Ch. 33
I freeze as the doorknob jiggles again, my heart thudding so loudly in my chest that I’m sure whoever is outside can hear it. Instinct kicks in, and I drop into a crouch, trying to make myself as small as possible. Wake, however, isn’t one for hiding. He starts moving toward the door, muscles tense with violent purpose.
“No,” I whisper urgently, grabbing his arm. “Wait, don’t. No one can know you’re in here.”
He sneers at me, his pride wounded by the suggestion. “You dishonor me; I will not cower like a child.”
I can see the offense in his eyes, but I give him a pleading look, keeping my voice low. “At least wait to see what’s going on. It’s dark; someone might’ve just gotten turned around and come to the wrong cabana.”
Wake hesitates, his eyes narrowing, but eventually, he drops into a crouch beside me, his reluctance clear in the tension of his movements. We huddle together in the shadows, listening as the beam from a flashlight swings wildly outside. The sound of fumbling follows—keys clattering against metal, a frustrated curse, “Shit!”
My eyes widen in recognition, and I whisper, “It’s Stan.” My voice trembles slightly, and I curse myself for it. I hope Wake doesn’t notice, but of course, he does.
Wake’s expression shifts instantly, from mild annoyance to deadly calm. “Stan. This is the man from the boat? The one who touches you?” His deep voice is pitched so low it’s almost a growl, but I hear every word clearly.
I feel my face flush with shame. “H-How would you know that?”
Wake’s nostrils flare, and he snarls, “I’ve smelled him on you. I’ve healed the wounds he’s left on your body myself. I am no fool.” His voice rises, filled with barely restrained rage.
I motion for him to be quieter, panicking as his anger grows. “Do not try to silence me, woman,” he snaps. “This male has debased my mate and challenged my claim to you. He will die.”
The bumbling noises outside stop abruptly.
“Phoebe?” Stan calls out, his voice slurred. Then comes the sound of a fist hitting the door. “Do you have someone in there with you? You fucking bitch!” He slams his fist against the door again, then his shoulder, the yanking of the handle becoming more frantic.
Wake’s growl deepens, the sound vibrating through the floorboards. But instead of excitement, all I feel now is anxiety. “Phoebe!” Stan yells, “Open this fucking door!”
The moonlight filters faintly into the dark room, casting eerie shadows as Wake’s growling intensifies. His tanned skin starts to shift, the light catching on scales that begin to form across his skin. I can feel the sharpness of them when I grab his wrist, trying to stop him. I know what he’s about to do—he’s gathering his strength to tear Stan apart, and he won’t stop until there’s nothing left.
I can’t let that happen. As much as I might want Stan out of my life forever, I know that letting Wake kill him will only make things worse. We’re stranded on an island somewhere in the South Pacific. No one knows where I am, and if Stan dies here, there won’t be anyone to find me—or what’s left of me. I’m alone, caught between these two men—one inhuman, and the other a monster. Anything could happen to me in the next few minutes, and I have to find a way to control the situation before it spirals out of hand.
“Wake, please don’t,” I plead quietly. “Let me handle him.”
Wake’s hands clench into fists, and I catch the glint of claws extending from his fingertips. “Unhand me. I will not allow this to continue.”
“Stan is an idiot, but he’s harmless,” I lie, hoping to buy some time.
Wake’s eyes narrow, his voice cold. “You fear him. You are my mate; you fear nothing.”
A shiver runs down my spine. I wish that were true. For now, all I can do is pray that Wake has a reasonable side and try to appeal to it. “Killing Stan will make things very, very difficult for us here,” I say, gripping Wake’s wrist tighter when I see him roll his eyes, ready to dismiss me. “Listen to me, please. I can get him out of here. I’ve done it plenty of times before. If something goes wrong, you’ll be right behind me.”
Wake’s expression hardens as Stan gives up on the door and starts trying to pry open the nearest window. “If he touches you, he will not see morning,” Wake says, his voice laced with dark promise.
I swallow hard and nod, knowing that this is the best deal I’ll get. “I understand. I won’t stop you.”
With a dissatisfied grunt, Wake steps back into the shadows, his massive frame blending seamlessly into the darkness despite his size.
Taking a deep breath, I retrieve the T-shirt I had discarded earlier from the floor and pull it over my head. I smooth down my hair, trying to regain some sense of normalcy, and then unlock the door. “Stan?” I call out, feigning surprise.
Stan, shirtless and clearly worse for wear, is in the process of wrapping his hand in his shirt, ready to break the kitchenette window. His bleary eyes focus on me, and his face shifts from pale to an angry red.
“You…whore!” he shouts, before lunging at me with a sudden burst of energy.
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