Breeding Season (Monsters of Darkness #3)

Freedom

Pele

The plane door opened, and the Bahamian heat spilled in.

The scorching wind slapped my face as I stepped off the small propeller plane and onto the tarmac.

It dared me to stand tall against the sun as the island that had been my father’s home pulled at something deep inside me.

It smelled earthy and burnt—not the clean, salt-air promise of a tropical paradise, but something ancient and sinister.

My hair stood on end with the weight of someone’s gaze, but as I looked around, it disappeared.

Paranoid, I chided myself. No one’s watching me.

It was just fatigue mixing with the oppressive heat.

The shadows the setting sun cast weren’t too long, and definitely not too solid.

As another plane parked, I followed the line of people toward a tiny terminal building, slowing to a stop behind an elderly woman.

After arriving in Nassau from Fort Lauderdale, I took a connecting flight and made it to Treasure Cay Airport in a little under an hour. Only another forty minutes and I would arrive at my destination—a place that, in another life, I could have called home.

Since the police closed the case on my mother’s murder, I’d been receiving cryptic texts and small, disturbing packages.

The texts seemed like classic horror movies: ‘You scared?’ to ‘You’re not going anywhere, Pele’, but then there were strange ones like ‘Stay inside’ and ‘What’s your next bleed?

’ The last one was a dead bunny with a note that read, ‘You’re mine.

’ I could still see the little eyes staring at me.

I was being watched and slowly driven insane.

This island, dangerous as the driver claimed, gave me more freedom than all of Florida.

I was irritable, but tack on the heat despite the setting sun…

Someone cleared their throat behind me. I stared at the two feet of space I was expected to eliminate.

I glared over my shoulder at a blond man in cargo shorts and a Hawaiian shirt before I dragged my small carry-on and moved forward.

When a clerk waved me down, I briefly grabbed my boarding pass, and she let me know there were taxis waiting outside for visitors who needed to get to the Treasure Cay ferry terminal.

As I walked out, a row of white taxis waited just as she promised. I swiped sweat from my forehead as someone veered into me; I stumbled forward, and a man, the same one from earlier, leered down at me. “Watch yourself!” He spat as he passed.

“Dick,” I hissed under my breath, tightening my grip on my carry-on handle. I snagged the first waiting taxi in line, approaching a dark-skinned man with a mustache and kind eyes who greeted me.

“Welcome to de Cay, miss. You headed to the ferry, yes?” he called out in a heavy accent. Finally, someone nice.

“Yes, sir,” I sighed as he offered me his hand.

“Yer luggage, miss,” he said as he jerked his head toward my carry-on.

“Oh, that’s okay. I’ll carry it, sir.” I pulled the rear door open and slid into the back seat. Other than the mini-shoulder bag on my lap, the suitcase held everything I owned, and the small knife I’d packed.

The thought didn’t escape me: I just got into a stranger’s car. But Uber didn’t work in this town and I had put all my trust in the airport clerk’s recommendation.

The driver ran around the car, slid into his seat, and immediately put an arm on the passenger’s headrest, looking back at me.

“Fifteen dollars, okay, miss?” he asked. I searched the back for a meter, but when I found none, I locked eyes with him and nodded. He flashed me a slightly yellow smile before staring ahead and shooting forward. Church music in a different language quietly filled the taxi. “New here, miss?”

I nodded as I took in the palm trees and little houses that flew past the window. “Yes. First time.”

He hummed, bobbing his head to the music. “We’re peaceful… mostly. Where ‘‘bout you headed?”

“Green Turtle Island,” I murmured.

“Hm… Green Turtle Cay. Some t’ings dem over that way… they ain’t keen on strangers much,” he cautioned. A shiver ran down my spine. I forced a laugh, ignoring the paranoia that threatened to resurface.

“I get it. I’m not too keen on strangers either.” He shot me a skeptical look in the mirror, the weight of his gaze assessing me. Then, he turned his attention back to the road.

“Don’t seem so, as you’re traveling. If you’ll humor a local with daughters your age, heed my advice. Keep indoors at night, and you should be fine, miss,” he warned gently.

“Is this the part where you scare me with local legends?” I teased, a stiff smile on my face.

“Miss, you ain’t look like de kind to listen,” he teased back. My worries ebbed away as I laughed.

Since everything blew up after my mom’s death, I had been lost and anxious, but here in a cab, miles from home, I felt myself relax.

“I can’t deny it. You hit the nail on the head, sir,” I sighed.

His eyes flickered to mine in the rearview. “What brings you ’round dis way, miss?”

“My father was from here. I want to know my roots,” I said as I glanced out the window.

The cab turned, and I inhaled sharply at the ocean view.

Teal waters stretched beyond a harbor of scattered boats.

At least, that was what I told myself, not that I was running.

This town was just the first place to come to mind that was away.

“Ah, I see, I see. Welcome home,” he hummed, the smile fading from his voice. “Roots is a powerful t’ing, but be careful what you dig up, miss.” He pulled to a stop, the final warning hanging heavy in the air.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the ride,” I said as I pulled out a twenty from my pocket and handed it to him.

“You welcome, Miss,” he said as he handed me back five.

“No change,” I insisted before opening the cab door and hopping out.

“Tanks. Dat is very kind. Now, you mind the dark and find your way to Lowe’s Green Turtle Cay Ferry. Nigel will take care of de rest.”

As be drove away, it dawned on me that I didn’t even ask his name. After I paid for a ticket at the small terminal, I was directed onto the boat. True to the driver’s word, Nigel greeted everyone as they got in.

“You made it right on time. This is the last ferry til morning, and we’re about to head out!

” His accent wasn’t as strong, but he was smiling kindly.

I stepped down from the dock, got my first look inside, and found a seat as Nigel announced we were departing.

Fifteen minutes later, the boat docked at Green Turtle Club in New Plymouth. I made it.

***

After a quick cool shower and two hours in bed, my stomach felt like it was imploding.

At two hundred and forty pounds, I can eat, and despite the taxi man’s warning, my hunger won.

I peeked outside; the sun was still high in the sky.

I made up my mind to check out the hotel grounds, get something delicious, and be back in bed before nightfall.

I slipped into a red dress that hugged my curves, put on comfortable black sandals, and pinned up my hair in a loose bun. There were two dining options, and I opted for the Dollar Bar as I followed the grounds map to a building out by the water.

Live reggae music, specifically Bob Marley’s “No Woman, No Cry,” pulled me in. I was immediately struck with a bout of homesickness, remembering my mom dancing in the living room while cleaning on a Sunday. I let out a shuddering breath and stepped inside.

While the bar sat right on the edge of the dock, its back perimeter was lined with thick, dark jungle foliage, swallowing the last of the light. I rushed in.

The Bar’s name, the Dollar Bar, made sense instantly: money lined the walls and ceiling. The air was heavy, not just with salt and humidity, but with a deep, musky scent I couldn’t place, like wet earth and raw meat.

A woman with thick, dark curls and warm amber eyes spotted me as I approached the counter. She wore a bright red floral apron over a simple white shirt, and her eyes crinkled with genuine pleasure. She strode over immediately.

“Well, hello, sweetheart! I am Vesna. What can I get you?”

“I’ll have whatever you would recommend. I’m starving,” I said as I took a seat and leaned on the bar.

“Anything you can’t have?” she asked. I shook my head. “Perfect. Leo! Order of fried grouper sandwich and a rum punch!” She yelled to the back, and someone confirmed the order. She made some more drinks before sliding my order in front of me. Laughter followed her as she checked on customers.

The fish was everything it needed to be, soft on the outside, and the rum punches went down smoother than they should have.

By the time I finished the sandwich, the sun had completely set.

I’d had one too many rum punches, and the last one, offered by a friendly tourist, tasted sickly sweet.

I couldn’t remember why I had to stay indoors.

In my memory, the driver’s voice echoed weakly: ‘Mind the dark,’ drowned out by the music and alcohol.

The music slowed, twisting into a grotesque, slurred sound.

The blood in my veins felt suddenly cold and thick.

I pushed off my seat and slapped down some cash as my vision blurred.

Panic clawed its way up my throat as the floor tilted violently.

I needed to get back to my room. The dancers became dark, swirling shapes as I exited the bar.

Shadows solidified into something heavy and predatory, like reaching fingers from the underbrush.

I didn’t feel right. The ground swayed under my feet, and I knew I needed to stay away from the water, but I couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. My hands fumbled down my body to my bag, searching for the map. I lost it.

A rough hand clamped over my mouth, and my scream was muffled as I was dragged into the shadows.

The air was choked with a raw, primal smell—wet earth, salt, and the metallic tang of blood.

I slammed my full weight backward, fighting to throw off the attacker, but the form didn’t budge.

It was unnaturally hot against the cool night air, like hitting a wall of living stone.

I couldn’t scratch him; my hands met a dense, coarse coat that refused to yield.

I was hauled, boneless, into the jungle as the crushing weight of blackness took me away.

The last thing I heard before I passed out was the furious roar of a beast.