, finding solace in love stories he's never experienced.

"Maybe," I say carefully, "you don't have to just read about it anymore."

His eyes widen slightly, hope flickering across his features like the bioluminescent patterns on his tentacles. "Lily..."

Before he can finish whatever he was going to say, I lean forward and kiss him. This time, I'm the one initiating, and the surprised sound he makes against my lips sends heat spiraling through me.

His tentacles wind around me more securely, pulling me closer as the kiss deepens. Unlike our first kiss, this one tastes of possibility rather than magic—salt and desire and something that might be the beginning of my own monster romance.

When we break apart, both breathing hard, he rests his forehead against mine.

“Every inch of you pulls me in,” Caspian rumbles, his tentacle curling around me in a way that makes my heart race. “I could drown in you and still want more.”

The words steal my breath. What do you even say to that? 'Thanks'? 'Cool'?

So I don't say anything at all.

We sit there, close and quiet, the strangeness of our connection settling around us. It’s the kind of moment that I know I’ll replay in my mind a thousand times—intimate, and raw, and leaving me wanting more.

Finally, he speaks. “I should return you to shore before the wolf loses what’s left of his mind.”

I sigh dramatically. “I’m not sure I’m ready to return to the land of sniffing and growling.”

His smile is warm. “Then come back to me tomorrow, and the next night, and every night until you want nothing else.”

The offer sends a thrill through me, makes me imagine what it might mean to be his, even as a tiny part of me hesitates at its intensity. “Caspian, I—”

“Think about it,” he says, as if sensing my uncertainty. “You won’t hurt my feelings if you need time. I have a lot of that to spare.”

---