A warning growl rips from me when she looks away to the two unconscious bodies. I don’t want her to stop looking at me. I want to see her. I want her to seeme.
My head snaps toward the spare human, who lets out a shrill scream, jumping to his feet to run for it. I snarl and grab him by the ankle to slam him against the ground, cracking his skull in two.
When I look up, my mate is nowhere to be seen; there’s only the harsh echo of her shoes slapping the ground. She’s running from me. I need to catch her before she escapes my grasp, before I can no longer protect her.
Every instinct in my body thrums with raw, primal energy. My muscles prime and contract, ready to give chase. Each of my senses sharpen until all I can hear and smell is my fleeing treasure. The excitement of the hunt is quickly washed away by the bitter scent of her terror—like ash and acid.
I curl my hands into fists, staring in the direction she ran. Maybe I was wrong.
Not even the Goddess could create someone who could want me.
8
Cindi
What the actual fuck was that?
I’m going insane.
Absolutely fucking insane.
There’s no way that was real. I’m imagining things. I drank too much. I’ve been drugged.
Or I have a concussion from hitting my head when those guys tried to capture me.
This is like that time Tommy threw me into our basement and locked me in there for three weeks. There was no light, no window for me to look out of, no sound. Just my thoughts and the one time a day he’d visit to feed me.
I heard voices—Dad’s. Thought I saw my mother too. They spoke to me, kept me company, and checked on me when no one else did.
Maybe I’ve just lost the plot, because there is no universe in which an eight-legged tentacle creature just saved my life.
An eight-legged tentacle creature changed from two legs in a second flat. One I’ve run into twice in two days. One who I thought was the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.
He’s an alien. He has to be. There’s all that shit on the news about how they live in the ocean and can shapeshift to pass off as us or whatever. I haven’t got a clue what else he could be.
Scrubbing my hand over my face and looking around my bedroom, a wave of fatigue has me tripping over my feet and leaning against the wall to catch my breath.
I need to leave.Tonight.
Once is an accident. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is a pattern. I’ll be damned if I stick around to see thatthinga fourth time. The shit that’s gone on with my alarm and the pirates is reason enough. Tonight’s events are expediting my departure.
Those men are a mystery to me. One of them was European, and the other might have been Indonesian—I don’t know. It was dark, I was scared, and I couldn’t make out their faces. I didn’t understand a word of what they were saying or whether they were complete strangers or pirates or Gallagher connections.
Tears spill down my cheek. God, I hate that I liked it here. I liked my cabin. The two friends I made. The beach. The food. The smell of the fresh air in the morning. The whistle of the wind between the trees during a storm.
I shouldn’t have gotten attached.
Furiously swiping at my cheeks, I run around the house, shoving everything I can into my luggage—laptop, burner phone, cash I’ll strap to my body later, more fake passports, more fake IDs, disguises, toiletries. My go bag already has everything I need, but it’s better to have more, since I still have the work car to run away with.
It was only a matter of time before the Gallaghers followed me here. It’s a miracle I’ve even lasted this long.
Thethingthat killed those men could be connected to either of the people who have it out for me, or maybe someone else I’ve inadvertently pissed off without realizing.
My best bet would be to find a quiet area in the middle of nowhere, far from civilization and cameras, and lay low. Go radio silent. Maybe try going back to Thailand to hide out on a secluded island.
As I shove my things into my bag, I decide I’ll stick with my initial plan. I’ll drive to Bandung to hide out for a bit and keep minimal contact with Nat and Deedee. Once the heat dies down, I’ll leave Indonesia. I’m not sure where to yet, but I’ll figure it out.
I scramble to my dresser and yank a drawer out, sending it clattering onto the tile floor. Its contents spill around the room, and I drop to my knees and run my fingers around the wood to feel for the false bottom. I turn my nails into a makeshift crowbar and pry the wood off before chucking it aside.
