Chapter 8
Bowen
After my second restless night, the bags under my eyes were getting bags of their own—my own matching luggage set without the benefit of having brought anything with me.
So much for a relaxing vacation. Not that I was on vacation, per se.
The email from my work putting me on suspension for being AWOL meant there was no need to hurry back. Sigh.
Here I would stay for the time being and… hope I could afford the bill when it came. Although staying didn’t seem like such a bad idea after my encounter on the walking path. It was the one thought that kept me sane as the shadows danced around my room in the middle of the night.
Somewhere on this island, there was a man who walked as a wolf at night. Or… partly wolf. He was bipedal and had some anthropomorphic qualities. A werewolf. When my eyes couldn’t close for fear of the shadowy presence, I kept myself busy by Googling werewolves.
It wasn’t a full moon last night, which debunked the first article I’d found on it.
Did they turn every night? Was it only at night?
Were there any legends of werewolves in California?
Or off the coast of California? Were sea-werewolves a thing?
Did all these islands have them? Where did he come from? Was he a guest here?
Question after question swirled through my mind, even as I could still feel his breath huff against my skin or the warm trail along my cheek from his tongue.
The gesture felt more intimate than simply a happy greeting from an animal or the intimidation of a predator.
Though maybe that was my tired brain filling in details that weren’t there.
And maybe… I wanted it to be different because of the thrill it gave me.
Even in my exhaustion, my lips tilted up at the memory of it.
Whether real or imagined, it had probably been the most exciting moment of my life, and I’ve had some doozies. Curiosity and a desire I was trying not to acknowledge filled me, and nothing I could read online would satisfy it. I needed to find him.
Why didn’t I ask his name? It would have been so much easier if I had. How was I supposed to find him now? I supposed I could wait until nighttime and return to the walking path, but I needed something to keep me busy and to keep shadows from my mind.
I felt my lips flatten into a grimace as I realized what I would have to do.
I was going to have to talk to people. A shudder went through me at the thought of having to approach strangers and strike up conversations.
My literal worst nightmare. Okay, aside from the dark hand reaching for me in my dreams and the ominous feeling of impending doom.
What kind of questions did one ask when trying to determine if someone was a werewolf? “Pardon me, sir, do you happen to have fangs or a tail sometimes?” I huffed out a laugh and rolled my eyes at myself. Sure, that would go over well.
With no other ideas coming to my foggy brain, I accepted my fate.
I would have to become everything I hated; a nosy tourist. As I dressed in another set of borrowed clothes, I consulted the inn’s activity guide and plotted an itinerary that made my soul die with each social activity I added, starting with poolside yoga and ending with a sunset flight.
I wasn’t sure what kind of flight it was, but I was hoping there were multiple alcoholic beverages involved.
How early was too early to start drinking?
But then… I was on vacation time, right?
Breakfast had been challenging enough to make me consider giving up on my quest to find the werewolf.
It started out well enough with a delicious veggie eggs Benedict, but when the chef took every chance he could to watch or glare at me, my nerves started to get the best of me.
I still had no idea what that guy’s problem was.
It didn’t seem like he gave the same attention to anyone else in the dining room.
In fact, he seemed generally well-liked by the other guests. What did he think I’d done?
Bolstered by the strong Bloody Mary that accompanied my breakfast, I forced myself to attend my first activity: poolside yoga. Not that I was wearing yoga attire, but the olive-green cargo pants I’d found had enough give in them to allow me to move, hopefully without splitting at the crotch.
When I followed the signs to the pool area, I figured it would be a basic rectangular pool, but what I found past the copse of trees that concealed the area surprised me. There were two pools, each more unique than I'd ever encountered, not that I had a lot of experience traveling.
One was a saltwater pool, which wasn’t entirely unusual, but it appeared to have a large cavern area on one end where you could swim inside and even lounge within.
The other pool was freshwater, which I’d never heard of.
It looked more like a pond—too dark to see to the bottom—with a green tint to it, as if there were underwater vegetation.
A swirl appeared in the water, and I watched to see if anyone would surface, but they never did.
Weird.
The yoga class was on the cement area near the saltwater pool.
It was led by a calm giant of a man named Ash.
It wasn’t just his height, but his legs were as thick as tree trunks, and he moved or didn’t with such grace, it was like he was born of the earth.
Ash was big enough to be the werewolf, but his vibe was all wrong.
The energy that came off the werewolf was chaotic and driven by instinct.
The man at the front of the yoga class was the opposite. He was tranquility personified.
His voice rolled over me as he guided us through the stretches.
It was deep and soft, soothing and grounded.
This man would make a killing doing ASMR videos.
My awe ended quickly as I tried to keep up with poses I hadn’t done in a long time.
Trying to keep my balance and engage my core—which I wasn’t entirely sure I even had—made trying to talk to my neighboring yoga participants more difficult than it already was.
How did one casually strike up a conversation with their ass in the air in child’s pose?
Still, I attempted. Though it didn't get much deeper than asking where people were from, or if they had been to Creature Comforts before. I was absolute shit at this. Shit at talking and at yoga. By the time we were done, muscles that I didn’t even know I had hurt, though I was sure I had burned off the drink I’d had at breakfast.
What was next on the agenda? I grimaced when I pulled up the schedule on my phone.
Pickleball? Fuck my life. Unsure if there would be a water fountain near the court, I swung by the lobby to hydrate.
Maxime’s gaze locked onto me when I entered, though his expression remained neutral.
I knew for certain he wasn’t the man I was looking for, and I needed to save up my peopling energy for the ones I didn’t know.
Without more than a wave in greeting, I went straight for the iced strawberry-infused water.
Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Maxime give a nod of approval, but I doubted he cared that much about my water intake.
Again, I tasted a hint of something coppery beneath the light, fruity flavor.
Lifting the cup, I stared at the pinkish hue as if I would be able to see the molecules within. It wasn’t bad, simply… unexpected.
Shrugging it off, I went to the pickleball court, expecting there to be several people ready to participate in a friendly mini tournament. Instead, I found one guy wearing a sweatband around his head, bouncing from foot to foot as he practiced his swing.
“Hell yeah! I was starting to wonder if anyone was going to show.”
I gave an awkward half-smile. “I guess it’s just me, then.” I’d been hoping to sit on the bench and talk with the players while they waited to play, but now it looked like I would have to play.
“Great!” He reached out a hand for me to shake. “I’m Chervin. Cheetah. And you are?”
“Bowen.” My brows pinched together as I shook his hand. “Did you call me a cheater? I can promise you, I don’t know enough about the sport to cheat.”
Chervin forced a laugh, though his expression remained jolly. “Ha! Like I haven’t heard that one before. Sorry, maybe it’s rude to just come right out and ask, but I’ve never been anywhere like this.”
I eyed him carefully, not sure what he was talking about. “Come right out and ask what?”
He leaned in and lowered his voice. “You know? Like what you are?”
With my mouth open, I stared at him. What I am? What does that even mean? The words of the cat from the beach came back to me. Not human. Was that what this guy meant? No, it couldn’t be; I was just exhausted.
Chervin waved it off. “Fuck it, never mind. Let’s just play. Are you cool if we use full power? I’m always having to hold back when I play back home, and it’s draining.”
“I suppose. As long as you don't mind an easy win. At this point, I don’t even know if there are actual pickles involved.”
He let out a loud laugh. “I never mind winning, and no, no pickles. It’s pretty simple; I think you’ll catch on.”
Hit ball with paddle. It was a pretty basic concept, though I hoped this guy wasn’t a stickler for rules, because I didn’t know them. Chervin took his spot on the other side of the net and directed me where to stand.
“Ready?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Not really.”
A laugh sounded from the other side of the court. “You’re funny. Okay, let’s go.”
Chervin lobbed the ball into the air. As soon as he lifted his paddle to hit it, I felt a whiz of air rush past me, and the ball struck the fence behind me with a loud clatter.
“Holy shit!” I muttered. I didn’t even see the ball.
Sports had never been my thing, but that wasn’t… normal, right? Or was it just me?