Chapter 6 #2
Rumple spots Orvik and lets out a series of enthusiastic barks, swimming to the edge of the pool nearest to him. The children gasp in delight.
"He remembers you!" pigtail orc girl exclaims.
"Harbor seals have excellent memory for faces and voices," Orvik explains, though I notice a hint of pleasure in his tone. "He associates me with his rescue."
"Can you make the sound again?" I ask, surprising myself with the request. "The one you used to calm him during the rescue."
Orvik hesitates, then produces a low, rumbling sound that seems to resonate directly in my chest rather than my ears. Rumple responds immediately, tilting his head and barking softly in return.
The children watch, mesmerized. I'm a bit mesmerized myself, if I'm being honest. There's something about seeing this stern, imposing man communicate so gently with an animal that makes my heart do ridiculous things. And somewhere else in my body, too.
"Animals respond to calm energy," Orvik tells the children. "When approaching wildlife, especially injured wildlife, your movements should be slow and deliberate. No sudden gestures or loud noises."
"That's excellent advice," I add, grateful for his unexpected educational contribution. "Would anyone like to see how we prepare Rumple's special food?"
As I demonstrate the fish formula preparation, Orvik adds comments about ocean safety and the dangers of discarded fishing equipment. Our eyes meet briefly over the children's heads, and it leaves me with a warm feeling spreading through my chest.
I trapped him with this summer camp demonstration, hoping to irritate the crap out of him. But not only does he seem to enjoy the children, but I enjoy his company, too.
I must have inhaled too much fish smell. I can't have a crush on the grumpy kraken.
After Rumple's demonstration, we move outside to the aviary where Captain Peck, our recovering Northern gannet, has been making steady progress. The large seabird watches us approach with typical suspicion, his sharp beak open in a display of hostility.
He's getting better, alright. Captain Peck earned his name on everyone trying to help him over the course of his five-week stay at the center. I've recently been on the receiving end of his wrath and am not looking to renew the experience.
"Captain Peck came to us with a fishing hook embedded in his wing," I explain, keeping a safe distance from the enclosure. "Gannets are amazing birds that dive from great heights to catch fish. They can plunge into the water at speeds of up to sixty miles per hour!"
The children "ooh" appreciatively.
"Captain Peck should be ready for release in another week," I continue. "I need to check his wing today to make sure the healing is on schedule. Would anyone like to see how we examine a wild bird?"
Hands shoot up enthusiastically.
"I'll need an assistant," I say, turning to Orvik with my most innocent smile. "Harbormaster, would you mind?"
His fifteen minutes are well past, but he doesn't point this out. Instead, he steps forward with a resigned nod.
Just then, Sylvie zips through the door, her pink wings a blur of motion.
"Sorry I'm late!" she announces, her lavender eyes taking in the scene. "Traffic was a nightmare—two trolls having a fender bender on Main Street. Oh! I see you've met our resident hero, Harbormaster Fenmoor!"
Before Orvik can correct her characterization, Sylvie launches into an energetic explanation of gannet migration patterns.
I open the enclosure door, leaving the presentation to our outreach coordinator.
Giving all my attention to the large bird, I carefully retrieve Captain Peck from his cage, who predictably protests with squawks and wing flaps.
I demonstrate how to hold him securely while examining the healing wound as Sylvie goes on, her fluted voice rising over the bird's angry cries.
"The tissue is granulating nicely," I point out for the children. "See how the pink skin is forming? That means he's healing well."
I'm so focused on the demonstration that I don't notice Captain Peck eyeing Orvik's hand until it's too late. With lightning speed, the gannet strikes, delivering a sharp jab directly to the webbing between Orvik's thumb and forefinger.
Blood runs down his hand immediately as the irritable bird releases him, squawking with fury. Orvik doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away, doesn't make a sound. The only indication that anything happened is a slight tightening around his eyes and a darkening of his tentacle hair.
The children gasp. I even hear a muffled cry and I would bet it's coming from that lovely, shy pixie girl.
"Did that hurt?" dinosaur-shirt boy asks with naked curiosity.
"Yes," Orvik answers simply. "But I'm not moving because if I do, Captain Peck could hurt Jackie. And I'm not going to let that happen."
When we lock eyes again, my stomach squeezes like a painful fist and I can't look away.
It takes Orvik lifting his brow for me to snap out of the trance I'm in. I return to my work, my head buzzing pleasantly and Captain Peck, having made his point, settles down, allowing me to complete the examination.
When we release him back in his enclosure, the large bird ruffles his feathers, eyeing us with obvious distaste.
Yeah. It's high time you go back to the sea, you nasty bird!
"Let me see that," I say quietly, nodding toward his hand.
"It's nothing," he dismisses.
"Bird bites can get infected, even for krakens," I insist. "Come on, I have a first aid kit in the break room."
He follows reluctantly as Sylvie takes over the presentation, her high, musical voice fading as we walk inside.
The noise dims with every step down the hallway, replaced by the hum of the refrigerator and the quiet drip of the ancient coffee maker.
In the small break room, I gesture for him to sit while I retrieve the first aid kit from above the ancient coffee maker.
He obeys and sits at the table, looking incongruously big in front of the tiny round surface, his knees nearly touching the underside.
"You didn't have to stay that long," I admit, feeling a twinge of guilt as I open an antiseptic wipe. "I know you said fifteen minutes."
Orvik shrugs, his massive shoulders rising and falling.
"The children were learning. It seemed worthwhile."
I try not to watch as his bulging biceps move as he extends his hand over the table.
I fail.
I stare at his hand, at the shocking red blood pearling on his green-blue skin and dripping on the table below.
I hesitate for a moment, then I reach for it with my heart beating so hard the sound of blood rushing through my veins is all I can hear.
The contact shoots through me like an electric current, and his arm lights up immediately at the contact in what is now a familiar sight.
I really, really want to know what this means, but at the same time, I really don't. The glowing patterns are like a little secret we share, Orvik and me, one that is at risk of vanishing if someone speaks about it.
And as strange as it sounds, I cherish it. It's an illusion, but I still want this to have some sort of meaning.
Pathetic, I know. But I've lost so much since my father died. Having this little bit of connection to Orvik is like a sliver of light in the dark.
I turn his injured hand in mine, surprised by its weight and size, easily twice my own. His skin is smoother than human skin, almost silky despite its toughness. The webbing between his fingers is thin enough that I can see the shadow of blood vessels beneath the surface.
I swallow as an image of this large hand running over my skin flashes through my mind, wondering how those long, strong fingers would feel. That webbing.
I clear my throat and reach for the disinfectant.
"Thank you for entertaining the children," I say, gently cleaning the puncture wound. Orvik hisses between his teeth as the stinging liquid washes over his wound. "You were really good with them. I didn't expect that."
"Because I'm a kraken?" he asks. "Or because I'm a handsome jerk?"
I look up, meeting his gaze directly. He's smiling and it takes my breath away. His full lips are lifted at the corners and his tentacle beard wiggles in merry, loose waves. The corners of his eyes are adorned with tiny wrinkles that make me want to reach out and cup his cheek with my palm.
"Both."
A sound escapes him that might, with generous interpretation, be called a chuckle.
"Fair assessment."
Time suspends as we just stare at each other. Everything fades away. The center, the sound of children in the distance, the smell of fish and salt. There's just Orvik and me. His smile lowers by just a fraction as the glowing pattern spreads to his neck, brushing the underside of his jaw.
God. I wish I could lean over that table and kiss those lips.
And this is yet another foolish thought. It takes a lot of effort, but I manage to tear my gaze from his handsome face and look at his hand again.
As I apply antibiotic ointment to the wound, I notice a faint blue glow beginning to emanate from where our skin touches. It's not just Orvik this time; the glow seems to transfer to my fingers, tracing delicate patterns across my skin like luminescent veins.
"What—" I begin, staring at the glowing pattern spreading under my skin ever so slowly.
Orvik abruptly withdraws his hand, standing so quickly his chair scrapes against the linoleum floor.
"I need to leave," he says, voice suddenly tight. Only, he doesn't move a muscle. He's just staring at me, his mouth slightly open like he's about to say something.
Before I can respond, his radio crackles to life.
"Harbormaster Fenmoor, do you copy? We've got a fishing vessel taking on water three miles east of the lighthouse. Two souls aboard."
Orvik's expression immediately transforms, his posture straightening, his focus sharpening.
"Copy that. Launching rescue vessel in five. Alert Coast Guard and have medical standing by at the harbor." He turns to me. "I have to go."
I nod, understanding the urgency.
"Of course. Be careful."
He pauses at the door, looking back at me with an unreadable expression. Then he's gone, striding purposefully toward his truck, already reaching for his phone to coordinate the rescue.
I look down at my hand where the glowing pattern is already fading, leaving only the faintest luminescent trace along my veins.
What are those? And why do I have the feeling that they mean more than anyone has told me?