Page 56 of Nightmare Island

She turns to me but keeps glancing over her shoulder, as if expecting someone to materialize from the shadows in the hallway. She’s wearing a simple cotton dress with an apron dusted with flour, probably from helping Mara in the kitchen. Though, the way her fingers keep worrying at the apron fabric makes me think she’s not here to discuss breakfast.

“Listen, Hel.” Her voice comes out barely above a whisper. “I don’t hate you or anything, but sometimes we do things in life for pure survival.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “This island is about surviving. Especially when you make the wrong decisions and trust the wrong people.” Her lips pinch together, and there’s something in her eyes that reminds me of a trapped animal.

I study her, tilting my head. Part of my brain is screaming that this is the same woman who tried to kill me, who I shouldn’t give a damn about. And yet…

“Is someone going to hurt you?”

She shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know…” She swallows hard. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that.” She leans in closer. “I’m not interested in Ghost.”

I can’t help rolling my eyes and taking a step back. “Oh, this again? Because I distinctly remember you last night?—”

“Shh!” She grabs my arm with surprising strength, dragging me to the far corner of the balcony where the shadows are deeper. Her nails dig into my skin.

“You are so stupid sometimes,” she hisses.

“Oh, thanks,” I drawl, trying to pull my arm free. “That really makes me want to listen to you. Really winning me over with the charm here.”

“Would you just—” She makes a frustrated sound. “Look, surviving here means making allies, and it’s easy for you because you got Ghost from the get-go. Some of us have to work harder. I try to make out that I like him because I need his protection.”

The genuine fear in her voice has me pausing. I search her face, trying to make sense of her behavior.

“Protection from what? What’s going on?”

A sound echoes down the hallway, footsteps, maybe, or voices. Eve goes rigid, her face draining of color so fast I think she might faint.

“Just…” She licks her lips, glancing toward the sound. “Don’t trust those closest to Ghost because nothing is as it seems. Nothing.” The words tumble out in a rush, urgent and terrified. She turns to leave.

“Wait…” I grab her arm. “Where’s Ghost now?”

But she’s already pulling away, practically running down the corridor, her apron strings trailing behind her. The sound of her footsteps fades, leaving me alone with a growing sense of unease.

“Okay, that was fucking strange and disturbing.” A chill races up my spine as her warning echoes in my head. Those closest to Ghost… My mind starts cataloging everyone.

Awa with her endless kindness.

Mara and her muffins.

Axel and Knut, who’ve been by his side for ages, it seems, but I don’t really know them.

Or anyone else he’s close to.

I’m still learning the ropes myself.

Movement catches my eye, drawing my attention back to the woods. Two men emerge from the tree line, dressed in black, like shadows. They pause at the edge of the clearing, scanning the land and remaining there.

I twist around to hurry to the kitchen and not be alone, but I slam straight into a solid chest. I jerk backward, managing to create just enough space to glance up and find a familiar face.

Axel.

Before I can speak, his hand clamps over the back of my head while shoving a chemical-soaked rag against my mouth and nose.

My blood turns cold as I react instantly, shoving against him.

The sharp, sweet smell burns my nostrils as I thrash harder, my hands clawing at his arms, my legs kicking out. But he’s like steel, pressing the rag harder against my face as he pullsme tight against his chest. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision, and my movements become sluggish and uncoordinated. My legs give out, and the last thing I feel is Axel’s arm around my waist, stopping me from hitting the floor as darkness claims me.

There’s a bitterness coating my tongue that makes me want to gag. I snap open my eyes to find I’m no longer on the balcony. A yard surrounds me, and the rough bark of what I’m pretty sure is a tree digs into my spine. My shoulders ache from having my hands bound behind me.

I blink to clear my blurry vision as my head pounds, and I make out what looks like a graveyard of trees, stumps scattered everywhere. Random pieces of furniture are strewn about, too—cushions, half of what might have been a dining table once, even what looks like a bathroom sink lying on its side. But it’s the roaming wolves, at least two dozen, that make my heart stutter in my chest.

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