Page 38 of Nightmare Island

I should be trying to get away from him, not trying to resist the desire to touch him again. Then his hand finds mine once more, his thumb resuming that maddening stroke across my knuckles, and I know I’m already in too deep.

“Did your ability to control storms cause the plane to crash?”

His words rattle me, and I press a hand to my chest in mock offense, though my heart is hammering so hard I wonder if he can hear it.

“You make it sound like I crashed the plane on purpose,” I accuse.

“Did you?”

There’s something in his tone that irritates me. Does he see me as dangerous to his pack? I give him my best deadpan stare.

“Yes, because I absolutely love nearly dying and ending up stranded on Murder Island. It’s been my lifelong dream, actually. Really living my best life here.”

He shrugs, and if every muscle in my body wasn’t screaming in protest, I’d throw all the pillows at his stupidly attractive body. Or his mask. Whatever.

“Hey, asshole, I have no control over my ability,” I say finally, the words tasting like dirt in my mouth, telling him the truth. “Trust me, if I did, a lot of things would be different.”

The silence that follows is heavy, loaded with all the things I’m not saying. He just… watches me. I resist the urge to pull the blanket higher.

He rises to his feet. “Let me bring you some food.”

“I’d appreciate that.” As he turns to leave, something compels me to call out, “Ghost?”

He pauses, glancing back, waiting.

“Thanks. For saving me. With the zombie and in the woods.”

“Of course. I’d do anything for my fated mate.”

I choke on air. “Wait, what?”

His only response is a low chuckle as he strolls out of the room, leaving me gaping after him.

“Is he fucking joking?” I say to the empty room. “When did this… No, he can’t be.” My responses rises in pitch with each word until I sound like I’ve been inhaling helium.

I press my hands to my temples, trying to make sense of this bombshell.Fated mates.The words echo in my head like a bad song you can’t forget. I wasn’t even a soul-mate match with my husband, but that hadn’t mattered for the forced arrangement. I’d accepted long ago that I would never find my true mate—it wasn’t in my future. Only a dream for people who had the luxury of choice.

“Okay, brain,” I mumble to myself. “Time to earn your keep. What exactly happened last night that made him think…” I trail off, trying to pierce through the fog of medication-induced memories. “And why didn’t anyone tell me the pain medicine came with a side of temporary amnesia? That seems like something that should be on the label.”

Even as I try to dismiss his words, I can’t ignore the way my body reacts to his presence, how my wolf practically purrs when he’s near. I’ve never felt drawn to anyone like this before, as though there’s an invisible thread connecting us, pulling tighter every time he’s close.

“No, no, absolutely not.” I shake my head violently, then immediately regret it as the room spins. “This is not happening. This cannot be happening. I refuse to let it happen.”

A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat.

“Being his mate would mean…” The truth scares me because it means I’d be stuck here. Forever. On this island. With him.Where he’s imprisoned. Where someone tried to have me killed on day one. Where I’m surrounded by feral Alphas.

I remember seeing Ghost with Eve yesterday, how intimate they looked together, and my stomach turns.

“Great. Fantastic. Because what this situation really needs is some bizarre love triangle.” Running my hands through my tangled hair, I try to think rationally.

Okay, let’s look at the facts. One. I’m supposedly the mate of a masked man who’s basically running a prison island. Two. His girlfriend already hates me. Three. I have absolutely no idea what I did last night while under the influence of whatever they gave me.

Pushing away all those panicked thoughts spiraling in my head, I pull back the blanket carefully, wincing as I examine my bandaged leg. A line of red has seeped through the white bandages right where I remember stitches being mentioned. That memory’s clear enough. But then another memory surfaces, and I gasp in mortification.

“Oh, you idiot.” I cover my face with my hands from sheer embarrassment. “Please tell me I didn’t actually try to seduce him by pulling down the blanket to my waist and offering him my breasts.”

The memory becomes clearer—me giggling and Ghost firmly tucking it back around me, rejecting me.

---