Chapter 9

Chapter

Nine

HEL

I wake with a fuzzy head. The morning light streaming through the window is too bright, making me squint as memories from last night start trickling back in fragments—Eve's betrayal, that creepy ghost town, being chased, falling over, my leg…

As if the thought summons it, a dull ache throbs in my shin, not nearly as bad as last night, though. More memories surface hazily, mostly about Ghost being near me, him making me drink something bitter. Something to help with the pain, they'd said. Something to make me forget…

That explains my foggy brain.

When I manage to lift my gaze, my breath catches. Ghost is slumped in a chair by the window, head bent forward, sunlight pouring over him like liquid gold. He's only in black pants, and my gaze shoots to his bare chest, stomach rippled with muscles, at how uncomfortable he looks in that seat, like he's about to spill out. Why does he have to be so damn muscular that all I can think about is running my hands over him? I haven't even seen his face, yet here I am, drooling over him being half naked.

Scars crisscross his torso, some silvery with age, others still pink and angry. The kind of marks you get from war or something worse.

And he's still wearing that ridiculous mask, even while sleeping.

He stretches his arms above his head with a low groan that does things to my insides I refuse to acknowledge.

"Morning, sweetheart. How are you feeling?" He rises from the chair in one fluid motion.

I clutch the blanket to my chest, suddenly very aware of my own vulnerable state, of my nakedness. "I'm feeling better," I answer quickly.

A low chuckle rumbles from behind his mask. "You're suddenly shy, unlike last night?"

My heart stops. "What exactly are you saying? Did we… you know, do something?" Gods, what did I do? And why can't I remember?

"Giggled a lot, mostly, and touched my chest. You seemed to enjoy that a lot," he admits with a grin.

Fire burns my cheeks to think that I groped him while high on painkiller medication.

He's just standing there, staring at me, and for the first time, I can properly see his eyes in the clear morning light. They're not the same color—one is a milky, pale green, while the other is a deeper bottle-green. He sits on the edge of the bed next to me, close enough that the heat radiating from his skin pours over me.

I reach for his mask. My fingers brush against his jaw, feather-light, seeking the edge. His hand catches mine, yet he doesn't push me away. Just holds my hand there, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

"Why do you wear it?" The question comes out barely above a whisper.

"I hate getting attention and people staring at my injury."

I can't help but snort. "Right, because a skull mask is totally inconspicuous. Nobody ever stares at the guy in the creepy mask."

"Better they fear me than pity me." His voice is light, but there's steel underneath.

Something in my chest tightens. "Can I see?"

His thumb stills on my hand. "Be careful. You may not like what you see."

"I doubt that." The words come out softer than I meant them to, more honest.

There's a long pause as he just looks at me, his gaze searching mine for something. Then, slowly, he reaches up with his free hand and pulls the mask to the top of his head.

My breath catches, but I force myself not to react. A brutal scar cuts down across his pale green eye, the skin puckered and raised like a ridge of angry flesh. The eyelashes are missing in a stark line where the scar passes, and that ghostly eye seems to have a diagonal scar, too. It seems to stare right through me.

His jaw is clenched tight. I keep my face carefully neutral, even as my heart aches for the pain he must have endured.

"I'm blind out of that eye," he confesses with a rough voice.

"What happened?"

His good eye darkens. "Remember that fucking dickhead you met when I first found you on the island? Let's just say we had a huge disagreement. After that savage fight, we split the island in half, but I've vowed to destroy the son of a bitch for what he did to me. And, well, he's got the same vendetta against me."

Before I can stop myself, my hand comes up to cup his cheek, fingers gentle against the scarred flesh. "I'm so sorry he did that to you."

"I gave as good as I got." He pulls away slightly. "But I don't want to talk about the bastard or your pity." The mask goes back on, and I let my hand fall back to the blanket.

"What about you?" He turns those mismatched eyes on me again. "Seeing as we're sharing… your turn. I notice you don't have a bonding mark on your arm, so you weren't sent here as a prisoner. You mentioned something about a plane crash?"

"I did?" I squirm internally. Gods, what else did I say last night? But he did save my life, and he's shown me something deeply personal. He deserves at least part of the truth.

"I was on a plane to Romania, going to my brother." The words come slowly. "There was a storm suddenly…"

"Your doing?" His response is casual, too casual.

I fix him with my flattest stare, but my heart is racing. He doesn't even guess but is convinced of my abilities. Or did I reveal that, too, in my drug-induced haze?

"If I could control storms, do you really think I'd still be stuck on this island?"

He leans closer, and I have to fight the urge to lean into him. His presence is like gravity, pulling at something deep in my core.

"So you don't have control of your ability, then?"

I narrow my gaze on him, unsure how much I can trust him yet. "What's with the inquisition?"

He shrugs. "It's important to know who I bring into my home for the safety of my pack. And you're still not being forthcoming."

"And I think you're not exactly an open book yourself." I meet his gaze steadily, even as my pulse thunders in my ears.

A slow smile spreads across his face; I can see it in his eyes, even if the mask hides his mouth. "Touché."

The morning sun catches his good eye, turning it to sapphire, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. There's something magnetic, dangerous, and alluring about him that makes me want to trace every scar on his body and learn their history. But there's also something dark there—whispers of violence and anger. Something that says this man is not meant for happy endings.

I should be trying to get away from him, not trying to resist the desire to touch him again. Then his hand finds mine once more, his thumb resuming that maddening stroke across my knuckles, and I know I'm already in too deep.

"Did your ability to control storms cause the plane to crash?"

His words rattle me, and I press a hand to my chest in mock offense, though my heart is hammering so hard I wonder if he can hear it.

"You make it sound like I crashed the plane on purpose," I accuse.

"Did you?"

There's something in his tone that irritates me. Does he see me as dangerous to his pack? I give him my best deadpan stare.

"Yes, because I absolutely love nearly dying and ending up stranded on Murder Island. It's been my lifelong dream, actually. Really living my best life here."

He shrugs, and if every muscle in my body wasn't screaming in protest, I'd throw all the pillows at his stupidly attractive body. Or his mask. Whatever.

"Hey, asshole, I have no control over my ability," I say finally, the words tasting like dirt in my mouth, telling him the truth. "Trust me, if I did, a lot of things would be different."

The silence that follows is heavy, loaded with all the things I'm not saying. He just… watches me. I resist the urge to pull the blanket higher.

He rises to his feet. "Let me bring you some food."

"I'd appreciate that." As he turns to leave, something compels me to call out, "Ghost?"

He pauses, glancing back, waiting.

"Thanks. For saving me. With the zombie and in the woods."

"Of course. I'd do anything for my fated mate."

I choke on air. "Wait, what?"

His only response is a low chuckle as he strolls out of the room, leaving me gaping after him.

"Is he fucking joking?" I say to the empty room. "When did this… No, he can't be." My responses rises in pitch with each word until I sound like I've been inhaling helium.

I press my hands to my temples, trying to make sense of this bombshell. Fated mates. The words echo in my head like a bad song you can't forget. I wasn't even a soul-mate match with my husband, but that hadn't mattered for the forced arrangement. I'd accepted long ago that I would never find my true mate—it wasn't in my future. Only a dream for people who had the luxury of choice.

"Okay, brain," I mumble to myself. "Time to earn your keep. What exactly happened last night that made him think…" I trail off, trying to pierce through the fog of medication-induced memories. "And why didn't anyone tell me the pain medicine came with a side of temporary amnesia? That seems like something that should be on the label."

Even as I try to dismiss his words, I can't ignore the way my body reacts to his presence, how my wolf practically purrs when he's near. I've never felt drawn to anyone like this before, as though there's an invisible thread connecting us, pulling tighter every time he's close.

"No, no, absolutely not." I shake my head violently, then immediately regret it as the room spins. "This is not happening. This cannot be happening. I refuse to let it happen."

A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat.

"Being his mate would mean…" The truth scares me because it means I'd be stuck here. Forever. On this island. With him. Where he's imprisoned. Where someone tried to have me killed on day one. Where I'm surrounded by feral Alphas.

I remember seeing Ghost with Eve yesterday, how intimate they looked together, and my stomach turns.

"Great. Fantastic. Because what this situation really needs is some bizarre love triangle." Running my hands through my tangled hair, I try to think rationally.

Okay, let's look at the facts. One. I'm supposedly the mate of a masked man who's basically running a prison island. Two. His girlfriend already hates me. Three. I have absolutely no idea what I did last night while under the influence of whatever they gave me.

Pushing away all those panicked thoughts spiraling in my head, I pull back the blanket carefully, wincing as I examine my bandaged leg. A line of red has seeped through the white bandages right where I remember stitches being mentioned. That memory's clear enough. But then another memory surfaces, and I gasp in mortification.

"Oh, you idiot." I cover my face with my hands from sheer embarrassment. "Please tell me I didn't actually try to seduce him by pulling down the blanket to my waist and offering him my breasts."

The memory becomes clearer—me giggling and Ghost firmly tucking it back around me, rejecting me.

The fuck! I'm not sure if I should be grateful or angry at him.

"Zeus, Gaia, anybody listening… if you have any mercy at all, please split open the ground and swallow me whole right now." I peek through my fingers at the still-solid floor. "No? Thanks for nothing."

A thought strikes me, and I groan again.

"Oh gods, what if that's why he thinks we're mates? Did I let him bite me?" I quickly run my hands over my body but feel no fresh marks. I pause.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway makes me snap my mouth shut. If Ghost heard any of that… well, maybe he'd be kind enough to just kill me quickly instead of letting me die of embarrassment.

As the footsteps pass by without stopping, I sink back into the pillows with a sigh. The ceiling, unsurprisingly, offers no comfort.

With more footsteps approaching, I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep. Apparently, I've reverted to childhood logic where if I can't see him, he can't see me.

"I can tell you're faking," his amused response reaches me.

Without opening my eyes, I respond, "No, you can't."

His laugh makes my eyes fly open of their own accord. He's standing there with a tray of food, and even with the mask, I can tell he's smirking.

He sets the tray down beside me. "Now eat your breakfast, sweetheart. You'll need your strength for all the catching up we're going to be doing."

I throw a pillow at him. He catches it effortlessly, the bastard.

"I hate you," I inform him primly.

"No, you don't."

The worst part is, he's right. I don't loathe him at all. And that might be the scariest thing about this whole situation.