16. Mila
MILA
P hantom . . .” I call softly, slipping into the greenhouse. Today’s been quiet. Unsubstantial. No new visitors have arrived, and Christian and I have barely spoken. I’m honestly glad. After dinner the other night, I’m not sure what we’d say to each other that wouldn’t just leave me feeling pissed off and used all over again.
After force-feeding me eggs and toast for breakfast, Christian disappeared into the lighthouse as he has every day for the past week, leaving me alone in the cottage. By evening, I snuck out as I always do and made my way to take care of Phantom.
I named him Phantom for the white around his eyes, making him appear almost ghostlike.
—And because the markings in his fur remind me of the Phantom of the Opera.
Luckily, with Christian holed up in his little mancave, I’ve been able to sneak out of the cottage and come out to the greenhouse to care for him.
He never lets me get too close, growling at me from the moment I enter, but he does let me feed him whatever I can scrounge up from inside.
Today, he’s lying on his side when I enter, and though I can see he’s breathing, the fact that he doesn’t immediately raise his head and growl at me fills my stomach with dread.
“Hey, buddy . . .” Cautiously, I drop to my knees beside him. “You okay?”
He doesn’t lift his head, his breathing shallow. He whimpers, and I hover over him, searching for what might have caused his distress.
“You were just growling at me yesterday. What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t answer, but I look him over, checking his ears without touching him, then glancing at the few teeth I can see.
Then, I see his paw and the dried blood caked to his pad.
“Okay, we can fix this. Let me see,” I whisper, like Christian might be hiding behind the overgrown weeds in the corner rather than inside his lighthouse, doing whatever it is he does in there all day.
I reach for his paw, being as gentle as I can when I turn it over to inspect it. Embedded in between the pads, a piece of sharp glass is stuck in the skin, and the sight of the blood makes my head spin.
Pull it together, Mila. He can’t take it out himself.
I blow out a breath between my teeth, shutting my eyes against the wooziness that threatens to drag me under.
“Alright, don’t panic.”
I think I’m the only one panicking here, but someone’s got to say it.
Phantom cocks his head at me, attempting to pull his paw back, but without much force. I can’t imagine how much pain he must be in.
“I’m going to pull it out,” I tell him, crouching to get a better vantage point.
I know next to nothing about caring for the injured paw of a dog, but I’m not about to let him suffer, and without a vet anywhere in the next five miles, I’m his best bet.
“Okay, this will hurt a little.”
I reach for the glass, steeling myself and gritting my teeth, just as Phantom tries to tug his paw away. The moment I touch the glass, my fingers connecting with the sharp edges, he yelps in pain and nips at me.
My first instinct is to jerk back at his vicious growl, but I keep hold of the glass, pulling it out in the process of falling over on my ass.
The moment it’s gone, Phantom starts licking his battle wound, and I . . .
I look down at my hand to see blood oozing from several teeth marks on my wrist.
Well fuck.
That hurts.
My head spins at the blood, tears welling in my eyes despite myself because the adrenaline of the moment is wearing off.
Pain throbs in my wrist, and I clutch it to myself, afraid to look at the bite and see how bad it is. I know he didn’t do it to hurt me. Animals aren’t that different from humans. Pain makes us fight back against whatever caused it, and for Phantom, I was responsible for his momentary agony.
My head spins, the room rocking on its axis around me. I fall back to lay amongst the thicket of weeds growing through the rough stone floor, closing my eyes, and try to calm my breathing.
A wet nose touches my face, and I cautiously blink an eye open, finding the black wolf towering over me and watching me with a thoughtful expression.
“I don’t like blood,” I explain, forcing a breath through my mouth.
God, why is it so hot in here all of the sudden?
One . . . two . . . three . . .
He leans closer, sniffing my face, my hair, then moving down to my hand, still clutched tightly to my chest.
“It’s okay,” I breathe, reaching out with my other hand despite just being bitten moments before. Some part of me knows he didn’t mean it and that he’s sorry. “I know it was an accident. Is your paw better?”
He responds with a lick to my cheek. An unspoken apology and thanks for removing the broken shard of glass. I force myself to sit up, patting his head and leaning my cheek against his warm fur to let the nausea pass.
Nervousness stirs in my stomach, but I continue to stroke the top of his head, knowing that there’s no way I’ll be able to keep this from Christian.
He’ll shoot him, and I can’t let that happen.
A quiet tear slips down my cheek, contempt sliding up my throat.
Why does everything have to be so damned difficult?
“It’s okay,” I repeat, even though deep down, I know it won’t be for much longer.
When I exit the greenhouse, the sun is starting to set, and with a heavy feeling of paranoia, I clutch my bloody wrist to my chest and hurry towards the cottage, praying with every step that Christian is still up in his mancave.
Blood seeps from the wound on my hand, and I keep it curled into my chest, wincing at the pain that throbs with each step. When I near the house, I pull my borrowed coat sleeve down to cover it, making my way towards the front door.
Only, it opens before I reach it.
Christian stands in the doorway, a volatile presence against the fading sun.
His stare stills the beat of my heart, clouding over like a storm washes across the sky when he notices the blood dripping from my fingers onto the rough stone beneath my feet.
“What happened?” I jump at the sound of his voice, my stomach plummeting at the calmness in his tone.
I’ve known him long enough to know a calm Christian is a dangerous Christian.
“It’s nothing,” I lie, holding my hand tighter. “I slipped. I’m fine.”
He takes a step towards me, his front nearly pressed against mine, and looks down at the blood staining my coat. An icy sensation trails down my spine, sending a shiver through me at the violence in his gaze.
“There’s a dog in the greenhouse, isn’t there?”
I don’t even have to answer him. One look at my face is all he needs before he’s pushing past me and pulling the pistol from his waistband as he stalks across the yard.
My heart cracks and hand forgotten, I run after him.
“Wait!” I shout, but he doesn’t stop. “It was an accident.”
He racks the slide, not even bothering to look at me when I grab his arm and attempt to pull him back.
“It was an accident. He’s hurt!”
“Mila, go in the house.”
“ No ,” I growl, jumping in front of him. I’ll throw myself in front of the dog if I have to. I won’t let him hurt him. “You can’t do that .” I shove him with everything I have, but like a brick wall, he doesn’t even move.
“There’s no place for biting mutts on this island,” he replies cooly, stepping into me and forcing me to fall back a step. I grip his shirt, but he just keeps walking, moving past me despite my struggling. Tears burn on my cheeks, the wind whipping my hair in my face, when I throw myself in front of him and the greenhouse again.
But, like the force of the sea, he only stops because he wants to. Not because I made him.
“He was hurt, and I pulled a piece of glass from his foot. He didn’t mean to. I won’t let you hurt him.”
His gaze fills me with ice, his stare lethal.
“Let me?” he mocks, stepping into me. “You seem to have forgotten, what you want, doesn’t matter anymore.”
I slap him so hard my hand vibrates with the sting. His head snaps to the side, the skin instantly reddening with both the blood on my hand and the force behind it. When his gaze slips back to mine, he’s never looked more like the devil than he does right now.
At the same time, I spin to run back towards the greenhouse, he catches me around the waist, tugging my back into his front with one arm around my stomach, the gun in his other hand. The air wheezes out of me, and an icy fear settles in my stomach.
Not for me, but for Phantom, because if Christian won’t listen to me, there’s no doubt in my mind he won’t think twice about shooting the dog who bit me.
“Let go of me!” I growl, but I may as well be fighting off a grizzly bear. He presses his lips to my ear, the warmth of his breath against my neck sending a shiver down my spine. Tears spill from my eyes, a sob wracking up my throat as sorrow threatens to suffocate me.
“You seem to have forgotten; temper tantrums don’t work on me.
“Please, don’t kill him—”
“You have no choices here, Mila. Right now, you are mine to feed, to protect, and to clothe. If I say you’re going to wear something, I expect you to smile and say, yes, sir , in that pretty little voice of yours. If I tell you no dogs if they’re going to bite, that’s the way it’s going to be. No arguing. No running off. And no fucking temper tantrums.”
He lets me shove away from him, and I crash to the grass below his feet, nothing more than a piece of garbage beneath his feet, just like Phantom.
He meets my tear-filled stare with his icy one, and I realize there’s not an ounce of emotion in his eyes. Not anymore.
“What happened to you?” I breathe because I can’t help myself. My stomach is in my throat, and the perimeter of the island is threatening to close in on me.
Beyond the cliffs, the waves crash against the rocks, but it’s nothing compared to the turmoil in my chest.
“Perhaps it’s the bullet still lodged in my chest,” he sneers, his lips curling up at the sides in a dangerous snarl. “You know, two inches to the left, and I would have died. Not that you care, right? You delivered that punishment on a silver platter. Didn’t you, little devil?”
Something breaks inside me, and it’s then I realize I really don’t know Christian at all anymore.
I glare at him, fresh tears burning in my eyes, and for the first time since I woke up in this fresh hell, I can’t turn them off.
God, what did I do to him?
“Sometimes, I wish I would have just used it on myself instead.”
He stares at me, watching the descent of a tear as it runs down my cheek, dripping to my bloody coat below.
“Go inside.”
And then he stalks past me, making his way toward the greenhouse to shoot the only thing worth saving on this godforsaken island.