Then the bump appeared. Tiny at first. A few weeks later it pushed outward—rounder, harder—and everything shifted.
I started to smile again.
The thought of my child in my arms brought a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in a long time.
My choice may have been taken from me with the bite and the heat, but this was a consequence I could live with.
This child was ours, and Bouda would protect it with her life.
So would I.
???
I woke from my nap.
My eyes shot open.
The loud whirr of the helicopter’s rotator blades cut through the air.
Relief and rage battled for dominance.
Bouda went wary.
Think of the baby.
I am.
If you attack him, use a weapon—or I’ll shift and do it for you.
I almost smiled.
Almost.
???
I flung back the blanket and began folding it automatically. I’d been keeping the house clean. I’d learned the hard way when he didn’t come back.
His clothes, however, had all been cut up. The ties had been particularly satisfying. I may have ruined a few kitchen knives while destroying his leather shoes.
I exhaled a few shuddery breaths, trying to cling to some of the zen calm I’d been working on.
Focus.
Focus.
You have to get off this damn island.
Focus on freedom—not gutting that arsehole like the fish you caught.
I’m trying to believe in you… but I can feel you, Bouda whispered.
Thankfully, she didn’t laugh.
The front door unlocked.
Creaked open—one final squeal from the hinges.
His voice.
