Chapter 8

Chapter

Eight

GHOST

I quickly carry Hel to my bedroom, her body too light in my arms, her skin growing paler with each passing moment. Blood trails down her leg where the branch struck, the metallic scent filling my nostrils and setting my wolf on edge.

"You're so damn stubborn," I mutter. "You should have waited for me."

She doesn't seem to hear me, her eyes closed tight, her body shaking. Her hand clutches weakly at my neck.

"Are we there yet? Everything's spinning."

Seeing her this way does something to me, making my chest tighten. I quicken my pace, shouldering through my bedroom door.

"Stay with me, little flame," I murmur as I lay her on my bed.

She hisses in pain, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

"Ghost?" Her voice is barely a whisper now. "I can't feel my toes anymore, yet the pain is still there. That's bad, right?"

"You're not dying. Not even Death can take you from me," I tell her firmly, though my heart races at how pale she's become. "And your wolf healing will have you back to your cheerful self in no time."

A weak laugh escapes her. "Didn't know… Death took orders from Alphas." Her eyes flutter, struggling to stay open. A delicate hand reaches for my mask, fingers trembling as they brush the bone-white surface. No one touches the mask—ever—but I find myself leaning into her touch.

"Am I going to die?" The sass is gone from her voice, replaced by raw fear. "Because it feels like it."

"Not happening," I growl, tightening my grip on her. "Stay awake," I command, my voice harsh with a worry I can't hide. I need to get bandages and clean the wound, but the thought of leaving her makes my wolf snarl in protest. He knows there's so much more between Hel and me that I suspect I'll have to confirm with her soon enough. There's only one way to determine if she's my true mate—but now's not the time to bite her.

"I just need to close my eyes for a minute…" she whispers, drawing me from my thoughts.

"Hel!" I bark, using my Alpha voice. Her eyes snap open. "Talk to me. Keep talking."

She tries to focus on my mask. "About what?"

"Anything. Tell me about your favorite food. What about how you got to the island?"

"Muffins and cake. That's easy." She gives me a weak smile, then stares at me. "Why do they call you Ghost?"

"Focus on staying awake, and tell me more about your favorite muffin flavor. Mara makes the best banana muffins. She calls them ‘Banana Claw Crunch.'?"

Her eyes light up, then she winces. "I will need to taste them if I survive."

I laugh. "Hold two moments." I dart into the bathroom and grab towels. When I return, I begin cleaning the injury carefully, checking for any remaining splinters, but the blood continues flowing, rich and insistent. Without thinking, I lean in, drawn by something deeper than thought. Her eyes meet mine, her brow pinching between her eyes.

Slowly, deliberately, I run my tongue along the gash.

"Ghost, don't… what are you…" Her words trail off, but she remains still, tension thrumming through her body.

I taste copper, salt, life itself, then something more. Something that makes my entire being howl in recognition. Every cell in my body ignites, my wolf surging forward with fierce and desperate hunger. Mate. The word echoes through my bones like a death knell.

A laugh bubbles from her throat, brittle and nervous. "Should I be worried that you like the way my blood tastes?"

I lift my head, fighting to keep my voice steady, and lick my lips. "My saliva has some healing properties that will help." The words come out rougher than intended.

She attempts a smirk, but I see the tremor in her lips, the way her pupils have dilated, her body writhing once more, her leg shaking.

I need to take away her pain.

I press a clean towel to her leg.

"You have no idea what you are, do you?" I whisper, more to myself than to her. The taste of her lingers on my tongue.

"A girl feeling like I'm at death's door." Then she cries out, her head pressed back into her pillow, her brow glistening in perspiration.

Next thing, she's hugging a pillow to her chest, and it's impossible for me, even with her in agony, not to stare at her naked body. Fuck, I've got nothing on, but that's normal for me. While she… she's fucking stunning—the curves, the tiny line of hair between her thighs, her round breasts. Absolutely captivating.

Back to the job, I apply a second towel as the first one is already red. She cries out again, the sound tearing at something inside me.

Mate.

The word floats in my mind, and I'm unsure what to do with it, having told myself I'd never find mine. And I was damn fine with it. Now look at me.

I position spare pillows under her injured leg, elevating it, trying to slow the bleeding. Her blood is everywhere—on my hands, on the sheets, on her pale skin. It's taking everything in me not to let my wolf take over, not to howl at the sight of her hurt.

"Ghost?" Her voice is smaller now, frightened. "Don't leave me. Please. Everyone always does."

Something in my chest cracks at her words. I lean down, pushing sweat-dampened hair from her face.

"I'm not going to do that, but I need to get help. Our healer can stop the pain and bleeding."

"Promise you'll come back?" Her hand catches my wrist, surprisingly strong for someone losing so much blood.

"I always keep my word, little flame." The endearment slips out again, feeling right on my tongue, despite everything.

"Why do you call me that?" she asks, her blue eyes struggling to focus on me.

"Because you're the flame in my darkness," I find myself saying. "Bright. Dangerous. Beautiful."

"Now I know I must be dying." A faint blush colors her cheeks, the first shade of life I've seen on her face since her fall. "You're almost being nice to me."

I shake my head, smirking. "Stay awake, sweetheart. I'll be right back."

"Ghost?" she calls as I reach the door.

I pause, glancing back at her lying in my bed, covered in blood but still somehow the most captivating thing I've ever seen.

"Thank you. For helping me again."

The words hit me hard. I don't respond, can't respond. Instead, I turn and run, my footsteps echoing through the halls as I race to find Awa. Every second away from Hel feels wrong, my wolf pacing and snarling inside me.

My mind charges with every step. Images of Hel's pale face, her blood-soaked skin, the way she looked at me as though I was her only lifeline—they drive me faster, harder. The wolf in me wants to howl, to tear apart anything that stands between me and getting her help.

Her voice echoes in my head. Everyone always leaves.

That resonates a bit too close to home… Maybe we have more in common than I thought.

Making a fast detour to my temporary room, I grab a pair of black cargo pants and drag them on, then I dart down the halls once more.

I crash through Awa's door without knocking, the wood at her lock splintering under my force. She leaps from her chair, her book tumbling to the floor. The scent of fear spikes in the air.

"Ghost!" Awa's hand flies to her chest. "What in the?—"

"She's dying," I cut her off, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "The new Omega. Hel. Major leg wound, too much blood loss."

Awa's eyes widen as she takes in my state—blood covers my hands, chest, and most likely my mouth and chin. She moves quickly to her shelves, gathering supplies.

"How long has she been bleeding?" she asks, her medic mask sliding into place.

"Too fucking long," I growl. "Hurry."

"Ghost." Her voice is stern despite her obvious nervousness. "I need to know how long."

"Twenty minutes. Maybe more." I pace the small room like a caged animal. "She's getting weaker, but she hasn't passed out yet."

Awa nods, shoving herbs and bandages into a bag. "The milk of rum," she says, nodding to a shelf. "And the clear bottle beside it. For disinfectant."

I snatch both bottles, already turning toward the door. "Move faster."

"I know you're worried?—"

"I'm not worried. I'm fucking terrified she'll get an infection, and that her blood loss will lead to something more serious," I snap.

"She's that special?" Awa asks quietly, her knowing tone making my wolf bristle. She and I have always gotten along and respected one another, so I feel more comfortable sharing my emotions with her than with others.

I nod.

We rush back through the corridors, my longer strides forcing Awa to practically run to keep up. The Blood Moon's light streams through the windows, bathing everything in a reddish hue.

"The Blood Moon… it might affect her healing. The magic is different tonight," Awa explains.

I growl in response, pushing faster. We're almost there, not wanting to hear excuses. Just a few more seconds and?—

A scream pierces the air. Hel's scream.

I'm through the bedroom door before the sound fades, Awa forgotten behind me. Hel's thrashing on the bed, her back arched in pain.

She's managed to half drag a blanket over herself, yet she's shivering violently despite the warmth of the room. Her skin glistens with sweat, her hair plastered to her forehead, and her breathing comes in short, painful gasps. The towels around her leg are soaked through with blood, the metallic scent thick in the air.

"I'm here." I'm at her side instantly, catching her flailing hands. "I'm back."

Her eyes find mine, glazed with pain and fear. "You came back," she whispers as if she still can't quite believe it.

"I promised, didn't I?" My voice sounds rougher than I intended.

The corner of her mouth twitches. "You surprised me," she mumbles, then her eyes roll back, and she fights to keep them open.

Awa's there in the room in seconds, taking in the scene, her silver-streaked hair escaping its braid as she moves. Setting down her bag with a thud at the side of the bed near Hel's feet, she glances at her with a smile.

"You certainly know how to make an entrance, don't you, dear?"

Hel's eyes flutter open wider at the new voice. "I like to keep things interesting," she croaks.

"I'm Awa. Nice to meet you." Her expression softens. "I can see why he likes you." Then, she thrusts a small wooden bowl into my hands, the liquid inside a milky caramel color. Bits of herbs float on top, and the scent of rum and coconut rises with the steam.

"Make her drink all of it," she orders, already laying out her supplies on the bed. Her weathered hands are then arranging a large needle and thread. "And don't give me that look, Ghost. I don't care if you're the Alpha. In this room, when someone's bleeding, I'm in charge."

The corner of my mouth twitches despite the situation. Awa's the only one who dares speak to me this way, and only when she's healing someone. Any other time, she's as respectful as the rest of the pack, but get her in her element, and she transforms.

"What's in it?" Hel asks me weakly, eyeing the bowl.

"Rum, coconut cream, and herbs," Awa answers, not looking up from where she's starting to peel the towels off her leg. "My own special recipe. Works every time to ease the pain." She pauses her work to wink at Hel, her dark eyes twinkling. "And if it doesn't, well, at least you'll be too drunk to care about my terrible stitching."

A ghost of a smile touches Hel's lips, but it's quickly replaced by a grimace of pain.

I move to the bed, sitting carefully on the edge. The mattress dips under my weight, and Hel's hand clutches at the blanket.

"Easy," I murmur, reaching out slowly as I would with a wounded animal. "Let me help tuck another pillow under your head."

She eyes my hand warily. "I can manage."

"Of course you can," I say, letting a hint of sarcasm color my voice as she does just that. "Just like you managed that escape attempt so well."

Her gaze flashes with anger—good, anger is better than fear.

"I got pretty far, didn't I? And you can't blame my wolf for going all protective after I was attacked in that basement."

I cradle her head gently, ignoring how right it feels to touch her.

"Here's the part where you drink this and stop arguing with me."

She studies my mask intently.

"I won't hurt you," I murmur, low enough that only she can hear.

"That's what they all say." She tries to smirk, but it comes out more like a grimace. "Every Alpha thinks he knows what's best."

"Oh, honey," Awa chimes in, wiping the blood away. "If Ghost wanted to hurt you, he wouldn't have broken down my door to get me to help you. I've never seen him so worked up over anyone."

I growl at her, but Hel's laugh turns into a pained cough.

"Drink," I order, pressing the bowl to her lips. "Before I change my mind about being nice."

She parts her lips hesitantly, allowing me to tip the liquid into her mouth. The first sip makes her eyes widen.

"That's… not terrible," she admits, taking another swallow.

"Give it time," Awa says cheerfully. "The herbs are an acquired taste."

Hel drinks steadily, finishing the bowl, and I set it on the bedside table. I can feel her relaxing slightly against my hand where I support her head. The rum starts working quickly, her cheeks flushing pink, and her eyes take on a glassy sheen.

After a long pause of her resting, she stares at me strangely.

"You're really strong," she observes suddenly, her free hand reaching out to touch my chest. "Like, really, really strong."

Awa snickers as she prepares her needle. "The rum milk works fast on an empty stomach."

"Don't tell anyone," Hel whispers, leaning closer. "But you're naked." Her gaze dips down my stomach, then she giggles. "Very naked."

Something in my chest tightens at the sound of her laugh. She looks younger like this, softer somehow. Almost innocent.

"I'm wearing pants, little flame," I remind her, trying to keep my voice stern despite my amusement.

"Mm-hmm," she hums, unconvinced. "Very nice pants. But mostly naked." She pokes my chest with one finger. "So many muscles."

Awa's shoulders shake with silent laughter. "I haven't seen anyone react quite like this to my rum milk in ages."

"I'm not drunk," Hel protests, then frowns. "The room's just… spinny. Did you know your mask glows in the dark?"

"It doesn't," I say, but she's already reaching for it again.

"Pretty skull-face man," she murmurs, her fingers tracing the contours of the mask. "With pretty muscles."

I snatch her hand before she can pull the mask away, but I'm gentle.

"Behave."

"Or what?" she challenges, then winces as Awa begins stitching. But the rum's done its work; the pain seems distant to her now.

"You're good at that," Hel says, her words slightly slurred. "Like a… a needle artist. A stabby seamstress."

"Years of practice, honey," Awa responds, her needle moving swiftly. "Though most of my patients aren't quite so entertaining."

Hel beams at the compliment, then turns that radiant smile on me. It hits me like a physical blow.

"You're still here," she says, sounding surprised and pleased.

"I promised, didn't I?"

"Mm-hmm." Her eyes are getting heavy. "You smell good. Like forest, cocoa, and danger and… something else. Can't put my finger on it." She tries literally putting her finger on it, poking my chest again.

I catch her hand again, holding it still. Her skin is soft against my callused palm.

"All done," Awa announces, tying off the last stitch.

Hel barely notices, too busy studying our joined hands with fascination.

"Thank you," I tell Awa quietly as she packs up her supplies. She gives me a knowing look that I choose to ignore.

"Keep her still for the next day or two at least," she instructs. "I'll come and change the bandages tomorrow."

Then, as Awa slips out the door, Hel's face lights up.

"Oh!" she exclaims. "We're all alone now! Just the big bad Alpha and little ol' me." She attempts to waggle her eyebrows suggestively, but the effect is somewhat ruined by her increasingly unfocused gaze.

"Sleep, little flame," I tell her, trying to sound stern despite the warmth spreading through my chest.

"Don't wanna," she murmurs, even as her eyes drift shut. "Might wake up and you'll be gone."

"I'll be here," I promise.

She smiles faintly, already mostly asleep. "Liar," she whispers. "But you're a pretty liar. With pretty muscles."

I watch her fighting sleep, her eyes fluttering like butterfly wings. Each time they open, she looks at me anew, a soft smile touching her lips as if discovering me all over again. Something about that smile makes my chest tighten.

Her hand keeps reaching for me in the dim light, fingers grasping weakly at the air between us.

The torchlight in my room plays across her skin, and that's when I notice it—or rather, the absence of it. Her inner arms are bare, unmarked by the prisoner's mark that brands every exile on this island. I frown, scanning what I can see of her skin. I hadn't seen it anywhere else when I helped her, unless it's on her back, which I haven't seen, but everyone else's is on the arm.

The truth hits me.

She's not supposed to be here.

"Who are you, sweetheart?" I ask.

"I'm Hel," she answers, her voice dreamy and distant. "Just Hel. Nobody special."

The lie in those words makes my wolf growl. I push hair from her forehead, letting my hand linger longer than necessary. Her skin burns under my touch.

"Tell me why you're really on this island."

It takes her several moments to focus on my mask, her pupils dilated from the rum milk.

"Told you," she slurs, then giggles. "I fell out of the sky. Like a shooting star. Except less graceful. And with more screaming." Her eyes suddenly go wide with alarm. "Oh! You shouldn't know that." She tries to press a finger to my mask where my lips would be, missing completely and poking my chest instead. "Shhhhh. The damaged plane I escaped from is a secret."

I can't help but laugh. "And why's that?"

"Because," she whispers, suddenly serious. "Then you might try to sell me like everyone else has done in my life."

The raw pain in her voice cuts through her drunken haze, making my wolf snarl with the need to hunt down everyone who's ever hurt her.

Many in this fucked-up world are in the business of selling Omegas, trading them. When something is in small supply but huge demand, there's a damn market for it. I've seen it firsthand back in Denmark. Families who had female children would sometimes sell them for wealth, and I fucking hate the practice. Hate it because I know what it's like to be taken from my family, to be treated as a nobody and sent away.

That shit right there, where your family rejects you, fucks you up for life.

"Look at me," I command softly, waiting until her glassy eyes meet mine. "No one is selling you. Not here. Not ever again."

She studies me. "Promise?"

"I put my life behind my vow." The words come easily, even if promises are dangerous things, especially on this island.

"And where are you from, then?" I ask, trying to distract myself from the way she's looking at me, as if I'm something worth trusting.

"Denmark." She giggles, the sound light and carefree. "Land of Vikings and very grumpy wolves." Her nose scrunches up adorably. "So many grumpy wolves."

I stiffen. Denmark? The coincidence is too great. My mind races through possibilities, through connections I haven't thought about in years.

"Which pack?"

"You ask too many questions, silly Alpha." Her head flops to the side, and suddenly, she's sleeping deeply, making tiny snoring sounds that are impossibly endearing. My fearsome reputation would never recover if anyone knew how those little snores affect me.

I stare down at her, my mind racing. Who is this girl, really? Do I know her? What pack broke her, made her run? And why does the mystery of her pull at something deep inside me, something I thought died years ago?

When I slowly rise to leave, she turns to her side, reaching for me.

"Stay," she whimpers, a plea that goes straight to my gut. "Please."

The need in her voice matches the need clawing at my chest. That's when I spot something red on the back of her forearm—a scratch with dried blood around it.

"You got hurt there, too."

She glances at the cut like she's surprised to find it there. "Ouch," she says simply, making me smile despite myself.

I sit back beside her, leaning over her arm, not thinking twice about needing to clean it for her.

Her gaze locks with mine as I slowly, deliberately, take a long lick of the wound, then another, her blood almost sweet on my tongue. I tell myself it's just to clean it, to prevent infection, but we both know that's a lie.

I'm becoming obsessed with her taste, with everything about her.

"That tickles," she breathes, her chest rising more prominently. The blanket slips lower, revealing her beautiful breasts and small nipples, tight and the color of the darkest pink.

My cock punches hard, thick and ready, and I breathe in the delicious sweetness of her arousal. My gaze is locked on those full tits, and a deep pulse shakes me. My balls tight, the ache to reach over, to touch and taste them, strangles me.

Mate.

The words boom in my head like a reminder that she's mine to claim, to show her why she belongs to me.

My wolf surges forward, clawing at my control.

She must sense something in my stillness because she says, "Please, Ghost."

I stare at her, fighting every instinct that screams at me to take what she's offering, ignoring my aching cock. My chest heaves with the effort of restraint. She's drunk, injured, and vulnerable—everything that in me craves and needs to protect.

"Don't you want me?" she purrs, and the insecurity beneath her words has my heart clenching.

"You have no idea how much I do," I growl, drinking in her curves, memorizing them before forcing myself to pull the blanket back over them. The action feels like tearing off my own skin. "When I claim you—and I will—I want you fully conscious. I want you to know exactly what you're getting into. Not like this, not when you're hurt."

She blinks, a blush crawling over her cheeks, and pulls her hand back. I catch it, unable to let her retreat completely. Her pulse flutters under my fingers like a trapped bird.

"It takes a damn strong man to resist you right now, sweetheart, and I like to think I am such an Alpha." I trace circles on her inner wrist, feeling her shiver. "But I can only resist so much when you're everything I…" I pause, the weight of unspoken words heavy.

"It's okay," she whispers, then she goes silent, tugging the blanket to her chin.

My chest aches with words I can't say, promises I shouldn't make. My wolf is singing with what I tasted in her blood, with the knowledge that fate or chance or this cursed island has given me what I never thought to find.

She's mine for eternity. My mate. My salvation. My damnation. She just doesn't know it yet, but she'll find out soon enough.

The only issue is her ability to leave the island. If she escapes my clutches, I can't follow. The brand on my arm ensures that. The thought makes my wolf rage, makes the darkness in me rise up with plans and schemes I shouldn't contemplate.

Heart thundering, frustration boiling in my veins, I lean over to whisper, "Sleep, little flame. I'm not going anywhere."

Her eyes are closing, her breathing heavy.

I move to the corner of the room, settling into a chair before shutting off the torch. In the darkness, I watch her breathing even out. She looks peaceful now, unaware of how much she's upended my world.

My thoughts are obsessed with her.

My to-be mate.

All while images of her bare breasts, of her offering her body to me, keenly suffocate me with need.

She shifts in her sleep, mumbling something that might be my name.

As I settle in for my watch over her, I know one thing with bone-deep certainty—whatever game fate is playing with us, I intend to win and not lose my fated mate. No matter the cost.