Brie
I’m not sure what I’m expecting to find while following these two strangers dressed like pirates from the poorly illustrated fairy tale I used to make Dad read to me over and over again before bed.
Sawyer offered to carry me back to their… camp, but I refused, of course. In retrospect, I should have accepted. My legs are peppered with scraps and bruises, and I’m sore in places I didn’t know existed, but they have their hands full with Logan.
They’re dragging him. They don’t have any other option, I realize. Logan’s a big guy–bigger than Sawyer, who has a few inches on his Alpha, and Alex isn’t a small man by any means.
I feel childlike and useless in comparison as I drag my piece of driftwood, deciding if I’m going to put my trust in a pair of strangers, I should at least have a weapon.
Sawyer stops, panting, and says, “We should shift. One of us, at least. You could go back to camp for help. I’ve called through the mind-link, but they don’t know exactly where we are.”
“We’re nearly there.” Alex grunts under his breath, shaking his head. “He needs the healer, or he’s going to die.”
My face drains of all color. Both men turn and look at me apologetically. “Sorry, kid. Didn’t mean that,” Alex tries to say, but I turn my expression to steel, shaking my head.
“I’m not a kid.” I clear my throat. “I’m twenty-two.”
Alex and Sawyer ignore me and continue walking, dragging Logan between them.
The hot sand bites into my tattered feet, but I barely feel the heat. I’m locked on the trail of blood Logan’s leaving in the sand, my heart sinking as the minutes tick by, and he doesn’t wake up.
The beach stretches for what feels like miles. Beyond the beach, a thick, tropical forest hugs the single mountain that rises high above us but does nothing to block the sun. I’ve never been to KiloKilo, of course. Relations with the strange, secretive kingdom ceased to exist after my great-grandfather died. He’d been the buffer between the rulers in KiloKilo and Alpha King Antony of Maatua, and once Great-Grandpa Maddox was gone, KiloKilo abruptly stopped all trade and simply faded into the mist surrounding their island systems.
It’s rumored they’re a violent kingdom ruled by an even more aggressive king, but even I’m not well versed in their history and culture, regardless of my degree in history and second degree in politics and law.
I feel like I’m prepared for anything at this point, however. I’ve just been through hell. I went through an attack, a fire, and survived a sinking ship by the grace of the Goddess. Being stranded in KiloKilo feels like a cakewalk until we round a sharp corner and step into the trees, following a well-laid path through the forest.
When the forest opens up again, revealing the beach, my feet stop moving.
“Wh-what–” I stammer, unable to move.
Alex and Sawyer drag Logan, now groaning softly, through the trees and onto a beach that opens up to a lagoon, where three massive ships bob in the calm water.
They have to be… very old or exquisitely crafted replicas of the kind of ships Aviva mentioned used to sail the seas during the golden age of the Firestone witches. Several stories tall and made completely out of wood, they gleam like gold in the sunlight, their massive sails pulled in and anchors dragging on the seafloor.
Pirate ships. All three of them.
I might actually be dead. That would make more sense than what I’m seeing.
Skiffs zip across the water, weaving between the boats. The sound of tools and hammers echo across the lagoon, mingling with shouted commands. On the pristine shore, a city of tents and lean-tos greet us, smoke rising to the sky from a handful of small fires, the scent of roasting meat and coffee hanging low over the camp as I follow Alex and Sawyer out of the trees, my heart in my throat.
Wolves approach, yipping excitedly at their Alpha’s return, but then they go silent with suspicion when they see the cargo he brought back with him.
An old, short, grouchy looking man comes tearing toward our group, his wild, shoulder length gray hair billowing in the warm breeze.
“Alpha Alex,” he pants, his small brown eyes narrowed in both concern and annoyance. “What kind of emergency–” he cuts himself abruptly when he sees Logan, sucking in a breath.
I find myself stepping closer to Alex and Sawyer when the wolves start to circle around the group, eyeing me with interest.
“A woman, too? For Goddess’ sake, man. We’re already low on medicine–”
“She’s fine,” Alex cuts in, “but this man is not.”
“He’s dead,” the old man says with a shrug. “Look at him–”
Logan groans, spitting blood. I bristle, wishing they’d hurry the hell up and help him. I should probably say something, right? Start begging and pleading?
My eyes begin to water, tears slipping free against my will.
“Bring him to my tent,” the old man, possibly the healer, says with a sigh, waving a hand.
Several men rush toward us to help. I get shoved to the side at one point, stumbling through the powder-fine sand as a group gathers around Logan, and then he’s just… gone.
My chest convulses, my eyes pouring with tears. I know I look pathetic. I feel pathetic, but seeing Logan–a fierce, highly trained warrior with a reputation of being a killing machine–like this? It’s jarring.
What if he does actually die?
Why does the thought of that leave me in absolute shambles?
Probably because he warned me something like this could happen. I was ignorant. Arrogant–and sure I was safe.
No one has ever cared enough to put a price on my head until now.
“Is there something wrong with your lip?” Alex asks.
I nearly jump out of my skin. I hadn’t realized he was still here. I drop my hand. I’d definitely been pressing my fingers against my lower lip, imagining Logan’s mouth there, swiping his tongue and gently biting down…
“Do you want to go with him?” he asks, tilting his head toward the group taking Logan to the healer.
I nod, unable to form a single word. Alex purses his lips as he scans my face, then my hair, and my tattered nightgown. He sighs, motioning for me to follow as he starts moving toward the camp, toward the tents scattered across the sand.
He stops at one of the tents and flips the flap, talking rapidly to someone inside just out of sight. Shouting from the boats and the waves rolling across the nearby shoreline drown out his voice, but when I tear my eyes from the water to the Alpha, he turns, handing me a handful of neatly folded fabric. Clothing.
I run my hands over the white cotton dress and what I believe is probably a man’s shirt.
“We’ll get you a shower,” he says under his breath. He reaches for me like he’s about to take my hand to guide me through the camp but hesitates, looking down into my eyes. “How long’ve you been mated to your man?”
My chest goes impossible tight as I think through the lie and my options now. I understand why Logan said we were mates even though it's far more complicated than that. I would belong to him as a mate. He has a duty to protect me with his life and I his. No man would dare cross a mate unless he was prepared for a violent end.
The only problem is we rejected each other.
“Not long,” I reply, my throat painfully dry and scratchy. “We were traveling to visit family to share the news.”
“From where?”
I doubt it matters as long as I keep who I really am under wraps. “Veiled Valley.”
“I’m not familiar with that,” he replies.
“It’s part of Eastonia–”
“Eastonia?” He grinds to a halt, turning to me. I have to dig in my heels to run right into his chest. “How?”
“What do you mean? There’s a route from Veiled Valley, through the straight–”
“Eastonia’s gone,” he argues, arching his golden brows–bright and bleached against his suntanned face.
“Oh, no, that’s not true.” Shut up, Brie. “You’re probably thinking about the veil, but that’s been gone for… over fifty years now. Queen Ella took it down, and now Crescent Falls and Eastonia are united.”
He doesn’t believe me. His face is etched with skepticism. I wait for him to pepper me with questions I can hopefully talk myself out of, wondering if what I just said is going to come back to bite me, but he just shakes his head and walks off.
I follow close behind, letting him lead me through the camp to a canvas tent big enough to fit at least a dozen full grown men within its walls.
The second I step inside, my heart in my throat, I see the healer leaning over Logan’s back with a knife.
“STOP!” I scream, lunging for him, but Alex snatches me around the waist and hauls me back. I claw at his arm, writhing against his iron grip.
Logan’s limp on a crude stretcher only a foot off the sand. He’s out cold, a strange, bluish stain around his mouth.
“What did you do to him?” I cry out, trying to rip out of Alex’s arms.
“His mate, I assume?” the healer sneers. “Get’er out of here.”
“Jackson,” Alex says to the healer, his name, I guess, “can you explain what you’re doing with that knife before she shifts and attacks all of us?”
I relax, but my heart is still thundering as Jackson lowers his blade. He’s probably my grandpa Ryatt’s age, somewhere around that, hardened by time and growing more impatient by the minute. He narrows his eyes at me. “Just cleaning his wounds. He’s got some coral stuck in his back. I have to dig it out if you ever want him to be able to shift again.”
I choke on a breath while trying to fill my lungs with air. “Wh-what? Coral?”
He nods, obviously annoyed with my question. “He got tossed through the reef. The water along the beach is shallow, you know. The reef can shred a man to ribbons if you get swept across it with the tide. I reckon he didn’t try to save himself, swimming along the surface, while being tossed toward the shore because he had something in his arms that meant more than his own life.”
My stomach sinks. Logan had been holding onto me. This is my fault.
Jackson rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he lifts what I realize is a paring knife and tilts it toward Logan’s back. But he glances at me, then looks up at his Alpha. “She well? Any injuries?”
Alex looks down at me expectantly, but when I fail to answer, he says, “No major injuries that I’ve seen.”
“Get her a shower, then. If she’s not hurt now, the sand lice will change that.”
“Sand lice?” My skin crawls, suddenly far more itchy than it was before.
Alex relaxes his grip and lets me go, motioning toward Logan. “When you’re done, have him brought to the Artemis to recover.” He turns us toward the entrance of the tent without another word.
I don’t want to leave Logan. I don’t want to be by myself, risking giving up our real identities and what actually happened to us by accident, but selfishly, the idea of being covered in little bugs has me on the verge of peeling off my skin and begging someone to shave my head.
Alex doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. My mind is absolutely tangled by hunger, exhaustion, and stress.
The only consolation I have is that Logan will probably survive, and when he wakes up, he can get us out of here somehow.
We’re nearly at the shore, walking toward a skiff tied off to a piece of driftwood, when a female voice rips across the beach in our direction.
“ALEX!”
“Shit,” Alex says under his breath as a beautiful young woman charges in our direction. Her thick, strawberry-blonde hair falls in ringlets around her waist, bouncing with every quick step she takes.
“Care to explain,” she shouts, still gaining on us, “what the fuck is going on? Sawyer said you found a couple on the beach and brought them back? Have you lost your mind?”
“Who is that?” I whisper, swallowing past the knot in my throat.
Alex smirks, shaking his head. “That’d be my mate. She’s the real boss around here. You better get in the skiff before she gets here, though.”