Chapter 16
Harper
Night had fallen over the compound. Through the window, I watched as lights winked out one by one across the grounds, the facility settling into evening.
This was my chance—maybe my only chance.
I knew I couldn't escape the island itself, not yet, but I had to get out of this room, out of this house.
Declan had drugged me once already, and every instinct I possessed screamed that he'd do it again to get what he wanted.
I'd rather drown in the ocean than let him touch me.
I searched the bedroom, easing open each drawer and cabinet.
Most held nothing but folded linens or lay completely empty.
I dropped to my knees and peered under the bed—finding only dust balls.
The nightstand revealed nothing. I ran my fingers along the window frame, searching desperately for any loose piece I could pry free and weaponize.
The windows themselves were sealed tight, the kind of glass that wouldn't shatter without an explosive noise that would bring every guard running.
The bathroom offered more promise. Tucked in a drawer, I discovered a small pair of scissors.
Just cuticle scissors—pathetic, really, but better than nothing.
Under the sink, my fingers closed around a can of hairspray.
Makeshift mace if it came to that. I tested the towel rod, feeling it give slightly.
I could probably wrench it free if I pulled hard enough, but the noise might give me away.
I shoved the hairspray into my waistband and gripped the scissors with the blade pointing down the way I'd seen in movies.
My heart hammered against my ribs so violently I could hear the rush of blood pounding in my ears. I positioned myself beside the door, every muscle coiled tight, and listened to the silence of the house, waiting for an opening.
Footsteps echoed through the hallway—heavy, deliberate ones that sent ice shooting through my veins.
My breath caught in my throat as I listened to the measured steps drawing closer. It had to be Declan. I recognized the arrogant confidence carried through each footfall.
I flipped off the lights, plunging the room into darkness.
My eyes hadn't adjusted yet; everything swam in shadows and shapes I couldn't distinguish, but I didn't have time to wait.
I dropped the scissors, and my hands grabbed the heaviest lamp I could reach, a solid brass thing that sat on the nightstand.
The weight was reassuring as I yanked the cord from the socket with a sharp tug.
I pressed myself flat against the wall beside the door, every nerve ending on fire, the lamp raised high above my head with both hands gripping the base.
The footsteps stopped right outside my door. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
The doorknob turned with agonizing slowness, the mechanism clicking softly in the quiet.
The door swung open, and a dark shape filled the doorway. I could barely make out more than a silhouette—broad-shouldered and tall, backlit by the dim hallway light. He stepped inside, movements cautious but unhurried.
I brought the lamp down with everything I possessed, every ounce of fear and rage channeled into a single strike.
The impact jarred through my arms, a solid, sickening thunk of metal connecting with skull. The figure grunted—a sound of surprise rather than pain.
"You bastard!" The words tore from my throat as I raised the lamp again, my muscles screaming, ready to bring it down a second time.
I would not be like one of those stupid horror movie heroines who brought the monster down only to be slaughtered seconds later because they left it alive.
I would keep hitting this fucker until I knew he was dead.
"Harper?" The voice cut through my fury—surprised, almost amused, and definitely not Declan.
I froze with the lamp suspended above my head. "Xabat?"
The lamp hit the floor with a thud, and my hands shook violently as I fumbled for the light switch.
The overhead light flooded the room, the sudden brightness making me squint and blink.
But the male that stood before me, one hand pressed to his head where I'd struck him, wasn't Xabat.
It was a creature of roughly the same size and build, but instead of Xabat's rich sage skin, this thing looked like a hairless cat—pale, wrinkled flesh stretched over alien features that made my stomach turn.
I hissed through my teeth and grabbed the lamp again, my arms trembling with the effort.
"Harper, wait." He held out a hand in a placating gesture, but what kept me from bashing his head in again was the sound of Xabat's voice coming from the grotesque cat creature's mouth.
He reached into his pocket, and a second later, the air around him shimmered and rippled, distorting his form until Xabat—my Xabat—stood there. Whole and real and impossibly alive.
A sound tore from my throat, something raw that wavered between a sob and a squeal. The lamp slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor again. I lunged for him, my body moving on pure instinct, propelled by a desperate need that overrode every rational thought.
He caught me as I crashed into his chest, his arms coming around me with a strength that made my knees buckle with relief.
My hands were everywhere at once. My trembling fingers flew to his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, pressing against his shoulders, splaying across his chest where I could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palms. I needed to touch him, to confirm through every sense that he was real and solid and here, that this wasn't some cruel hallucination born of desperation and grief.
"You're alive," I gasped, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush as I pressed my face into the warmth of his chest breathing in the scent of him—sea and spice and everything wonderful. "You're alive. But how? I saw—they shot you in the head. I saw you fall. I saw the blood, I saw...."
His hand came up to cup the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair as he held me close. "I'm fine, Harper. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
"But the blood?" My voice cracked, splintering on the memory of that terrible moment. "There was so much blood. It was everywhere. I thought—I was so sure you were...."
"I have a very hard head," he said. I heard the smile threading through his voice, warm and alive and so impossibly him.
I let out a shaky laugh that was half sob, my fingers tracing over his face as if I could memorize every angle and plane through touch alone. "You scared the hell out of me."
"I know. I'm sorry." His thumb brushed away the tears streaming down my cheek. "But I'm here now."
"You came for me," I whispered, the words barely audible past the tightness in my throat.
"Of course I did." His eyes—those beautiful, impossible purple eyes—locked onto mine with an intensity that stole what little breath I had left. "You're mine, Harper. Did you really think I wouldn't come for you?"
Then his mouth descended to mine, and the world narrowed to the sensation of his lips—warm, demanding, alive.
I kissed him back with a ferocity that surprised even me, pouring every ounce of fear, desperation, and overwhelming relief into the press of our lips.
My fingers tangled in his hair, clutching him as if he might disappear if my grip loosened even slightly.
His arm banded around my waist and hauled me impossibly closer until there wasn't a breath of space between our bodies.
I melted into him, into the solid heat of his chest, into the reality of him breathing and whole and here.
This. This was what I'd thought I'd lost forever. The realization crashed over me with the force of a tidal wave.
I loved him.
When Xabat finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard, our chests heaving in tandem.
He rested his forehead against mine, the gesture so tender it made my eyes sting with fresh tears.
His thumb continued its gentle path along my cheekbone, tracing the curve with a reverence that made my heart clench.
"We have to go," he said, and I could hear the relief threading through his voice. "My friends are here. We're getting you out of this place."
"There are others trapped like me." The image of Ana's haunted eyes flashed through my mind.
"We know," Xabat said, his gaze growing dark, shadows pooling in those purple depths. "There are at least a dozen humans we believe are being held captive." He pressed his lips against my forehead. "Do not worry, my mate, we will not leave them to suffer."
A crash echoed from somewhere outside the mansion, the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass followed by a chorus of angry shouts. My body tensed, but Xabat's hand found mine, his fingers lacing through my own with a steadiness and warmth that anchored me.
"My comrades," he said quietly, his voice barely above a murmur. "We need to move now."
He led me to the door, his body positioned protectively in front of me as he checked the hallway.
I heard the thunder of running footsteps echoing through distant corridors, more shouting that rose and fell in urgent waves, and something that sounded distinctly like breaking glass.
Xabat moved with deliberate caution despite the urgency thrumming through the air, keeping me pressed close to his side as we slipped through the shadows.
"The shuttle is on the south end of the island," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "Stay behind me."
"What about the others?" I protested, my voice rising slightly.
"Harper." He stopped abruptly, turning to face me, his hands gripping my shoulders. "I promise you, we will get them out. All of them. But I have to get you to safety first. I cannot lose you again."
The raw emotion in his voice made my throat tighten until I could barely swallow. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I couldn't lose him again either.
We moved swiftly through a side hallway, our footsteps muffled against the polished floor as we avoided the main areas where the commotion seemed to rage loudest. My heart hammered against my ribs with each step, adrenaline singing through my veins.
Xabat paused at every corner, his entire body going still as he listened with preternatural focus, muscles coiled and ready to spring into action at the slightest threat.
When we finally reached a door leading outside, he took a long moment to scope the area beyond, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness before he finally stepped aside and let me slip past him into the night.
The cool air hit my face, fresh and clean and tasted of salt and freedom.
Then I saw him.
Declan stood in the middle of the manicured lawn like he'd been waiting for us, flanked by at least a half dozen hairless cat aliens, and just as many human soldiers, their weapons gleaming dully in the darkness.
And Declan was smiling—that cold, smug, predatory smile that made my skin crawl and made me want to slap the ever-loving shit out of him.
"Going somewhere?"