Chapter Eight #3
"Not anymore." Orvik positions himself between us, effectively blocking his view of me. He doesn't touch the man, but his presence alone is menacing, his considerable height allowing him to loom over the human. "You're making her uncomfortable. Leave."
The man's face flushes with anger, but fear wins out. He levels a cold stare at me from around Orvik's shoulder, then turns around and leaves, but not before having to steady himself on the wall.
Drunk asshole.
I lean my back against the wall, trying without success to fight the rise of emotions threatening to overwhelm my nervous system. Orvik turns to me, but not before making sure the man is gone from view.
"Are you okay?" Orvik asks, his voice gentler than I've ever heard it.
I nod mechanically, though I'm anything but okay. My hands tremble slightly, and I clench them into fists to hide it.
"Is there a quiet place I can go, just for a bit?" I ask, not wanting to return to the main room where curious eyes might be watching.
Without a word, Orvik gestures toward a door marked "Staff Only" that leads to a small back porch.
He holds it open for me, and I step outside into the cool night air.
The porch overlooks a quiet stretch of harbor, moonlight glimmering on the dark water.
It's deserted, apparently a spot where staff take their breaks, judging by the cigarette butts in a sand bucket and a single wooden bench.
I go to the wooden railing and lean against it, taking deep, long breaths to steady myself.
"Thank you," I say finally. "For intervening."
Orvik nods, giving me space but remaining close at my side. He doesn’t speak, just looks at me with his handsome face and deep ocean-colored eyes.
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the mild evening.
"It’s the first time I go out in years, and it has to end this way." I chuckle, but without humor.
I look up at Orvik, vulnerable in a way I haven't allowed myself to be since arriving in Saltford. Maybe ever.
“How come?” Orvik asks, his voice neutral and his eyes unreadable. “A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t stay hidden in her home.”
"My dad got sick a few years ago." I take a steadying breath. “Cancer. I was in vet school at the time.”
I hug myself as I tell Orvik my life story like he’s some old friend. Like he’s someone who cares.
It’s easy to speak to him now that we’re not bickering. Surprisingly so.
“My mom died when I was seventeen. For a long time, it was just Dad, Chase and me.”
I continue my story as Orvik just looks at me, silently listening.
Listening more than maybe anyone in a long, long time.
I tell him about dropping out of veterinary school during my third year to take care of Dad and Chase, who was still in high school.
About how we all thought it would be temporary.
But Dad didn’t respond to treatment and he kept getting sicker and sicker.
Then after four years of battle, he died.
“And that’s when I became a wildlife rehabilitator, and I found this job in Saltford Bay.”
After a moment of silence, he speaks.
"I understand seeking a fresh start," he says quietly. "Sometimes the place we're from becomes a prison."
There's a weight to his words that suggests personal experience, a story behind his own presence in Saltford Bay.
"Is that what happened to you?" I ask carefully.
His tentacle hair shifts slightly, some strands curling inward protectively.
"I left the kraken communities by necessity, not choice," he says finally. "The details aren't important. But I know what it means to build a new life somewhere else."
I cherish this small piece of his past, offered voluntarily. I step closer, drawn to him despite my earlier jealousy, despite his usual standoffishness.
"Thank you for telling me that," I say softly. "And for coming to my rescue. Again."
"I don't like bullies," he says simply.
We stand close in the dim corner of the porch, the sounds of the tavern muffled behind us.
Orvik towers over me, but for once his height doesn't feel intimidating.
It feels protective, sheltering, even. I notice intimate details I've never allowed myself to fully appreciate before: how his eyes reflect the tavern lights, how a single tentacle has escaped the mass to curl gently toward me as if seeking connection of its own accord.
As I watch, a faint glow begins to emanate from beneath his skin, just the barest hint of bioluminescence in the darkness. The pattern spreads slowly up his neck, across his cheekbones, casting his face in ethereal blue-green light.
Without thinking, I reach up toward one of his tentacle hair strands that seems to be reaching for me.
The moment my finger makes contact, the tentacle wraps gently around my fingertip.
It feels nothing like I expected. Smooth but strong, cool to the touch but warming rapidly against my skin.
It seems to have a mind of its own, pulsing slightly as if taking my pulse, reluctant to let go.
Orvik inhales sharply, his eyes widening with surprise, then darkening with unmistakable male hunger.
I run another finger over the tentacle in fascination, and the glowing patterns pulse brighter, racing up his tentacle, across his cheeks, down his neck.
Through his t-shirt, I can see more patterns illuminating his chest from within.
He's magnificent. A creature of the deep sea brought to glowing life because of my touch.
He leans into the touch, the noise of the tavern fading away. His tentacle tightens ever so slightly around my finger as I tilt my face up to his. His head lowers slowly, deliberately, his lips parting as he holds my gaze.
He’s so close, barely an inch separates our lips.
“What does it mean, that glowing?” I ask in a breath. “I know it means something.”
Orvik freezes, his expression one of conflict. His gaze flicks to where my finger is still entwined with his tentacle. The pattern has now spread to my hand and wrist, faint blue-green lines tracing luminescent paths along my veins.
Something like panic flashes in his eyes. He steps back abruptly, the tentacle unwinding from my finger as if burned.
"I can't do this," he says, his voice rough. "I'm sorry."
Before I can respond, he turns and jumps down from the porch, striding quickly through the parking lot toward his truck.
His skin and tentacles are alight with a vivid blue-green glow that illuminates his path through the darkness.
Several patrons hanging out on the terrace turn to stare at the unusual sight.
I stand frozen on the porch, staring after him. My pulse races with confusion and disappointment. As I lower my hand, I notice that my skin where I touched him still shimmers with faint traces of the same bioluminescent pattern, pulsing once, twice, before slowly fading away.
Okay, now I need to know.