Chapter 4 Octavius #2
And still, despite all of that, it actually looked functional, if only somewhat, but intact enough that I slowed a few steps from the door, deciding my next move.
It looked fine, so my job here was done, and therefore it was time to go back down the cliff and try not to crack my head open by slipping on the way down.
That was what I should have done. Patted myself on the back for my good deed as a concerned citizen and left her to deal with whatever consequences were born out of her stubbornness to do everything herself and her naivety for investing in such a property to begin with.
So yes, I was leaving, no need to stand out here with the wind and rain as my soundtrack while she was quietly holed up inside.
I turned to go, ready to face the path again, until I heard it. A sharp, frightened gasp. No, not a gasp, a scream, muffled by the walls. And just like that, my plans changed. I didn’t hesitate as I shoved the door open, relieved when it gave way without resistance.
Unlocked.
Of course it was unlocked. She couldn’t even manage that correctly—unless the door itself was broken—which, given everything else, wasn’t an unlikely possibility.
If anything, that only solidified my justification for this very impromptu entry, though the “breaking” part of breaking and entering had clearly been handled long before I arrived.
My gaze swept the room in a single pass, taking everything in at once.
The state of the place was worse than I had imagined.
Water had already begun to seep in from multiple points, the floor slick in uneven patches, the walls marked with dark stains where the rain had forced its way through.
The windows had been patched with uneven pieces of cardboard—fucking cardboard—that shuddered with every gust of wind, already soaking through and threatening to collapse into useless pulp at any moment.
The cabinets hung at crooked angles from what looked like a shitty repair job, while others were barely clinging to their hinges, and everything was coated in a fine layer of dust and grime that suggested neglect long before she had ever set foot inside.
And in the middle of it all—no, above it—stood Kara.
She was balanced on a ladder that looked like it had been abandoned sometime in the previous century, arms stretched overhead as she struggled to secure a tarp beneath a very obvious leak in the ceiling, like that one piece of fabric was somehow going to stop this place from turning into the second VHS tape of Titanic.
“Kara,” I called out, my voice competing with the storm raging outside, and the second she turned, I realized I should have been far more subtle about my arrival.
I doubted she expected to see anyone in here, let alone her massage therapist appearing out of nowhere in the middle of a storm, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when she screamed again.
Though as I watched, as if it were happening in slow motion, I realized the scream wasn’t only directed at me. Her body jerked in shock, her balance faltering as the ladder shifted beneath her before it fully tipped, giving way as it began to fall sideways, taking her with it.
My tentacles moved before I could process it, snapping forward in a reflexive motion as the ladder collapsed beneath her.
One wrapped around her waist, another braced her back, a third catching her legs, saving her from the impact she never reached as I held her suspended for a moment before lowering her safely to the ground.
And with that contact, I felt it ripple through my entire being, an unmistakable sensation that settled deep beneath my skin—fear.
It flooded through me instantly, almost painful in its intensity. With my tentacles wrapped around her, I absorbed as much of it as I could, instinctively pulling it from her in an attempt to steady her after what could have been a much worse fall.
I lowered her carefully back onto her feet, only then realizing I hadn’t said a single word.
To be fair, neither had she, but something in the way her expression shifted told me she knew what had just happened, knew what my tentacles had taken from her as that calmness settled back over her features, smoothing them out as if the fear had never been there at all.
She blinked up at me, her breathing still uneven as damp strands of hair clung to her face. “Thank you,” she said, still recovering. Then, as the situation seemed to fully register, her expression shifted. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” I repeated flatly. “What are you doing here?”
She straightened slightly, clearly trying to regain some sense of control as she gestured vaguely upward. “Because it’s my home, and, well, the roof wasn’t as intact as I thought, and there was a leak, so I was trying to cover it with a tarp.”
I glanced at the ladder lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, then back at her, certain the judgment was written plainly across my face. My mind refused to let go of the image of her balanced on that unstable piece of metal, seconds away from crashing to the ground.
“That thing looks older than Crescent Cove. Why would you even consider climbing up that hunk of rust?”
“Hey,” she shot back, lifting her chin slightly, “it may be old, but it works.”
“No, it clearly doesn’t.”
“Well, it was working just fine until you showed up, unannounced, I might add, and startled me.”
The words had barely left her mouth when the tarp she had only half secured slipped loose entirely, falling to the floor. A second later, a heavy stream of water broke straight through the ceiling where it had been, pouring directly down... onto me.
Fucking perfect.
She let out a small laugh at my situation, and I exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose for a brief moment before letting my hand drop. “Working... right.”
Before she could argue any further, I moved past her, grabbing the collapsed ladder and hauling it upright again before climbing the steps with the tarp already in hand.
“What are you doing?”
“Fixing your mess and attaching the tarp,” I said, positioning myself beneath the leak. “Hold the ladder steady.”
“What?”
“The ladder,” I repeated. “You know, that thing that almost killed you. Hold it steady before I meet a similar fate, and I don’t believe sea sprites are known for sprouting extra limbs to catch people.”
She hesitated for half a second, clearly deciding whether to argue or simply let me climb the damn thing and trust my mortality, but after a moment, she finally obeyed.
Her hands gripped the base, grounding it just enough while my tentacles moved into place.
They secured the tarp, suctioning it firmly against the ceiling, creating a temporary seal before I added strips of the ever-so-revolutionary duct tape she had left nearby, reinforcing each corner until it held.
It wasn’t permanent, but it would hold. For now, at least.
I climbed down, landing lightly as I let my gaze sweep through the cottage again, taking in the full extent of the damage now that the immediate problem had been handled.
“This place is uninhabitable,” I said, not even attempting to disguise my obvious judgment.
“It’s only been a few days,” she shot back quickly. “I’m making do with what I have. I told you, the project relaxes me, so there’s no need to rush it.”
“Or it kills you,” I countered. “If I hadn’t been here, you would have fallen off that ladder and cracked your skull open.”
She crossed her arms, lifting her chin like she was preparing for battle. “I already told you, if you hadn’t scared me, I wouldn’t have fallen off the ladder, and my head wouldn’t have been in danger of said cracking.”
We stood there in a silent staring match as the storm raged around us, the entire place groaning in protest. And somehow, she still looked entirely convinced she was right.
“You know, there is a perfectly comfortable inn in town. You could stay there until you allow actual professionals to fix this place.”
“No,” she said immediately. “I already did my little staycation there when I first arrived in town, so I’m all good.”
Of course she was. Stubborn little sea sprite... if that was even what she truly was.
She stood there, soaked through from whatever attempts she had made to manage the leak before I arrived.
But there was a flush to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold, her expression set with that same stubborn refusal to yield, and I found myself lingering on it longer than I should have, not wanting to read her emotions without her consent.
Still, she was... annoyingly compelling.
I forced my gaze away, reminding myself why I was here in the first place. I had come to check on her, and she was fine. At least, she insisted she was, and that should have been enough to convince me to turn around and walk out that door.
But for fuck’s sake, it wasn’t enough, because I knew I couldn’t leave her like this. I reached down, picking up the nearest hammer and a warped plank of wood from her scattered supplies.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I'm getting to work.”
Her brows shot up. “Right now? It’s the middle of the night, and there’s a storm.”
I glanced toward the window as another gust of wind rattled the frame. “Yes. And?”
“You can’t be serious.”
“If you are unwilling to leave,” I said, already moving toward the nearest broken window, “then I can’t leave you here alone with this place falling apart around you.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again, likely realizing I wasn’t going to be moved on this.
I positioned the plank over the worst of the opening, testing its placement before securing it. “And if you refuse to contact the people I recommended,” I added, driving the first nail into place with a decisive strike, the wood shifting and settling under my hand, “then I will handle what I can.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m aware,” I cut in, striking the nail again. “And yet, here I am.”
There was a brief silence behind me, one that lasted all of two seconds.