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“We should get out of here first.” He retrieves the blade from the mangled corpse with practiced familiarity. Then pulls off his shirt, using it to wipe the tar from my face and neck before handing it to me.

“Let’s get you into a warm bath,” he murmurs, “and I’ll tell you the rest.”

Steam curls around me as I sink into the bath. Water laps gently against my sides, pebbled with suds. “The power was out when I woke up,” I say quietly. “I went to find you and I just followed the hallways until I came across that…thing.”

Kieran stands shirtless at the sink, washing the tar from his hands and chest. Water trails in rivulets down his torso, disappearing beneath the waistband of his slacks. He should bathe but instead he stands guard, watching me intently like I’ll escape. He hums in response.

“What are those things?” I ask, voice echoing in the cold limestone room. He doesn’t reply, just moves about the bathroom, lighting candles and lanterns drawing back the dark. Misty trots vigilantly around the room. I’m not sure where she’s been, but I’m glad to have her now.

“They’re the reason I have such strict rules about this place,” he says.

“You haven’t really told me anything about this place,” I retort. “So no, I’m not aware of any strict rules.”

He stops and leans against the sink. The candlelight paints him in bronze and shadow, highlighting the glowing amber of his skin. “Devil’s Bay is home to some…unusual creatures of the night. And…unusual phenomenon.”

“Was that a creature or a woman?”

“There are more like her,” he says. “No one knows their origin, but my family believes they’re the bodies of the missing—those who wandered too far into the forest and never returned.”

Sheriff Valen flashes through my mind. His questions and his refusal to call my case criminal despite every sign of foul play. What woman is randomly found swimming in the sea if she wasn’t pushed into it?

“That thing…it was inhuman,” I whisper, hissing on the last word. My arms curl around my knees beneath the water. “It was different from the one in the mountain pass. So...evil.”

This is the third time I’ve seen something like this since being here.

Kieran’s mouth sets into a grim line.

“It—it told me I belonged to them,” I continue. My eyes dart toward Kieran, a stranger I’ve been pretending is not a stranger at all. This connection between us feels forced.

His gaze is fixed to the ceiling, his expression disengaging from the conversation. Is he thinking about another suspicious explanation about what’s happening here?

“Kieran?”

His wintry gaze flicks to mine. “You were nearly dead the day I found you. Maybe they’re attracted to that, someone who escaped death.”

The words fall heavily between us and ripples of trepidation spread through me. He could be right.

“It’s the same thing you killed the other morning, isn’t it?” I whisper.

He folds his arms across his chest and leans further into his thoughts. The room’s rising warmth collects around my bare shoulders, yet none of it eases the cold sinking deeper into my bones.

“It’s a bullshit theory, the people who died in the woods,” he says. “But I’ve found tricks over the years. Things that protect against them. Don’t look them in the eyes. If they’re near you, ignore them; do not look back, do not give them attention—although that didn’t work for you.” He reaches for something hanging from his neck, a necklace I hadn’t realized he was wearing, and places it in my hand. It’s a small silver cross, deceptively delicate, warm despite the chill clinging to my fingers.

“Does living here require divine intervention?” I ask. My gaze narrows to slits, studying him this close to me.

“It requires a lot of things.” His gaze shutters. “The first? Nothing kills those things except silver.” He draws the silver blade from earlier and sets it on the sink. Its surface glints like a sliver of moonlight sharpened to a point.

How many times is he going to kill us? The creature’s voice uncoils in my mind, the reverberation of an unholy murmur.

“Are those things out there right now?” I ask, gesturing vaguely toward the rest of the house.

“No,” he says quickly, clearing his throat. “They shouldn’t be an issue. We’ve…handled them.”

“So, the other day when you shot them were the bullets silver?” My gaze darts to the dagger. Hunger for death lives within its yielder.

“Yes. But I keep the rifle for emergencies. They’re not very common around here.”

“It didn’t seem like it was an emergency.” I lean against the mouth of the tub, pulling foamy bathwater up to my chest.