I slid back into the water and let it close over my head. Stayed under until my lungs burned, until I had to surface or drown. When I came up gasping, nothing had changed. I was still desperate. Still empty. Still aching.
And I knew with absolute certainty that he was right. I was already his. I just hadn't said the words yet.
The realization should have terrified me. Should have made me angry. Should have made me fight harder.
Instead I just felt tired. So tired of fighting my own body. So tired of being in constant pain from wanting something I couldn't have.
How much longer could I last? How many more days before I broke completely? Before I went looking for him? Before I begged?
I didn't know. I knew I would break. It was just a matter of when.
HALLIE
Aday after the oasis, I couldn't stay still.
Sleep wouldn't come. My thoughts kept circling back to him, to what he'd done at the water, to the way he'd denied me. Moving seemed better than lying in those furs replaying the whole thing. So I did what I always did when climbing got dangerous: I mapped the territory, looking for patterns, looking for weaknesses.
The cave system sprawled larger than I'd realized. I'd covered most of the accessible passages already, but there were sections I'd marked as unexplored. Dead ends, probably. Tight squeezes that might lead nowhere. But moving beat the alternative, which involved too much thinking and not nearly enough satisfaction.
I found the shelter around midday.
Someone had lived here before me. The evidence was unmistakable: supplies stacked against the wall in deliberate order, rope braided from plant fiber, a knife carved from stone that showed real craftsmanship. The dried meat had gone bad years ago, judging by the smell, but someone had put real effort into preserving it. And carved into the obsidian wall, deep enough that time hadn't worn away the message:
THE TOP IS A LIE DON'T CLIMB UP STAY IN CAVES HE WON'T HURT YOU IF YOU LET HIM
I traced the letters. They'd taken hours to carve, maybe days. How desperate had she been when she made this? How long had she lasted before she'd given up trying to warn anyone else?
The corner held something worse: a journal. Moisture and age had stuck most of the pages together, but I pried them apart carefully enough to read fragments. Enough to know.
Sarah Dupre.
A date, years ago.
Day 8: I can't stop touching myself. The need is unbearable. He watches but doesn't approach. Why won't he just DO IT?
Day 12: I tried to climb down. Made it thirty feet before I fell. He caught me. Flew me back up. First time I've seen him clearly. God, he's beautiful. I want him to touch me so badly I'm crying.
Day 16: The transformation started last night. My back is splitting open. I'm terrified. He says it means I'm compatible. I just want the agony to end. I'd let him do anything if it meant the pain would stop.
The final entry covered Day 18. Just one line, repeated until the handwriting deteriorated past legibility:
It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts
Eighteen days. She'd lasted eighteen days before the transformation started. And then she'd probably died anyway.
My options kept getting better. Get bred by the seven-foot alien I'd met four days ago, or die screaming while my body tried to grow wings it couldn't properly form. Fantastic choices all around. Really top-tier decision-making opportunities here.
I left the shelter. Kept moving because staying still meant dwelling on realities I wasn't ready to face yet. The warning carved in stone kept replaying in my head.
If you let him.
That was the key, wasn't it? He wouldn't force anything. Wouldn't take what I didn't offer. I had to choose this. Had to ask for it. Had to surrender completely before he'd give me what my body was screaming for.
And I was getting closer to that point every hour that passed.
Finding his den wasn't planned.
At least I told myself it wasn't planned. Maybe I'd been following his scent without consciously registering it. Maybe my body had abandoned the charade and guided me. Either way, the passage opened into a cave that was clearly inhabited, clearly maintained, clearly his.
