Lielit
No matter how many times Bouda tried to assure me, I didn’t trust them.
They’d left us to rot on this island. It wasn’t until then—the absence of my period paired with the morning sickness—that I realised just how pregnant I was.
I’d been too caught up in my own head to notice what my body was doing.
The wolf—Bouda began to say.
Please, Bouda. Not today, I said, exhaustion seeping into my bones.
I glanced at the clock. It was nap time.
The truth was, I was scared—for the baby, for the birth. I made sure my food was nutrient-dense and followed my cravings, hoping I was giving my body—and my child—everything they needed. We walked and ran around the island, keeping me strong. I stayed hydrated.
No internet.
No phones.
No books to prepare myself.
Just endless silence, broken only by the sea.
Then the bump appeared. Tiny at first. A few weeks later it pushed outward—rounder, harder—and everything shifted.
I started to smile again.
The thought of my child in my arms brought a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in a long time.
My choice may have been taken from me with the bite and the heat, but this was a consequence I could live with.
This child was ours, and Bouda would protect it with her life.
So would I.
?
?
?
I woke from my nap.
My eyes shot open.
The loud whirr of the helicopter’s rotator blades cut through the air.
Relief and rage battled for dominance.
Bouda went wary.
Think of the baby.
I am.
If you attack him, use a weapon—or I’ll shift and do it for you.
I almost smiled.
Almost.
?
?
?
I flung back the blanket and began folding it automatically. I’d been keeping the house clean. I’d learned the hard way when he didn’t come back.
His clothes, however, had all been cut up. The ties had been particularly satisfying. I may have ruined a few kitchen knives while destroying his leather shoes.
I exhaled a few shuddery breaths, trying to cling to some of the zen calm I’d been working on.
Focus.
Focus.
You have to get off this damn island.
Focus on freedom—not gutting that arsehole like the fish you caught.
I’m trying to believe in you… but I can feel you, Bouda whispered.
Thankfully, she didn’t laugh.
The front door unlocked.
Creaked open—one final squeal from the hinges.
His voice.
A lackey answering.
Boxes. Packages. Being carried inside.
The door shut.
He sniffed.
Then his footsteps crossed the wooden floor, heavy and unhurried.
The living room door eased open. He poked his head through. His gaze dropped to my belly—then snapped back up, eyes widening.
He stepped inside.
Holding a bouquet of flowers.
Somewhere in the distance, I registered the helicopter lifting off—but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from them.
Dark red roses. Perfectly bloomed. Tiny white sprigs threaded between them. Diamantés caught the light, glittering against the petals. Cream-and-gold tissue paper wrapped the bouquet with deliberate care. Expensive. Thoughtful. Insulting.
He closed the distance, moving toward me.
The shock was fading—but I still couldn’t look away from the flowers.
He raised them toward me, and I stared at him in horror.
“I didn’t know,” he murmured.
My eyes dropped to the flowers.
Before I knew it, they were in my hands. My fingers curled around the tissue until I felt the long, rigid stems beneath.
Lielit… Bouda whispered as I drew in a deep breath, forcing myself to ignore his scent.
He gasped—his hands still extended—as shocked as I was that I held them.
His lips parted. Words formed.
I didn’t hear a single one.
I swung the flowers like a club, smashing them into his head, his face, his shoulders. My arms moved faster than my brain.
His arms flew up, shielding his precious face.
Petals, leaves, whole rosebuds exploded into the air. The bouquet grew lighter, and I glanced at my weapon.
Beheaded.
I grabbed the nearest thing beside me—a marble sculpture from the side table.
He was already running, but I still hurled it, aiming for his head.
It struck his right shoulder.
I sighed when I heard him grunt in pain.
Fucking flowers.
I kicked the remnants across the floor, tipped my face toward the ceiling, and screamed.
Long. Loud.
I didn’t stop until I had to drag air back into my lungs.
The sound kept quaking inside my skull.
Bouda didn’t interfere. She didn’t say a word.
But I felt her—curling close, pressing into me, letting me know she was there.