Forbidden Heat (Outlast Her #1)

Chapter One

In fact, when she was fifteen with a pimple the size of Jupiter on her chin, sitting on the floral-print four-seater sofa in her parents’ living room watching Survivor, she’d had a revelation.

Jeff Probst had introduced the sixteen new castaways, and somewhere during the episode, the words “Outwit,” “Outplay,” and “Outlast” had stuck in Sabine’s brain.

She’d known then with absolute certainty that one day, when she was older, she’d be part of a tribe, sitting on a log wearing a bikini with a buff around her head.

She could easily eat rice out of a coconut shell, not shower for weeks, and compete in both mental and physical challenges if it meant she was competing for the title of The Ultimate Survivor.

Unfortunately, Survivor had never noticed her.

Which, frankly, was a bit disappointing.

She’d always thought of herself as noticeable.

Not only was she an emergency physician, but she was also queer, had hair the color of spun gold, and had once been told she looked like Michelle Pfeiffer in White Oleander.

Still, Sabine had applied twice but never gotten the callback.

She’d considered trying again this year, but then one day in the call room, right after she’d stabilized a man whose leg had been crushed under a fallen motorcycle, she’d picked up her phone, scrolled aimlessly through Instagram, and saw a post on Sapphic Spoon.

The former executive producer of The Sapphic Match, Elise Mercier, was bringing out a sapphic twist on Survivor called Outlast Her.

Twelve lesbians. Twenty-eight days. One Ultimate Outlast Her.

Sabine had applied immediately. And whoop-de-doo, she’d gotten the callback.

Now, she was sitting in a makeshift doctor’s office set up in the spa area of Caldera Villa, the official villa for the contestants pre- and post-show.

Sabine assumed that the only contestants staying afterward would be those on the jury.

Although she wasn’t even sure if there would be a jury for this show.

The most she knew about the show was that the winner would receive massive bragging rights and a whopping million dollars.

Sabine didn’t care about the money; she just wanted the title.

She smiled and glanced at the white folding chairs lined up against one wall. On the other side was a small table holding a blood pressure cuff, a box of disposable gloves, a stethoscope, tongue depressors, a bottle of hand sanitizer, and a few pre-packed vials for blood work.

Sabine was sitting on a plinth wearing paper shorts and a flimsy hospital gown she’d never envied on her patients.

She kept an eye on the laminated diagram of the human circulatory system with all red arteries and blue veins as she crossed her ankles.

She breathed in the faint smell of eucalyptus creeping under the door.

Voices and footsteps sounded outside. Then the door swung open, and a woman about ten years her senior, with hair the color of a copper coin, walked in. She had a clipboard in one hand and a stethoscope around her neck, despite the one already available in the room.

“Sabine Kallix,” she said, glancing down at whatever check-off list was held in place by the metal clip. “I’m Dr. Elizabeth Crawford. I’ll be doing your medical exam today.”

“Dr. Kallix,” Sabine corrected, and immediately winced.

Great. She was one of those doctors. The kind that corrected everyone who called her by her first name.

She could basically see her younger sister rolling her eyes at the ridiculousness of Sabine having another doctor call her doctor.

She would’ve been embarrassed, but anyone who studied as long as she did, who survived med school and countless surgical hours, would understand.

Still, she shifted on the plinth and cleared her throat. Then, although she had no idea why, she added, “I work in emergency medicine.”

Dr. Crawford didn’t seem at all interested.

She barely even smiled. Her lips were actually downturned.

Which was unnerving, though it shouldn’t be.

It wasn’t as if Sabine was the poster child for a friendly doctor with a good bedside manner.

In fact, she’d had several formal complaints over the years for a perceived lack of empathy.

It wasn’t that she didn’t care; it was that she didn’t have time to care.

There was always another unlucky soul being wheeled through the hospital doors.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of Harborview Memorial in Seattle. It’s one of the top Level 1 trauma centers in the country. I took over the ER about three years ago after the previous medical director retired,” Sabine went on, when really she should have just kept her mouth shut.

“Impressive,” the doctor said in a voice so uninterested that Sabine wanted to leap forward and shake her shoulders and say yes, it was impressive, how many thirty-eight-year-olds across the country were running an emergency department that never slept.

Why did she even care? She didn’t, she decided, and adjusted her gown, pulling it lower over her knees.

The knees, in her opinion, were the most fragile joints in the human body.

There was a reason they went first, whether they were athletes, couch potatoes, or surgeons standing for twelve-hour shifts.

People put too much trust in the ligaments and not enough effort into their muscles.

But not Sabine. Even with her days already bursting at the seams, she never skipped her workouts.

Even more so since finding out she was going to be on the show.

She needed to be strong. She needed to outlast everyone around her.

The doctor flipped a page and finally looked at her properly.

“Alright, we’ll start with vitals, then a quick cardiovascular exam.

” She gestured vaguely toward the relatively new-looking electrocardiograph.

Apart from the plinth that creaked every time she moved, everything was sparkly new.

“Thereafter, I’ll ask you some questions.

You’ve already undergone a full psych evaluation, so this will be related to the physical exam. ”

“Understood,” Sabine said, though for some reason Sabine felt a prickly sensation swoosh down her arms. She hadn’t enjoyed the psych evaluation.

Actually, she’d hated it. It was less of an evaluation and more of an interrogation.

The therapist, whose pastel green cardigan Sabine loathed on sight, had asked questions like: How do you handle conflict?

Do you consider yourself emotionally open?

When things go wrong, do you look for someone to blame?

If you were a kitchen appliance, which one would you be?

Would you rather fight a horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses, and if you could eat only one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Sabine didn’t know if she had been more disturbed by her line of questioning or by staring at the woman’s pastel puke-green cardigan for three hours.

Sabine had no idea why it mattered if she could live off sushi for the rest of her life, or if she’d choose a teaspoon for its versatility, but still, she’d answered each question honestly.

Well, mostly. When asked if she’d ever been in a high-stress trauma situation, she hadn’t mentioned that one time she’d operated on a man with thirteen bullets from a .

45-caliber gun in his abdomen, or the time she’d stabilized a teenager crushed under a stalled elevator that was threatening to collapse. She saved those stories for her shrink.

Dr. Crawford unclasped the stethoscope from her neck. “Let’s get started.”

Sabine nodded, feeling somewhat relieved. In a few minutes, she would be one step closer to living out her childhood dream. Or at least a different version of that dream. A version without men, which suited her just fine.

Dr. Crawford got started, and the exam went as smoothly as Sabine expected.

The blood pressure cuff fit snugly around her arm.

Her pulse was checked and registered a steady sixty beats.

And a bonus was that the stethoscope was pleasantly cold against her skin.

As predicted, she aced her cardio exam, and although the blood results would take a day or two to complete; she knew with utmost certainty that she’d be cleared.

Dr. Crawford sat down on one of those wheely chairs like the one Sabine frequently stole from her head nurse, Sally Grace, and cleared her throat.

“How are you finding the isolation so far?” she asked.

“I know many contestants are shocked when they learn they have to be housed separately from each other until filming starts.”

It had been a surprise. But also not. Forming strong alliances was the basis of Survivor.

Surely it wouldn’t be any different for Outlast Her.

Communicating with each other before the game even started would give people an unfair advantage.

And although Sabine wasn’t above playing dirty, she preferred to save that kind of maneuvering for when the game actually began.

“I don’t mind it,” Sabine answered truthfully.

Dr. Crawford arched an eyebrow. She had perfect eyebrows that tapered sharply at the ends. “Most people don’t like it,” she said. “They get anxious. Some start overthinking everything before they even step onto the beach. Do you find yourself overthinking?”

“I thought this was a physical exam,” Sabine said, frowning, though she had enough Botox in her forehead to freeze an avalanche.

“You’re right,” Dr. Crawford said, glancing at the clipboard. “Let’s get back to it. Tell me, any recent injuries? Chronic pain we should know about? Sprained ankles that didn’t heal well. Low back pain that could hinder your performance on the challenges?”

Sabine blinked once, then answered evenly.

“No injuries.” Unless stubbing her small toe against the dining table when she was eighteen and ignoring the fracture in her metatarsal counted.

It only ached now and then, which was why she refused to wear anything but Crocs at the hospital.

“No chronic pain. Balance is great, so is mobility. I can run, climb, and carry more than my body weight if necessary.”

“Perfect,” Dr. Crawford said, ticking something off on the clipboard.

She then asked a few more questions about diet, sleep, and minor past illnesses.

When she seemed satisfied, she stood, stiff as a marionette, and headed toward the door.

“I’ll get your labs back tomorrow. For now, go enjoy the rest of your day. ”

When the door clicked shut behind her, Sabine rose, slipped on her Crocs and swapped the hospital gown for actual clothes. Her handler, Chelsea, would be knocking on the door any minute. Each contestant was assigned a handler to keep them out of trouble before the game began.

Sure enough, a knock came immediately. “Dr. Kallix, are you ready?”

“Ready,” Sabine said, grabbing the doorknob before Chelsea could throw the door open. One thing she’d learned about Chelsea was that she didn’t waste time. She walked as if she were perpetually late for something and spoke as if on fast-forward.

“I’ll escort you back to your room,” Chelsea said, her voice gruff.

At first, Sabine thought the gruffness was genetic, but then she’d caught Chelsea chain-smoking by the villa pool yesterday and had to resist the urge to lecture her about lung cancer.

Though, to be fair, plenty of people who’d never touched a cigarette also ended up with it, so she let it slide.

“You’ve got access to the pool for an hour. ”

“I don’t need it,” Sabine said. “I want to spend the rest of the day under a roof.”

Chelsea laughed.

Sabine didn’t. Instead, she concentrated on the hallway.

The smell of eucalyptus was stronger now.

The walls were painted sand yellow, with heavy wooden frames holding paintings of turquoise waves and limestone cliffs adorning them.

Sabine found the paintings entirely appropriate, considering they were in the Philippines.

She regarded each of the six designs with a polite sort of detachment.

Frankly, it felt unreal that tomorrow she’d be on some boat careening across the ocean to some island where she’d be dropped off with eleven strangers, a ton of camera crew, a million bugs and probably a serious sunburn waiting to happen all while strategically forming alliances and coming up with strategies to win.

Her heart raced a little. Fine, it raced a whole lot.

Was this even a good idea? It seemed leaving the safety of her emergency department was one of the riskiest things she had ever done. Frankly, she wasn’t even sure anymore. Not yet, at least. Hopefully, tomorrow she’d get some clarity.

Sabine’s attention was snapped up by a woman walking toward her.

She had hair the color of mud, sunlit skin that could handle a lot more UV rays than Sabine’s pale body, and she wore a yellow sundress that came to just above her knees.

Sabine didn’t need a medical degree to know the woman was another contestant.

She had the same excited, almost manic energy that Sabine felt deep inside her chest. Except that the woman showed it outwardly.

She was practically bouncing as she walked.

“Hi!” the woman said as they passed each other. This not only had Chelsea scowling but also the man walking beside the woman. He was shaking his head disappointedly.

“Sorry—” she started.

“Shh,” the man interrupted, just as Sabine passed by. “No talking to other contestants. It’s literally the only rule, Talia. How many times do I have to explain that?”

“How am I supposed to know she’s a ...?”

But the woman’s voice trailed off as Sabine walked through the double glass doors into a courtyard with palm trees towering over a handmade pond where three brilliantly orange koi fish circled lazily around a spluttering fountain.

“She sounds like a handful,” Chelsea chuckled and pulled out a sleek metal cigarette case from her back pocket.

“I’m glad I didn’t get her.” She was just about to flick the lid open when Sabine pressed her lips thin.

Chelsea eyed her and then stuffed the box shamefully into her pocket.

“Fine. But only because you’re a doctor and you know better. ”

Sabine nodded. Then, for some reason, her mind flicked back to Talia and that yellow sundress. Chelsea was right. She did seem like a handful. All Sabine could do now was hope they weren’t on the same team.