One. Two.
Then total darkness.
I sat frozen. The bush was never actually silent, but without the hum of the AC and the low vibration of the power lines, the ridge felt exposed.
The book lowered slowly. The quiet had condensed into something sharper. The switch beside the door did nothing.
I opened the door and stepped onto the deck. The boards creaked underfoot. The other bush suites were black silhouettes against a bruising purple sky. The line that had hummed all afternoon was dead. Generator issue.
Below the deck, the grass moved.
I stilled. It wasn't the wind. It was weight. Brush shifted near the stairs, a heavy, rhythmic sound. I remained where I was. Stillness had its advantages in the boardroom. Apparently on a ridge too.
A shape moved through the shadows below the railing. Too large for a rabbit, too quiet for a person. The scent reached me then, hot hide, damp fur, and a musky sharpness that didn’t belong to prey.
A twig snapped. Closer.
I straightened, realizing my phone was inside on the desk. I backed through the open door, eyes locked on the railing until my fingers found the desk behind me. The phone slid under my palm. One bar of signal. I hit the contact for the Ranger Station. Static filled the line, then a voice. “Ranger station.”
“This is Juliette Wilder,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “The ridge appears to have lost power.”
“We’re aware, ma’am. Maintenance is checking the line.”
Something scraped against the wooden stairs outside—a slow, heavy rasp of claws against timber.
“I’m also hearing movement outside the canvas,” I said.
The man’s voice sharpened. “What kind of movement?”
“Uncertain. Large.”
Another voice cut across the background. Lower. Gritty. A voice I’d know anywhere now.
“Which suite?”
A brief, muffled exchange followed, then the line crackled with a new kind of energy.
“Juliette.”
My hand tightened on the phone. “Nick?”
“Get the canvas openings closed and latched. Stay clear of the openings. I’m on my way.”
The line went dead.
My pulse kicked hard against my ribs.
I looked down at my linen shorts and the thin tank top. If he was coming to rescue me from a predator, I should have been barricading the entrance. Instead, I was staring at the doorway and realizing I wasn't wearing a bra.
I am about to die, and my last coherent thought is about nipple placement.
Chapter 7
Teeth in the Dark
JULIETTE
Theenginecutbelowthe ridge. Silence followed, immediate and total.
