Cyrus
I blinked at the bright white canvas in front of me, willing something, anything, to inspire me to paint.
My art dealer, Eduardo, had been ringing me nonstop about new pieces, but over the last few months, I’d been at a creative standstill. Everything in my life had become boring. Repetitive. Bland, even.
Being one of the oldest monsters around, and potentially the last of your kind, could do that to you.
My tentacle clenched the paintbrush tighter, almost as if commanding it to move, but it was no use.
“Bollocks,” I cursed, and whipped the brush at the canvas, coating it with a splatter of yellow paint.
The door to the studio cracked open, and my roommate, Fallon, peeked his head inside.
“Everything okay in here?”
“Fine.” I huffed and collected the brush from the floor.
Fallon’s beady eyes followed my movements before focusing on the smeared canvas. “Still nothing?”
“Not a damn thing.”
He stepped through the doorway, his paws padding across the wood floor, and gave me a sympathetic look. Well, as sympathetic as someone with a beak and a feathered face could look.
“Cyrus, are you going to be able to handle tonight? I can find another ride and we can always say—”
“I’ll be fine,” I said in a clipped tone. “This is important to Atlas and Tegan. As one of his oldest friends, I should be there to show my support.”
Atlas had always been there for me when I needed him. Through my most recent college experience, my move to Briar Glenn, and now in my current existential crisis. After everything he went through with Jade, he deserved happiness, and tonight I’d be there to celebrate him and Tegan’s engagement.
Fallon dipped his head in a slow nod, his tail flicking back and forth behind him. I could tell there was more he wanted to say, but for once he didn’t press the issue. “Okay, then. Well. I should probably start getting ready.”
With that, he headed down the hall to his room, leaving me alone in my studio.
I tilted my head from side to side, rolled my shoulders, and let out a deep breath. My frustration and anxiety were getting the better of me, leaving my body feeling sluggish and drained.
There wouldn’t be enough time to make it to the gym for a swim, so a soak in the tub would have to suffice.
I shuffled across the hall to my bedroom and into the adjoining en suite.
Popping sounds filled the space as the suction cups of my tentacles stuck to the tile floor with my movements.
The sticky buggers could be a nuisance, but they had their advantages.
I never had to worry about slipping in the shower.
While the tub filled, I stared at myself in the mirror, the fluorescent lighting reflecting off my skin.
I admired the perfect turquoise shade, decorated with deep blue-green stripes and splotches that allowed me to blend into the water.
In terms of my appearance, they were probably my favorite attribute.
Unlike humans, I didn’t wear clothes. My muscular chest was always uncovered, tapering down into a narrow waist that flared to my tentacles.
I had eight in total, but preferred to use six of them for movement, keeping the other two wrapped around my arms. They were quite helpful, serving as extra hands for painting or cooking or whatever task I was undertaking.
Some days I truly enjoyed being a kraken, but others, I felt like a total abomination. Even by monster standards, I was quite odd.
I shut off the tap and used a tentacle to open the jar of raw sea salt I kept on the edge of the tub. I sprinkled a generous amount into the bath and used the strength of my tentacles to agitate the water, dissolving the crystals.
“Mmm,” I hummed and slid into the warm, salty water.
My tentacles fanned out around my waist, slithering and sliding with delight. It often felt like we were two separate entities. There was me, and then there were the tentacles acting of their own accord.
While they soaked, I grabbed my phone from the ledge of the tub and scrolled through my social media accounts.
A series of engagement photos of Atlas and Tegan popped up on my feed.
His snout was scrunched into a happy smile as he stared down lovingly at his human mate.
Simply put: The two of them were adorable.
I was happy for them.
Truly I was.
But if I was being honest with myself, I was also quite jealous of my friend and the love he’d found.
Being one of the last kraken, the majority of my seven- hundred-year life had been quite lonely.
Sure, I had partners. Trysts with monsters and with humans who found a certain appeal to my tentacles.
But in comparison to mine, their lifespans were rather short.
There was no point in embarking on a long-term relationship with someone unless they were my fated mate.
For krakens, our mating bond clicked into place the moment one of our tentacles made contact with our mate. An innocent touch that often culminated in an orgasm. There was no mating bite, no claiming. Just a deep connection krakens formed with their partner, one that tied their lifespans together.
At this point, it was unlikely that I’d find a mate. And even if I did, would they want to be with me? Rejection would be more than I could handle.
I dug the sharp tips of my teeth into my thin lower lip, willing myself not to cry. I was supposed to be replenishing my saltwater stores, not depleting them.
With a sigh, I set my phone aside and submerged myself under the water, allowing the warmth to wrap around my body.
As I floated, weightless, my thoughts drifted back to the photos of Atlas and Tegan.
Would I ever be worthy?
Would I ever find that type of love?