“Thanks,” I breathe, but he’s off again, following the hum of the river.
Finally, it comes into view – a shimmering ribbon of water, winding like a serpent through the heart of the jungle. Moonlight dances on its surface, painting silver streaks that reflect the restless trees lining the bank.
We stick close to the treeline, careful to blend into the dark, using the twisted vines and leaves as shields against any eyes that might be watching.
The coolness near the river is a refreshing change from the suffocating humidity of the jungle. My cheeks burn, and I can’t tell if it’s from physical exertion or the memory that simmers in my mind.
Two slick bodies entwined in a shower cubicle, lips hovering inches apart.
I try to shake it off, but the image refuses to fade. Instead, I try to focus on the underbrush, the delicate twists of negative energy that’s begun to gather in between the trees like fog, curling gently off the ground.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I notice them. Figures. Shadowy, nearly human forms flickering in and out of existence. Their eyes gleam, limbs barely more than a blur as they ripple between the trees. Their malicious energy scares me. I see it coming off them in thick, oozing plumes. My heart skips.
“Can you see them?” I ask.
Taron’s focus shifts to where I’m staring at the trees on the opposite riverbank. “No,” he replies. “What are they?”
“Figures … shadows. Soul Wraiths,” I murmur, stepping carefully over a coiled root that reaches for my ankle. “I can feel death radiating from them. Malice. Selfishness. They also feel old. Some more than others.”
“Are they getting closer?”
“No. They’re just … watching us.” My senses prickle with an uncertainty I struggle to place.
Taron suddenly halts, and I nearly walk into him. His arm is outstretched, a barrier between me and whatever he’s sensed.
“Wait here,” he commands.
“Where are you going?” I hiss, but my words barely escape before he peels away from the treeline and leaves me rooted in place. “Did you see another team? Did you—”
I clench my jaw, and my breath quickens. The answer is no, he hasn’t seen another team.
Because there, skulking among the trees on the far side of the river, is another shadowy figure.
The Soul Wraith has revealed itself to Taron by takingon a female form. She feels familiar, but I can’t make out her features in the shadows.
She beckons him closer, whispering to him in a voice I can’t hear. But I know what she’s doing. She’s wheedling her way into his mind, drawing him towards possession.
A chill needles at the base of my spine. I’m confused. A Soul Wraith only resorts to possession when its surroundings have been corrupted beyond repair.
Then I realize. The acrid stench that permeated the jungle before. The suffocating sensation, like a hand squeezing tightly around my heart. Every inch of this place is blotched with a Soul Wraith’s touch.
And Taron … I cleansed him of his inner demons not long ago. He’s the perfect blank canvas.
The Soul Wraith’s eyes lock on to him. A predatory gleam dances in the hollow of her gaze, a yearning to consume. Her long, sinuous tongue darts quickly in and out of her mouth, lashing at the air around it as though she’s trying to taste Taron from afar.
When she moves into the moonlight, I gasp. Those warm almond eyes. A green-streaked fringe that curls across her forehead. The demon is wearing Mei’s face.
It makes sense now why some of these Soul Wraiths, still hovering beyond the nearest trees and ogling us with hunger, feel old. They’re every competitor who has ever died on this island – demons spawned from their cruel and brutal deaths.
“Wren,” I whisper, barely able to find my voice, “don’t listen to her…”
He doesn’t seem to hear me.
“Taron,” I try his real name.
Still, nothing. Mei’s arm extends, her movements slow, deliberate, as if savouring the moment.
My knees quiver, fists balling at my sides until my knuckles hurt.I have to do something.
