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Pretty Little Island

Page 37

by Rhea Ryan

I breathe a sigh of relief, followed by dread that pits in my stomach.

Just as I suspected, water is on both sides of us, with vast, snow-tipped mountains hovering in the distance and a series of rocky islands with fir trees lining the shores as far as the eye can see. A bald eagle cuts in the sky over us.

The vastness of it, the wilderness. My stomach hollows out and my blood runs cold. I’d think it’s pretty if it wasn’t so terrifying, showing how insignificant we actually are.

The islands all have icy, deep blue water and rocky, unforgiving shores, which means we’re probably stuck on an island in the middle of what looks like a fresh-water lake. With that in mind, I have no idea how there are wolves that howl in the night.

Maison steps beside me and I watch him take it in the sight, his eyes flickering all over. “Jesus fuck, look at that,” he whispers.

We’re not in New Ocean anymore. I’m not even positive we’re in Alaska, however, we are definitely in the Arctic.

With a deep breath, I grasp Maison’s hand, my chest tightening as I feel the grip of panic take over. “Where are we, Maison? Where did we land?”

He moves his hand around my waist and pulls me in, but not in the sexual way he did earlier—he’s scared, too.

The wind tousles his shaggy brown hair, while the earth encloses us like a painting we don’t fit in. “Stay here. I want to look around,” he whispers. His voice seems out-of-place while a soft wind rustles the trees and the lapping water hits the rocky shores.

He makes his way down a short steep hill, arching his head to both sides as if looking for any lurking, silent enemies. He looks up at me and waves me over.

Once I arrive beside him, he dips down and sticks his hand in the water. “It’s fresh. While it’s not the ocean, it will be full of fish. Micah will be happy when he sees this. It’s a good place to camp, while not too far from the airplane.”

The water is so clear, the mountains, rocks, and trees evenly reflect over it. Clear, calm, and inviting.

“The rocks will help shelter us, too,” he adds. The entire shoreline is filled with boulders and round stones, with lots of crevices to hide in should we need to.

Crouching, I feel an icy chill as my hand touches the water. These are glacier-fed waters, and I can imagine it frozen and hidden under a thick layer of snow in the winter. A sight I hope I don’t have to see.

Maison’s eyes are tight as he looks to the horizon with a distant expression.

I nudge him. “Should we go back and tell the others?”

He looks around, then back at me, taking me from head to toe. “We should spend the night here. You look exhausted.” I shudder at what I must look like.

I shake my head. “Won’t Micah be pissed? He told us to come directly back.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, he’ll be pissed, but we’ve been gone for hours. It will take at least that long to find our way back, if not longer. I’d rather spend the night here than in the woods. I can make a fire, so we’ll be warm under the stars. We will head back at first light, or who knows, maybe they will come to us.”

Warmth, in this context, is rather subjective as I shiver from the cool breeze hinting off the water.

I sit on the beach, resting my legs out in front of me. My entire body aches, every bone, every fibre, every muscle shaking. Maison sits beside me, stretching his legs out next to mine.

I look over at him. I feel like a bag of shit, and of course, he’s smiling. He’s always smiling.

“What are we supposed to do now?” I ask him. It’s still light outside, and dusk won’t come for a few hours yet.

He surveys me and silently gets up and takes off his shirt and sweatpants. My face heats as he strips down to his boxers, effortlessly flexing his hard-earned muscles as he moves. His olive skin is still tanned from summer, glimmering with a light layer of sweat. His boxers hang just below his waist, and his hair is tussled above his eyes, which meet mine before he smiles. I can’t look away, and he knows it.

Without saying a word, he runs toward the glass-like water, diving right into the shoreline until only his head bobs up and down. The rock cliffs protect this part of the cove from the larger body of water in front of us.

He looks happy, almost childlike, as he swims in one spot. The sun shines down on him as his eyes find me sitting, watching him. The water really does look inviting, especially with him in it. If I didn’t know his past or reputation, I’d think he really was a good one, but I can’t fall for him—even if he’s trying to make it impossible for me to ignore him.

He waves me in. “Come in, London. I won’t look.”

I shake my head and grab my bag with my soap and shampoo. My skin tingles at the thought of being able to wash and clean myself. To finally get rid of the remnants of the plane crash off me. I stride away from Maison to a different part of the lake.

No way I’m getting naked with him quite yet.

“Wake up, London.”