Chapter One
Astrid
The couple seated across from me is arguing.
Not the kind of argument that turns physical, although the lady’s tone is a bit pitched, but it’s the kind of disagreement that has never made sense to me.
I don’t mean to snoop, and it’s not in my habit to get involved in other people’s business, but we’re seated in a four-person vessel in the middle of the Pacific Ocean while two of the passengers argue about socks of all things. It’s hardly snooping when it’s right there in my face.
“I can’t believe you forgot to pack the right pairs of socks,” the man says in a tone that’s dangerously close to a whine. “You know how important it is for me to have my orange socks in the fall! Orange is for fall and blue for winter. You know this!”
“For Christ's sake, Clark, it's just socks.”
“They're my fall socks. If I don't have them, I feel completely out of sorts.”
“Oh, brother.” The wife, who also happens to be my boss—well, sort of—rolls her eyes. She turns to me with a ‘can you believe this’ look on her face, but I quickly turn away and focus on the water. Nope. I’m not about to get dragged into a fight about socks between my boss and her husband.
I brace my hands over the boat railing and stare out into the depths, enjoying the subtle vibration of the hull as it cleaves through the water even as my mind drifts to what brought me out here.
Moon.
For months, I've been trying to track the migration patterns of Great White sharks from birth to adulthood along the coast of California.
My study started in the Channel Islands, particularly Santa Barbara Island, an area long been suspected to be where white sharks go to give birth.
No one has ever confirmed this to be true, but I was intrigued enough to explore the place.
It's there that I fell in love with JM2603. A young male shark with a half-circle mark on his fin that looks like a crescent moon. All those years of studying marine biology, and not once did I imagine I’d grow attached to a shark.
But heck, I’ve grown attached. Enough that I’ve followed him down the coast to the infamous Farallon Islands.
As I stare out at the endless blue waters, I find myself wondering if I'll see my favorite shark on this trip. A part of me knows this might be my last chance to tag Moon. If I don’t find him during this excursion, it’s likely that I might never find him again.
Not until he’s well into adulthood, if I’m lucky.
“Are you nervous?”
I turn to the man piloting the boat. Josh, as he’d introduced himself earlier. Old enough to be my father with laugh lines around a kind face and soft eyes.
“A little,” I confess.
“It’s always fun ferrying scientists to the Southwest Farallon Island. You’re an interesting bunch.”
“Why?” I ask curiously, and when he discreetly nods towards the couple still squabbling about socks, I find myself chuckling. “I guess you’re right.”
“Have you heard about the island’s phenomenon?”
I perk up. Intrigued. “No, what is it?”
“Only a few people know of it. Young people these days don’t believe in the supernatural,” he says with a small smile as he turns back to the water. “Islands are considered places of refuge or escape. They can be enchanted or cursed.”
“Which is this one?”
“Depends on who you ask,” he responds. “If you ask traders, they’ll tell you it’s cursed, but scientists like yourself say there is no such thing as a curse. They say the surrounding waters are notorious for shipwrecks due to treacherous currents, fog, and rocky outcrops.”
“You don’t think so?”
He offers me a knowing smile. “When you’ve sailed for as long as I have, you come to learn that this island and many others are places that demand respect, with natural hazards that ensure they’re not exploited.
You scientists could explain away the fog, the currents, and the rocks, but not the energy of the island.
Some islands are more welcoming than others. ”
“Huh,” I muse.
I take a moment to mull over his words. It goes against everything I believe as a scientist. The high record of shipwrecks could easily be attributed to any combination of oceanographic factors, not to mention the numerous rocks and reefs that may not have been charted at the time.
And yet, I haven’t sailed these waters for as long as this man seems to have.
“There she is!”
Before me, an island begins to materialize from the soft, ethereal mist clinging to the horizon.
The small boat cuts through the gentle waves, propelling us closer to the solitary island.
As the distance shrinks, the island reveals itself in greater detail.
It's a stark landscape, a canvas of muted green and earthy browns, sparsely dotted with vegetation that seems to cling precariously to the rocky terrain.
Closer yet, I spot three small cottages, spread apart like forgotten sentinels.
As the boat glides closer to the rocky shore and carefully navigates the surf, I make out more details of two small cottages—weathered wood with small dark windows.
The island itself feels ancient, and the whisper of wind carries both the scent of life and solitude.
Odd.
Then I feel it. The energy Josh spoke about. I feel it like a caress on my skin when we dock and climb off the boat. It’s…watchful. Curious. Or maybe it’s all in my head thanks to that spooky little chat we had earlier.
It doesn't matter, I tell myself with a shake of my head. I'm not here on some paranormal business. I’ve been on enough excursions like these in college to know that career seamen like Josh tend to revel in ghost stories. But I'm here to tag sharks and observe them. Fingers crossed, I find Moon.
I stand to the side as Josh unloads our luggage, staring out at the wide expanse of the ocean, worrying about Moon…when I feel it.
It starts off as a tingle, one that sends the hairs at my nape rising. The tingle sweeps through my body like a caress, making me shudder the way prey might when it senses the intent gaze of a predator. Except there are no predators on this Island.
Still, my head whips around, searching for the source of this sensation going through my body. When I spot him, my heart nearly stops.
It’s a man.
He’s just a man, I tell myself, even as I struggle not to swallow my own damn tongue.
He’s standing on the porch of one of the cottages a short distance from the shore, but I can tell those eyes are on me.
My heart does a frantic little flutter at that.
I can’t make out his features, but something about him and the way he stands there, it’s unnerving.
He stands like a sentinel, or some kind of guard over the island.
I suppose that must be what he is; I’m aware there is a full-time caretaker living on the island.
This must be him, dressed in a black shirt and faded jeans, imposing in his size.
Yet, something about him unsettles me. Makes my belly tremble with a sensation unlike anything I’ve felt before.
“Um, w-who is that?,” I speak up through my eyes remain on the man.
“What? Oh, him?” Clark’s voice cuts through as he stops next to me and his eyes follow mine to the man. “That’s the island keeper, Erik Osgood,” he explains as the man starts towards us. “He might look scary, but he keeps to himself. Don’t mind him. He’s a bit of a grump, but he’s mostly harmless.”
Harmless?
That’s not what his stony face says. The details of this appearance sharpen into focus as he draws close, and I’m completely captivated.
He’s stunning up close. Long, lean legs move in a confident stride as he eats up the distance between us.
His shoulders are broad, filling out the black shirt rolled to his elbows, and I can see the defined muscles in his arms as he walks.
There’s a strength in his build, a solidness that’s incredibly attractive with a rugged, sun-kissed look that makes my stomach flip.
But it's his eyes…
Oh, it's those eyes that are the deepest and most mesmerizing blue, like the ocean on a clear day, stealing the breath right out of my lungs. They seem to hold so much depth, and right now, they're fixed on me with an intensity that makes me feel exposed.
When he stops right in front of me, my hands feel suddenly clammy, and I turn into a complete mess of nerves.
I can feel my pulse thrumming in my ears, and I…
well, I figure I should say something, but my mind has gone completely blank, replaced by a little voice that calls for me to reach out and brush away the few strands that have fallen across his forehead. The color of his hair…
“Rusted copper,” I murmur as I take in his reddish-brown hair, braided to his waist and shaved at the sides, giving him a wild, untamable look. I don't realize I've spoken out loud until his brows lift.
“Ma’am,” he says in greeting before turning to nod at my companions. I track his movements as he walks past us to Josh. I remain trained on him as they converse in low tones. When he turns and casts a look at me, I suck in a sharp breath at the punch of his gaze.
“Let’s get settled in and set up,” Clark calls out in his chirpy way, his voice pulling me away from the island keeper. “You’re going to love Farallon Island and your Moon is no doubt going to as well.”
My Moon .
Right. That's who I'm here for. Not some island keeper and his lonely island. I should stop looking and focus on what brought me here, and yet, as we walk away, I feel that tingle at the base of my neck.
He’s watching me.