Page 1 of Beasts of Mine

CHAPTER ONE

EVIE

By the time the research station finally came into view through the trees, I was sweaty, sore, and more than ready to stand on something that wasn't moving beneath me.

The narrow motorboat had been carrying us upriver for nearly three hours. Normally, I had a decent stomach for boats, but the hard wooden bench had become increasingly uncomfortable as the afternoon wore on. Every rough patch sent the flat bottom smacking against the river hard enough for the vibration to travel straight through my spine.

The braid down my back was damp with sweat, the loose strands around my face had surrendered to the humidity hours ago, and the cold bottle of water I'd started the trip with had become unpleasantly warm.

Another wave struck the side of the boat and sent muddy river water over the edge, splattering the toes of my hiking boots.

“Seriously?” I muttered, looking down at the fresh droplets running across the worn leather as I pulled the waterproof camera bag more securely against my chest.

The older man steering the boat glanced over his shoulder. Deep lines creased the skin around his eyes, and amusement spread across his face when he noticed how tightly I was holding the bag.

“Camera?” the driver asked, nodding toward the black case before turning his attention back to the bend ahead.

“Very expensive camera,” I answered, shifting it higher in my lap and giving him a small smile. “At this point, I'd probably throw myself in the river before I let this thing go overboard.”

The driver laughed, the sound carrying easily over the motor. He answered in the local language, speaking far too quickly for my limited vocabulary to follow, though I caught enough to know that whatever he'd said had been at my expense.

I couldn't blame him.

My larger backpack was wedged between my boots, packed so tightly that I'd had to sit on it that morning to get the zipper closed. Six weeks of clothes, toiletries, field supplies, medical equipment, Omega blockers, emergency heat medication, chargers, notebooks, and whatever else I'd convinced myself was essential were crammed inside.

The camera bag wasn't much better.

Two camera bodies, three lenses, spare batteries, memory cards, cleaning equipment, protective covers, and portable storage drives had turned what looked like an ordinary black case into something heavy enough to leave an ache along my shoulder.

There were wildlife photographers who knew how to travel light.

I wasn't one of them.

I shifted on the bench, trying to find a position that didn't irritate my lower back, then returned my attention to the riverbank.

That made the ride worth it. Dense rainforest crowded both sides of the river. Huge trees rose above everything else, their trunks disappearing into layers of foliage that blocked most of the sky. Thick vines climbed the bark and hung from branches, while exposed roots twisted down the muddy banks before vanishing beneath the brown water.

The longer I watched, the more details appeared.

Small birds darted between branches. Insects skimmed across the surface of the river. Red flowers grew in clusters near one tree, while pale yellow blooms crowded another patch closer to the water. Higher up, several purple orchids clung to the rough bark of a trunk where a narrow break in the canopy allowed sunlight through.

I had worked in rainforests before, but arriving somewhere new always felt different. I hadn't learned what belonged in the background yet, which meant everything caught my attention—the unfamiliar bird calls, the shape of the leaves, a sudden movement high in the trees, or a plant I couldn't immediately name.

A flash of brilliant blue crossed the river ahead of us.

I straightened immediately.

A blue morpho butterfly drifted over the water, its wings bright whenever they caught the sunlight and darker when they closed. It crossed in front of the boat and disappeared beneath the trees on the opposite bank before I could even get my camera bag open.

“Of course,” I murmured, watching the last place I'd seen it while my fingers rested uselessly against the zipper. The driver glanced back at me again, curiosity briefly replacing the amusement on his face.

“Nothing,” I assured him with a quiet laugh, waving one hand before settling back against the side of the boat. “Photographer problem.”

The driver smiled and shook his head, apparently deciding he'd already learned enough about me to understand.

I had been doing wildlife photography professionally for nearly nine years, and somehow that immediate need to photograph anything interesting still hadn't faded.

I hoped it never did.