Chapter 15
Rainse
The world was quieting in preparation for the oncoming storm by the time we left the restaurant.
The last light of the sun painted everything gold — the sand, the palms, her skin.
A warm breeze lifted the edge of her hair, and I had to curl my fingers into fists to stop myself from brushing it back.
“Too full?” I asked as we followed the boardwalk toward the beach.
She gave me a lazy smile. “You’re the one who convinced me to try seaweed pudding.”
“It’s a delicacy,” I said.
“It’s green jelly with ideas above its station,” she replied.
I laughed, the sound startlingly easy. “Then perhaps I owe you something better to end the night.”
“Oh? And what do Finfolk consider better?”
“At home, we'd swim. But with you, I propose a walk,” I said. “No pudding. No talking if you don’t want to.”
Her smile softened. “Walking sounds good.”
We slipped off the boardwalk and onto the cool sand. The sea was starting to get rougher, the sky turning that impossible shade between blue and silver that happens just before the stars appear. I listened to the rhythm of her breathing beside me, the quiet crunch of our steps.
For the first time in mooncrossings, I wasn’t thinking about rules or reputation or suppressed needs. Just her.
“You’re quiet,” she said after a while.
“Thinking.”
“About?”
“You,” I admitted. “And how easily you fit here. How easily you fit anywhere.”
She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “That’s funny. I’ve never felt like I fit anywhere.”
“You do now.”
The wind lifted between us, warm and scented with salt and oncoming rain. She stopped walking, turning to face the sea, and I stopped too.
“Do you ever miss your world?” she asked.
“Every day,” I said honestly. “But I think what I really miss is the way I used to belong there. My life with my clutch-brothers, innocent and full of joy. Before the Matriarchs decided who was worthy of love and who wasn’t.”
Her voice softened. “You mean before they told you that you couldn’t have a mate.”
I nodded. “It’s strange. I used to think it was punishment. Now I think it was preparation.”
“For me?” she teased gently.
“For this,” I said. “For meeting someone who wouldn’t believe in fate, but would still choose me.”
Something flickered across her face — surprise, emotion, maybe both. She didn’t speak. Instead, she reached out and took my hand. The gesture was simple, but it felt important.
We walked like that until the first stars appeared. The bond pulsed quietly between us, steady as a heartbeat.
When the air shifted, I noticed it first — the faint crackle that always came before a storm. Clouds were gathering over the horizon, the kind that moved quickly in these latitudes.
“We should head back,” I said, but she didn’t move.
“I like it,” she said softly. “The air feels alive.”
“So do you,” I murmured.
Her gaze lifted to mine, and the look there undid me. All the restraint, the waiting, the careful distance — gone.
I stepped closer, close enough to feel her breath against my throat. She didn’t step back. Her fingers slid down my arm, finding the faint texture of my greenskin where it curled around my wrist. The touch sent heat rippling through me.
“Rainse…”
“Tell me to stop,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended.
She didn’t. Instead, she rose onto her toes and kissed me.
It wasn’t the desperate rush of before — this one burned slower, deeper. The taste of her filled me, warm and salt-sweet. I kissed her back with all the patience I’d been forcing into words these last few days, and all the want I couldn’t hide anymore.
The first rumble of thunder rolled across the sea.
She broke the kiss long enough to whisper, “We should probably find shelter.”
“There’s an abandoned hut past the grove,” I said, already taking her hand. “Come.”
She didn’t argue.
We ran, laughing when the first heavy drops of rain hit the sand, our fingers locked tight. By the time we reached the small wooden building at the edge of the beach, the storm had arrived in full — warm rain drumming on the roof, wind tearing through the palms outside.
Inside, the air was dim, smelling faintly of salt and wood polish. She stood in the doorway, rainwater glistening on her skin, hair plastered to her cheeks.
She looked like the sea come to life.
And I couldn’t look away. She was everything I'd ever dreamed of. And yet, if I wasn't careful, I may lose the most precious person I had ever met. I couldn't pressure her. Had to take it slow. Had to let her make the decisions.
I forced myself to look around the small hut. It was mostly empty, except for a stack of towels near the door, a heap of seat cushions and a random assortment of bottles.
Rain drummed against the roof, steady and hypnotic. The single light in the hut flickered, throwing soft shadows across the walls. Verity wrung the water from her hair and laughed quietly, breathless from the run.
“You weren’t kidding about the storm,” she said.
“It came faster than I expected.” I reached for a towel and offered it to her.
She took it, smiling. “How very convenient. I wonder if any of these bottles are still full. The wine at dinner was nice, but I wouldn't say no to a nice gin.”
“I don't believe I know what gin is.”
"I will make sure to introduce you. If there's none in here, we'll get some at the bar. Once the storm has calmed down. I don't want to get wet again. Do you like storms?” She rubbed the towel through her hair and I stood there, mesmerised.
“I respect them. They remind you how small you are.”
She hummed, a thoughtful sound. “I used to love them. When I was little, we'd go on holiday to the south of France. Lots of thunderstorms there in the summer. I’d sit by the window and count the seconds between lightning and thunder. But now, after the whale incident… they just make me think of waves.”
I wanted to reach for her but didn’t. Not yet. “You were brave, Verity. You didn’t just survive — you fought the sea and won.”
She glanced up, eyes catching the dim light. “You make it sound heroic. I think I was just lucky. And you did most of the heavy lifting.”
“Luck doesn’t swim toward danger to save someone else,” I said softly. "I may have saved you at first, but it was you who saved my life in return."
Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t answer.
Thunder cracked overhead, shaking the wooden beams. She jumped, and I stepped closer on instinct. “Easy,” I murmured.
“I’m fine,” she said, though her voice was tight.
“You don’t have to be. I get jumpy sometimes, too."
For a long moment, neither of us moved. The storm howled outside, all noise and fury, but in here everything felt suspended — as if the world was holding its breath.
She exhaled first. “This place smells like varnish.”
“Better than fish.”
That earned a laugh. “You know, you’re not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
She tilted her head, studying me. “Honestly? Something with tentacles. Or more eyes. I never imagined aliens would look so… human. Or so…”
“So what?” I asked, stepping a little closer.
Her lips curved. “Attractive.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Attractive,” I repeated slowly. “That’s a compliment, yes?”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her.
Her fingers lingered against the edge of my greenskin, tracing the delicate fronds where they fanned out from my ribs. The contact was feather-light, curious — but my body reacted as if she’d set fire to it. Had I warned her what touching my greenskin would do to me? I couldn't remember.
The greenskin flared in response, its surface shifting, alive beneath her touch. I drew in a sharp breath. My mind was empty. All blood suddenly seemed to rush to my cock.
She froze. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I managed, voice low and rough. “Just… surprised me.”
“It moved,” she whispered, watching it shimmer faintly in the dim light.
“It reacts to touch,” I said carefully. “Usually water currents, temperature shifts… or—” I swallowed, struggling for words that didn’t sound like begging, “—mates.”
Her eyes met mine. There was understanding there now, and something else — interest.
“Oh,” she said softly. “So it’s… sensitive.”
I groaned. “That’s one way to put it.”
I could feel the bond pulsing through me, stronger with every breath, calling to her, to this connection. Every instinct I had screamed to close the distance between us, to let her explore, to let this become what it was always meant to be.
But I forced myself to stay still. “Verity,” I said quietly. “You should stop.”
She didn’t.
Her touch grew surer, fingertips trailing slowly along the edge of my greenskin where it curved over my shoulder. The reaction was immediate — a rush of heat, every nerve alive, every thought wiped clean except her.
“You really want me to stop?” she asked, her voice barely above the sound of the rain.
I met her gaze, breathing unsteady. “No.”
That single word hung between us, heavy and certain.
Her hand slipped lower, resting against my chest where the green met blue. The bond surged, raw and undeniable, and whatever restraint I’d been clinging to shattered.
I caught her wrist gently, not to stop her, but to ground myself. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
Her lips curved, a small, knowing smile. “I think I’m starting to.”
Thunder rolled outside, distant but echoing through the walls. The storm was right above us, but our own storm was only just beginning.