Chapter 37
Crashing Waves
She waited. Checked his breathing. Rain and wind howled around her.
Checked him again. Zach didn’t seem to be getting worse, but he wasn’t improving either. Not like the fisherman had.
Doubt gnawed at her.
What if it wasn’t lionfish venom? What if the assassin used something else? What if I used the wrong berries, or the wrong leaves?
“No.” The word came out fierce, directed at herself as much as the storm. She wouldn’t think like that. Couldn’t afford to.
But the truth remained: he needed more help than she could provide alone, stranded on the side of a cliff in a hurricane with nothing but intuition and half-remembered folk medicine.
Emma pulled out her phone, already knowing what she’d find. No signal. Just the black screen reflecting her own rain-soaked face, and through it, Zach’s too-still form.
She had to reach Nick and David. Zach needed real medical help. But the storm showed no signs of abating.
Think. There had to be something.
The Windstone pulsed against her hip again, stronger this time.
She pulled it from her pocket, staring at the swirling silver-blue depths.
It had given her light in the dark. Helped her carry Zach when physics said she shouldn’t be able to.
Now it seemed to pulse with urgency, the light within it pointing… up?
Emma squinted up through the rain in the direction the light pointed.
The cliff face rose above them, treacherous in the storm but the faint path appeared intact.
And at the top—higher elevations meant a potential cell signal.
It also meant more of those bushes might grow, more berries to harvest for the poultice.
Stronger winds.
She needed more herbs. She’d only had enough for a thin layer over the cut.
She studied the path up the cliff face, despair curling in her stomach. She could never get his weight up that precarious trail in a hurricane, even with the Windstone’s help. But that meant leaving him…
Did she stay with Zach or try to climb up?
Emma gazed back at Zach, measuring the risk. He sat in the only shelter available, protected from the worst of the wind and rain by the rock alcove. If she moved fast, if the climb took only minutes like she hoped, she could be back before—
Before what? Before the poison spread further? Before his system shut down completely?
Her jaw set. She couldn’t think like that. This wasn’t optimism; it was necessity. She would get a signal. She would find more berries. She would return to him in time.
The decision crystallized with brutal clarity. She had to go up. Had to try. Staying here, watching Zach fade, wasn’t an option.
Emma crouched beside him, her hand on his shoulder. His chest still rose and fell, shallow but steady. “I have to go higher,” she told him, though she doubted he heard. “For a signal, for more medicine. I’ll be fast. You just... hold on. Please, Zach. Hold on.”
No response. But his breathing continued, and that was enough.
She stood, legs protesting everything she’d put them through.
The cliff path beckoned—narrow, slick, deadly in the storm’s fury.
Emma took one last glance at Zach, committing his image to memory: the way even unconscious he looked powerful, the strong lines of his face, the breadth of his shoulders.
The man who made her feel safer than she’d ever felt, who gazed at her like she was the only thing in his carefully controlled world worth protecting.
The man she’d fallen in love with.
“I will come back to you,” she promised.
Then she turned and began to climb.
The rock was treacherous, slick with rain and spray from waves crashing somewhere below. Wind buffeted her from every direction, trying to peel her off the cliff face like a piece of loose paper. Emma pressed herself close to the ground, finding handholds by touch as much as sight.
One foot up. Test the hold. Weight shift. Other foot. Don’t look down. Don’t think about the fall. Don’t think about Zach alone and fading.
Just climb.
The Windstone pulsed in her pocket, its warmth spreading through her core.
She focused on that sensation, using it as an anchor against the storm’s chaos.
The stone wanted her up there, needed her to reach the top.
She didn’t understand it—didn’t have time to ponder it—but she trusted it with the same absolute certainty Zach gave her when she treated his wound.
Rain lashed her face. Her fingers were going numb, making each grip harder than the last. The athletic build she worked hard to maintain was the only thing keeping her on the cliff, muscles burning as they fought rain and wind and exhaustion.
Higher. She had to go higher.
A vicious gust nearly tore her loose. Emma flattened against the rock, breathing hard, waiting for the wind to ease. When it did, she pushed on, climbing until her arms shook and her legs trembled.
Finally—finally—the path widened, opening onto a small plateau at the cliff top. She dragged herself over the edge and collapsed on flat ground, gasping. Every muscle screamed. Her hands were raw, scraped and bleeding from the climb.
But she made it.
She pushed to her knees, then her feet, pulling out her phone. Come on. Come on. She held it up, watching the screen.
Nothing.
Hold on, Zach.
She moved to the edge of the plateau, holding the phone higher. The storm raged around her, wind threatening to tear her off her feet. But she braced her legs, arm extended, and willed it to find a signal.
Still nothing.
No. Emma turned, searching the area within her limited visibility. There—a cluster of bushes that might hold what she needed.
She stumbled toward them, fighting the wind that kept pushing her back.
She fell to her knees beside the first bush.
Dark berries, gleaming wet. She plucked them frantically, cupping them in her palm.
Not enough. She moved to the next bush, stripping it clean.
Better. The leaves grew nearby—she recognized the serrated edges now—and she gathered those too, stuffing everything into her pockets.
Then back to the rise. Emma climbed it on shaking legs, every movement burning. At the top, she held up her phone again.
A bar appeared.
Dropped.
She wanted to scream, to hurl the useless device into the storm. Instead, she carefully pocketed it, her jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached. Panic beat against her ribs like something caged and desperate, but she refused to let it loose. Panic was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Not when Zach was—
The storm screamed around her; a branch flew at her face. She ducked to avoid it.
Fell.