Chapter 2
Spencer didn’t like places that felt too alive, and Krakens Hole did not help his mood.
The moment he and Mark crossed into the bay, he’d felt it. That low, thrumming awareness beneath the water. Not sound. Not movement. Something deeper, almost ancient. Watching, waiting. Like the very place was sentient.
He kept his hands tucked casually into his coat pockets as they walked through the town from the small harbour, posture loose, expression bored, because that was the trick, wasn’t it? Look like you belonged, and most people didn’t question it.
Most people and most towns… but Krakens Hole was different. For starters, it was a paranormal town. No normal humans present.
“You feel that?” Mark muttered beside him, not bothering to hide the edge in his voice.
Spencer didn’t look at him. “If I say no, will you shut up about it?”
“No.”
“Then yes.”
Mark huffed under his breath. “Good. Thought I was imagining the whole looming death from below thing.”
Spencer allowed himself the smallest flicker of a smirk. His brother wasn’t far wrong, though. But his attention stayed outward. On the streets, the people, just the energy of the place. Krakens Hole was, in short, strange.
Not in the obvious way that every paranormal town had its quirks, but in the way it settled. Like it knew exactly what it was and didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. There was power here, old and rooted, threaded through every building and every passing face.
And protecting it all… the guardians and protectors.
Spencer’s gaze drifted briefly toward the waterline and out into the small bay, the water looming, dark and ominous.
Three Krakens, and not just any krakens—the krakens. The ones whispered about in every port, every tavern, every shadowed corner where paranormals traded stories and warnings. Massive beasts of ancient power, unforgiving and ferocious.
Most creatures could pass through their territory unnoticed if they showed respect. Kept their heads down. Paid their silent dues to the deep.
Spencer and Mark didn’t have that luxury. Because the moment they stepped into the water, the guardians would know.
Not immediately, but eventually they would, because a Kraken would recognise another Kraken’s presence, especially ones that were not local.
And that was a problem.
“Well,” Mark said lightly, though his eyes were scanning just as sharply as Spencer’s. “On the bright side, if we die horribly, at least it’ll be somewhere scenic.”
“Well that’s comforting,” Spencer replied dryly.
They walked on, neither of them mentioning the obvious elephant or “Kraken” in the room. They had avoided this place for a reason.
Years of work. Hundreds of jobs. Entire continents crossed without stepping foot anywhere near Krakens Hole.
And yet, here they were, all because some bounties didn’t come with a choice.
Spencer’s jaw tightened slightly as his thoughts shifted to their employer… The Smokeclaw clan. The name alone carried weight. It was an old dragon clan. Powerful and very political. The kind that didn’t ask for things, they expected them.
And what they expected now…
Was their missing heir.
“Find her,” the envoy had said, voice smooth and cold as polished stone. “And return her home. The wedding has been delayed long enough.”
Delayed. As if the girl had simply misplaced herself. Spencer suppressed a scoff.
“Every tracker before you has failed,” the envoy had continued, eyes narrowing slightly. “You are our last resort.”
That had been the part that mattered, not the challenge and not the reputation.
The terms, though, had made them stop. A bounty large enough that even Spencer blinked, large enough that Mark had gone suspiciously quiet, and large enough that refusing it hadn’t really been an option.
“She’s been gone for years,” Mark said now, as if picking up the thread of Spencer’s thoughts. “Either she’s very good at hiding… or she doesn’t want to be found.”
“Both can be true,” Spencer replied.
Mark glanced sideways at him. “You ever wonder why no one’s managed to track her?”
Spencer’s expression didn’t change.
“No.”
“Liar.”
Spencer shrugged one shoulder. “It doesn’t matter why. We weren’t hired to wonder. We were hired to find.”
“And deliver,” Mark added, his tone darkening slightly.
Spencer didn’t respond to that.
Because that part, that part had sat differently. Deliver her back. Not escort her back, or bring her home. Not convince. It was simply deliver, like she was lost cargo. Like something that belonged to someone else.
His mouth pressed into a thin line.
“Don’t start,” Mark said, catching the shift immediately.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Spencer exhaled slowly. “We take the job. We finish the job. That’s how this works.”
“Yeah,” Mark said. “It is.”
There was a pause, a small one. But one enough to matter. So Spencer ignored it.
Instead, he pushed open the door to the only pub in the town. Warmth hit him first, heat, noise, and the thick scent of ale and something fried hung in the air. Laughter rolled through the space, easy and unbothered, as if the world outside didn’t exist.
A wooden sign hung above the bar, slightly crooked but proudly displayed:
Welcome to The Ferret’s Mott.
Mark glanced up at it. “That name raises more questions than it answers.”
Spencer grunted, “Don’t ask. I don’t want to know.”
They stepped inside. Surprisingly, no one paid them much attention.
Which was good, that was how Spencer preferred it.
He moved to the bar, tapping his fingers lightly against the wood to gain the attention of the barmaid. When she looked up and smiled, he stated quickly, “Two pints of whatever you recommend.”
The barmaid nodded without fuss, already reaching for glasses. Krakens Hole really did run on a different rhythm.
Mark leaned beside him, casual but alert. “Still say we should’ve started smaller. Less… Kraken-infested.”
“I would have, but this is the one place they haven’t checked and, for some reason, they seemed reluctant to visit.” He paused and looked at his brother. “You want to turn down that bounty next time?” Spencer asked.
“Fair point.”
Two pints of what could only be described as dull gold liquid were placed in front of them, and not so gently.
“That will be five-pounds-fifty.” She raised an eyebrow.
“Do you take card?” Mark asked, reaching for his mobile, only to stop as he looked at the barmaid.
“Does this look like one of them human places… cash, love, we take cash,” she stated firmly. “And I’m taking it you will be wanting rooms? so I can set you up on a tab, but that will be cash too.”
Spencer took his pint, lifting it to his lips, and enjoying watching his brother squirm.
Spencer had been prepared. In fact, he had researched Krakens Hole a lot, eager to learn all about a place that saw his kind as guardians and not monsters.
It was only when his brother looked at him for help did he step in.
“Cash it is, will this suffice for now?” he asked, handing over a crisp fifty-pound note.
The barmaid whistled and held it up to the light. “That will do nicely, anything else you want, you just whistle.” She chuckled and toddled away, leaving the brothers to their pints. Spencer smirked, turned, and scanned the room. At first glance, the pub was busy, lively in fact, and harmless.
The brothers found a table tucked slightly to the side providing them a good vantage point, clear exits with minimal attention. Spencer took another slow sip of his pint. It was actually quite decent, and better than he’d expected.
“Alright,” Mark said, leaning back in his chair. “We’re here. We’re not dead. That’s a promising start.”
Spencer didn’t reply immediately because his gaze had shifted.
Not to the crowd in the corner surrounding an old juke box and what looked like a dancing pirate, but instead upward.
To above the main floor, where an open loft-like space overlooked the bar.
Easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention.
Spencer always paid attention.
“You seeing that?” Mark asked quietly, following his line of sight.
Spencer nodded once. There sat around a bar, were a collection of… familiars. Or what he believed had to be familiars. Because there was no other explanation that made sense.
There was a pigeon wearing thick rimmed glasses, of all things, and he was perched at the edge of a small table, peering down at what looked suspiciously like a hand of cards.
Opposite the pigeon sat a ginger tom cat, lounged with the kind of confidence that suggested it thought it owned the entire establishment. Then a squirrel sat upright, tail flicking irritably as it slapped something onto the table, another card, from the look of it.
And hovering slightly above them all… a ghostly parrot, translucent and faintly glowing. From the way it tilted its head and squawked, the parrot was deeply invested in whatever game they were playing.
Mark blinked. “I… have several questions.”
“Don’t,” Spencer said immediately.
“I’m going to.”
“I don’t want to hear them.”
“That parrot is cheating,” Mark whispered.
Spencer took another drink. “Probably.”
They watched for a moment longer. The pigeon adjusted its glasses, twitched, and swore.
The squirrel made what could only be described as an aggressive gesture.
The cat simply yawned.
The ghost parrot phased halfway through the table, then popped back up, looking smug.
“I hate this place,” Mark muttered.
“You love it,” Spencer corrected.
“I do a bit.”
Spencer’s attention shifted back to the room below. Normal and unbothered. As if this… all of this, was entirely expected.
Krakens Hole.
Of course it was. His expression hardened slightly as his thoughts circled back.
A missing dragon heir, gone for years, hidden well enough to evade everyone else, and now somewhere in this town she was hiding because it was the only place left to check.
“Tomorrow,” he said quietly. “We observe the locals, listen for gossip, and hopefully find this heir before the week is out.”
Mark nodded, swirling his drink. “And if she doesn’t want to be found?”
Spencer didn’t hesitate. “We weren’t hired to ask what she wants.”
The words landed flat between them, it felt wrong to say it out loud. Yet it was true.
Mark studied him for a second, then sighed. “Yeah. Alright.”
Spencer leaned back slightly in his chair, gaze flicking once more toward the sea beyond the walls. That deep, ancient awareness still brushing faintly against his senses.
The guardians would feel them eventually. Of that, he had no doubt.
Which meant time wasn’t a luxury they had. He took another slow drink, eyes narrowing just slightly.
“Let’s just hope,” Mark said under his breath, “this job doesn’t turn into something messier than it already is.”
Spencer didn’t answer, because it already had, they just hadn’t seen how yet.