Lielit
Bouda fed us on small prey from the island. My attempt at fishing had gone badly. I should have watched more survival programmes. I lost count of the days, but we heard the helicopter arrive and watched it leave beneath the canopy of trees. It didn’t hover or search for me.
It left the island.
The house was empty.
There were no electronic devices and no phones that worked. I couldn’t reach my family or call for help.
The first thing I did was go into the freak’s bedroom. My jaw fell when I saw the clinical room. It was all white.
White walls. White sheets. White furniture. Only the curtains were black.
I sniffed the air.
Disinfectant.
I guessed that explained the gloves.
The bed was larger than mine. I eyed the white monstrosity, and part of me wanted to jump on it and crease the pristine sheets. The worst part of me wanted to squat down and piss all over it.
Bouda began to laugh—uncontrollably.
I smiled at the high-pitched sound. It sat somewhere between hiccups and laughter.
Do it. Mark his bed, she chuckled.
The dickhead isn’t worth it, I said, still smiling. I’m glad you’re here, Bouda.
She curled up in my chest.
I think she felt the same.
When I opened his closet, I did a double-take.
Every T-shirt was immaculately ironed and folded.
Shirts, trousers, sweaters, and jackets hung on their hangers.
Every single hanger was perfectly spaced.
The jackets had a little more room between them—but damn.
Blaidd Prothero was a fucking psycho bastard. My gut instinct had been right.
Do it, Bouda whispered like a devil on my shoulder.
I grinned and began mixing the trousers, shirts, and jackets, ensuring all the hangers sat crooked. I rumpled the T-shirts and yanked open drawers. The socks were boring, but the perfectly coiled ties in their neat square boxes were ruined by the time I finished.
I sighed, glancing at the chaos before turning to leave.
I should have cut them all up.
We walked past my bedroom and I paused at the open doorway. I didn’t look in. Instead, I rushed past it to explore the rest of the bedrooms, bathrooms, and the attic. To my surprise, many of the rooms were bare, with little to no furniture.
Either he didn’t use this house often, or it was a newer purchase.
I rummaged through the kitchen and found a full pantry and fridge. The freezer was jam-packed with meat and vegetables. The meat was sealed in neat plastic, all labelled.
I made myself a sandwich and drank some apple juice with it. Cold-pressed and organic, of course. Only the best for dickface.
Miscommunication.
The fucking audacity of the man.
I was so angry I didn’t wash my plate or glass.
I was about to leave when I felt a draft coming from a bolted wooden door. I glanced around the kitchen—it looked normal, modern. I opened the door, and the moment I saw the stone walls, I knew where the staircase led.
I took a deep breath and began my descent.
To my surprise, the space below was massive. Store rooms. A tunnel—where the draft came from. But I was looking for the room he’d kept me in.
When I found it, I gasped at how tiny it was. The mattress and blanket still lay there. So did the chain. Tears pricked my eyes.
What’s wrong? Bouda asked.
When he first brought me here, I said, glancing around the room. He kept me in here. No heat. No food. I became ill. So cold. My body felt like ice.
I shivered at the memory and wrapped my arms around myself. His hoodie drowned me, but it was massive and warm.
I could feel my body struggling—shutting down, I said, staring at the wall. Why didn’t you come then?
It wasn’t an accusation. Just curiosity.
Most likely it was a slow illness, not a potentially fatal attack from an enemy, she said after a moment. Your body would have been too weak to receive me.
I nodded. That made sense.
Let’s leave this place, she said quietly.
I hummed and turned to go. We could explore the tunnel another day. It probably led to the cliffs or the beach.
Eventually, I ended up back in my bedroom.
It felt different.
I could leave, for one.
The flooring beside the window was still ruptured from our claws. I smiled, remembering clawing his face. Then I turned toward the bed.
The rug was still stained. The blood had turned brown.
He’d left it there on purpose.
Such cruelty.
Why?
Adam had been polite. He’d even given me a book. I shut my eyes, remembering his dirty blond hair and blue eyes.
Gone in a flash.
My eyes snapped open, locking on the armchair.
Where he sat.
Waiting for me to bend over the bed.
I sank to my knees, wishing to God I could go back to my family and erase all of this from my memory. The tears started slowly, but it didn’t take long for deep sobs to break free.
It wasn’t until I leaned against the bed, staring at the rug, that I realised I hadn’t allowed myself to grieve—because I knew how much he would enjoy seeing me break.
It is okay, my love, Bouda murmured. We are descendants of great Queens. We survive. We thrive. And we never bow.
Her words hit so hard I clutched my chest. Silent tears slid down my cheeks.
We’ll get out of this, I promised.
She hummed in agreement.
My silent strength.
?
?
?
I gave up trying to untangle my hair with my fingers. I took a long, hot shower and left my nourishing conditioner in while I worked through the knots. When I finally paused to look in the mirror, there wasn’t peace—but there was no longer that empty sorrow in my eyes.
I used another bedroom that night, staying up until I could no longer keep my eyes open. It might have been hours, but I told Bouda all about my family and my life so far. She told me about our history—what is now Ethiopia.
It was the first night I slept deeply and without interruption. Sharing my memories with Bouda reminded me of what I had to fight for, and why I couldn’t simply shrivel up and die.
The days passed in silence and mutual understanding. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Bouda wasn’t telling me everything. She grew a little edgy—nervous—but insisted that everything was as it should be.
I let it go.
Holding on hurt too much.
?
?
?
Was I being a petty bitch?
Absolutely.
I left a mess wherever I went. Paintings were askew. Ornaments twisted. I changed all the clocks to the wrong times. Dishes were stacked in the sink, countertops littered with crumbs and mug rings. Every day, I went into his room and messed with something. I even removed all of his light bulbs.
In his bathroom, I peeled the labels off the bottles, and every box of latex gloves went straight into the bin.
I wanted him to feel the urge to peel his own skin off when he saw the chaos.
Psycho fuck.
But as the days passed, I began to feel ill. Solid food gave me cramps, and I kept swinging between hot and cold flushes. Switching to soups and porridge didn’t help my stomach much. My period never came.
I started taking cold showers, but I still woke drenched in sweat.
There was no phone. No doctor. And that dickhead still hadn’t returned.
He was probably too busy ruining lives.
My blood ran cold at the thought of my family.
No. He wouldn’t… would he?
I think they’ll be safe, Bouda said thoughtfully. The beast inside him wasn’t trying to harm you.
What? How do you know?
I frowned, wincing as Adam’s face surfaced in my mind.
The bite.
I brushed my fingers over my neck. Only faint marks remained.
It’s instinct for a wolf to bind himself to a mate, she continued.
I don’t want to be bound to someone like him, I said, a shiver running down my spine.
No. You won’t. You have to bite him back to complete the bond. If you never bite him, the bond will never be sealed.
I let out a slow breath.
Relief washed through me.
Finally, I had a choice in something.