“That’s a channeled whelk,” I can hear her exclaiming, her voice carrying on the morning air. “Different from the knobbed whelk we found yesterday. See the stripes?”
James nods solemnly, his little face serious as he studies the shell. Then, in a move that’s pure Roark, he reaches out with one of his small bluish tentacles to trace the ridges of the shell, completely focused.
The sight still catches my breath sometimes. Our son—a perfect blend of human and cthulhu, with my gray eyes and his father’s iridescent skin that shifts color with his moods.
“You could have slept longer,” Roark’s voice comes from behind me—his tentacles wrapping around my waist as he presses against my back. “Your mother insisted on taking him at dawn. Said something about low tide being the best time for finding gastropods.”
I lean back against his chest. “Of course she did. Nothing comes between Kate Morgan and a teaching opportunity.”
The irony isn’t lost on me. My mother, who spent most of my childhood chasing adventure on various maritime expeditions, now makes her permanent home in the cottage just down the path. All it took was the excitement of having the world’s first known half-cthulhu grandchild.
I lean against the windowsill, watching as James breaks away from Mom to toddle-crawl toward a seagull, his little tentacles working in perfect coordination. The bird eyes him warily before taking off, and James’s face scrunches up in disappointment.
“Your mother seems in her element,” Roark observes, standing beside me now.
“She’s making up for lost time,” I say softly. “With both of us.”
Roark’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently. “She’s remarkably accepting for someone who returned from an expedition to discover her daughter married a sea monster.”
“You’re not a monster,” I say automatically. It’s become a familiar exchange. “You’re just… differently limbed.”
His laugh is a deep rumble, something I feel more than hear. “Speaking of your mother,” he says, nodding toward where Kate is now pointing up at us, waving enthusiastically. “I believe she’s offering us some time alone.”
Sure enough, Mom’s gesturing toward town, then pointing at James, the universal grandmother signal for “I’m taking the little one for breakfast, you two enjoy yourselves.”
“She’s incorrigible,” I mutter.
“I see where you get it,” Roark replies.
As Mom gathers James and their collected shells, heading up the path toward her cottage and, likely, the café in town where Miss Harriet will slip my son extra pancakes because he’s “growing so fast,” Roark gives me a mischievous smile.
“Care for a swim?” he asks.
Three years together, and my heart still skips when his tentacles brush against my skin, gentle but possessive.
“What did you have in mind?” I ask, though the darkening patterns on his skin tell me exactly where his thoughts have wandered.
One tentacle curls around my wrist, as delicate as a bracelet. “It’s been weeks since we had a proper dive,” he says.
“Give me five minutes,” I say, already moving toward the bathroom.
When I emerge in my simple black swimsuit, Roark is waiting by the door that leads down to our private dock—a wedding present from the town council, installed after tourists kept trying to catch glimpses of the famous cthulhu and his human wife.
“Ready?” he asks, extending a hand toward me.
“Always.”
The water is cool but not uncomfortable as Roark guides me out past the sheltered cove. His tentacles support me effortlessly, one wrapped securely around my waist while another brushes the small of my back. The morning sun dapples the surface of the water, turning it into a shifting mosaic of light and shadow.
“Here,” he says when we reach deeper water.
I nod, the familiar flutter of anticipation building in my chest. This ritual has become precious to us—a connection that transcends the physical.
Roark draws me closer, his massive form dwarfing mine as his hand slides up to cup the back of my head. His eyes, ancient and knowing, meet mine.
“Are you ready?” he asks, always so careful, always seeking permission even after all this time.
“Yes,” I whisper, and close my eyes.
