Rory doesn’t understand how everything went wrong so fast. That morning, she had been living a dream—a luxury resort, turquoise water, and Martin, her perfect fiancé. Then came the two pink lines on the test, and for one perfect moment, her joy had felt complete. Now she stands frozen in the doorway of a private massage cabana.
Martin is naked on the table, tangled with a staff member. Rory’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. The woman sees her first, scrambles off Martin, and knocks over a bottle of oil that shatters on the floor. “I’m sorry for barging in,” Rory stammers.
Martin turns, sighs, and his expression shifts to indulgent condescension, like he’s humoring a child. “Oh, Rory, baby. You were supposed to be at the beach all afternoon. ”
“What are you doing?
”
“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t make this into a thing. ”
“A thing? ” Her voice cracks.
“Babe, I’m just blowing off steam. You know how stressed I’ve been with the merger. ”
“But we’re getting married in three months,” she whispers. “And I’m—I’m pregnant.
”
Silence. The staffer freezes. Martin’s smile falters for a second before snapping back into place. “Pregnant.
”
He stands and walks toward her, caution in his eyes. She steps back. “You’re not happy. ”
“It’s not that.
But you know my thoughts on kids, right? We’ve talked about this. ”
“We said someday. You said you weren’t ready.
”
“No, sweetheart. I said I don’t want children. Remember? We agreed our lifestyle isn’t compatible with kids.
”
“But we never said forever. ”
His grip tightens. “You do this sometimes. You hear what you want to hear.
”
A cold weight settles in her chest. Had she misheard? Misunderstood? “Don’t worry.
We’ll make an appointment when we get home. Quick and easy. My assistant will take care of it. ”
His casual dismissal cuts through her shock.
“This is our baby, Martin. I want this baby. ”
His mask slips, irritation flashes, then vanishes. “Rory, be reasonable.
We’re not having a kid. ”
“And why not? So you can be free to fool around? ” She gestures toward the staff member, who hurries to leave.
Martin laughs, breezy and confident. “That’s nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. ”
“It means something to me.
”
“Rory, baby. ” He moves to embrace her before she can retreat. His cologne—her Christmas gift—envelops her. “I’ve never cheated on you.
Not once. ”
She stares. She just saw him. And yet, for a moment, she almost believes him.
She wants to. “One mistake in three years. It meant nothing. You know how much I love you.
”
He cups her face, earnest and rehearsed. “Oh, baby. This is why I didn’t tell you. You get so emotional about these little things.
I promise you, this has never happened before. It’s the stress, the island. I made a mistake. Don’t throw away everything over one mistake.
”
She falters. The fear of being alone rises in her throat. She thinks of their apartment, the venue, the baby. “I—I don’t know, Martin.
”
“Let’s talk tonight. Meet me in our room at seven. We’ll have dinner. Talk through everything.
”
“Okay,” she hears herself say. “That’s my girl. Get some rest. You look tired.
” He walks off without a glance back. Rory doesn’t move. Her mind tells her to return to the suite, rest, pretend this can be salvaged. But her body has other plans.
She walks past the pools, the tennis courts, the honeymooners. Fragments of panic flicker through her mind. The invitations just went out. What will I tell my parents?
How can I raise a baby alone? Down the stone steps, she reaches the private beach. I should go back to the room, she thinks. Instead, her feet carry her toward the dock.
At the end, a small motorboat bobs in the water. A tall man tends to it, irritation flashing in his eyes when she approaches. “I need to get off this island,” she says, her voice steady. “Right now.
”
The man barely reacts. He finishes coiling a rope, then glances up. “Right. Well, good luck with that, then,” he mutters, turning back to his boat.
Rory watches him untie the mooring rope. As he pulls up the anchor, she climbs aboard. “What do you think you’re doing? ” He’s at her side in a flash.
“Take off your shoes. ”
“I’m so sorry,” Rory says quickly, slipping off her sandals. “Thanks. Now get off my boat.
”
“Oh, but I thought we were leaving now. ”
“We? ” He raises an eyebrow. “There’s no we.
”
“But you said you’d help me get off the island. ”
“When did I ever say that? You said you wanted to get off. I said good luck.
”
“But aren’t you leaving anyway? ”
He just glares. “Great. Then I’ll come with you.
”
“It’s a one-person boat,” he snaps. Her frustration boils over. After today—the pregnancy test, Martin’s betrayal—she’s done being dismissed. “You won’t even notice I’m here,” she says, sitting down.
“Get off. ”
A shout interrupts. Three men in dark suits run toward them from the resort. “Sawyer!
” the lead man yells. “We need to talk to you. ”
Sawyer goes rigid. Without a word, he lunges for the wheel and jams the key into the ignition.
The engine roars. The men break into a sprint. “Wait,” Rory says. “They seem pretty determined to catch you.
”
Sawyer shoves the throttle forward. The boat surges away just as the men reach the dock. “This isn’t over! ” the lead one shouts.
“We know what you did. ”
“Are those police? Are you in some kind of trouble? ” Rory asks.
Sawyer doesn’t respond, eyes fixed on the rearview mirror until the island is no more than a distant line. Dark clouds loom ahead. The storm rushes toward them. Rain lashes down.
Waves rise fast. “Maybe we should go back,” she says, voice shaking. “It’ll be fine,” Sawyer mutters, though his grip tightens. The sky breaks open.
Within seconds, she’s soaked. The boat climbs a wave and crashes down. Rory’s stomach flips. “I think I’m going to be sick!
” she gasps, stumbling toward the side. “Don’t you dare go overboard! ” Sawyer yells. Rory vomits, then slips, fingers sliding off the slick railing.
For a heartbeat, she’s falling. A hand grabs her wrist, yanks her back. Sawyer’s face looms over her, rain-slicked and furious. “I told you to be careful!
” he shouts. “I’m sorry! ” she yells back. “We need to turn back.
Storm’s too strong. ”
Sawyer spins the wheel. The boat groans as it struggles against the waves. For a brief, hopeful moment, it seems they might make it.
Then Rory sees the wall of water, massive, racing toward them. “Sawyer! ” she screams, pointing. His eyes widen.
He grabs her waist. “Hold on to me. Don’t let go. ”
Rory wraps her arms around him just as the wave hits.
The boat rises. Rory’s feet leave the deck. For a suspended moment, they hang there. And then the boat flips, tossing them into the raging sea.
The impact knocks the breath from Rory’s lungs. Something solid slams into her back. Her last coherent thought is of the tiny life inside her. I’m sorry, she thinks.
Then darkness closes in. —
Sunlight burns against Rory’s eyelids, and something rough scratches her cheek. Sand. She opens her eyes and winces at the brightness.
Paradise stretches before her: pristine white sand, crystal turquoise water, palm trees swaying in a gentle breeze. “Hello? ” Her voice comes out as a rasp. “Is anyone there?
”
The only response is the rhythmic sound of the ocean. Panic begins to rise when she spots a figure sprawled face down on the sand about twenty feet away. Sawyer. Rory scrambles over to him.
“Sawyer, can you hear me? Help! Somebody! ”
His eyes snap open.
“Stop yelling,” he groans. “Oh, thank God you’re alive. ”
“God had nothing to do with it. ” He grimaces, pushing himself up.
“We need to get help,” Rory says, glancing around. Sawyer gives her a look that suggests she might be simple. “Help? From whom?
This is a deserted island. ”
Rory’s mind blanks at the word. “How do you know that? ”
“Because I have eyes.
But I woke up earlier. Our boat’s wrecked about a half mile down the beach. No radio, no working engine. I salvaged what I could.
A flare gun, some water bottles, a first aid kit. There’s nothing but ocean for at least fifty miles in every direction. ”
Rory stares at him. “You woke up earlier and then you just decided to take a nap?
”
“Well, excuse me, but someone’s been keeping busy swimming both of us to shore during a storm. ”
The implication sinks in. “You—you saved my life. ”
He shrugs, looking away.
“Well, thank you,” she says sincerely. She rises, extending her hand. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Rory Sinclair.
”
Sawyer stares as if she’s offering him a dead fish. “We need to look for help. There could be people on the other side of the island. ”
“Are you deaf?
I just told you this is a deserted island. ”
“But there has to be someone who can help. How are we going to go home if we can’t call for help? ”
Sawyer just blinks.
“Just be grateful you’re alive. ”
Rory’s hand instinctively moves to her still-flat stomach. She’s alive, but what about her baby? “I’m going to find help,” she announces, squaring her shoulders.
“There is no help,” he snaps. “I’m telling you. ”
“And I’m telling you, we can’t give up hope. Who knows?
Just beyond this jungle, there could be a beautiful resort. ”
“There’s not. ”
“Are you always this defeatist? ”
“I’m realistic.
”
“Fine. Stay here. I’m going to look for help. And when I find some and get to shower long before you do, someone’s going to feel plenty stupid.
”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Oh, someone will definitely feel stupid, and that’s not going to be me. ”
Something snaps inside Rory. Maybe it’s the stress of the shipwreck, or the lingering shock of Martin’s betrayal, or the fear for her unborn child.
But suddenly she’s shouting. “Kindness is never a waste of time! And besides, we’re stuck on an island. We have all the time in the world, you big jerk!
”
She turns and marches toward the jungle. “Don’t go in there alone,” Sawyer calls. “You’ll get lost. ”
“Watch me!
” she yells back. Half an hour later, her pace slows. The jungle thickens, filled with unfamiliar plants and eerie sounds. Dressed in a sundress, barefoot, she suddenly feels very small.
Then she hears rushing water. She pushes through vines and gasps. A crystal-clear lagoon stretches before her, fed by a waterfall. She rushes forward, scooping water into her hands.
It’s cool, sweet, miraculous. But time slips by. The sun sinks. Landmarks blur.
“I’m lost,” she admits, heart pounding. Pregnant, stranded, alone. Then movement behind her. She freezes.
The foliage parts. A massive black wolf steps into view. Silver-tipped fur gleams in the fading light. Golden eyes lock on hers, alert and intelligent.
“Nice wolf,” she whispers, inching back. “Good wolf, don’t eat me. ”
But the wolf simply sits, watching. No growling, no teeth.
Just calm, unnerving stillness. Something in its gaze reminds her bizarrely of Sawyer. “You know,” she says, relieved just to speak aloud, “this has been the worst day of my life. First, I find out I’m pregnant.
Then I catch my fiancé cheating. He wasn’t even excited about the baby. ”
The wolf’s ears twitch. “So I ran.
Got on a boat with a complete self-absorbed jerk. He saved my life. ” She pauses. “But he’s still a jerk.
”
She slides to the ground, comforted by the wolf’s presence. “And now I’m lost in a jungle, talking to a wolf with no clue how to get back. ”
Her voice cracks. The wolf rises and approaches slowly, nudging her hand with its muzzle before stepping back, looking toward the trees.
It walks a few paces, then glances back. “Do you want me to follow you? ”
The wolf leads, pausing now and then to check on her. At one point, it paws at a low branch heavy with yellow fruit.
“Are those edible? ” The wolf huffs softly. “If I die from eating mystery fruit a wolf showed me, that would be a fitting end,” she says, picking one anyway. It’s sweet and tangy, instantly refreshing.
As night falls, firelight glows ahead. Her camp—driftwood stacked, supplies arranged. No sign of Sawyer, but he’s been here. “You did it,” she whispers.
“You got me back. ”
The wolf sits at the edge of the jungle, silent. “Thank you,” she says again sincerely. “I don’t know why you helped me, but thank you.
”
It blinks once, then slips into the darkness without a sound. —
Rory wakes to the smell of smoke and something cooking. Sawyer crouches by the fire, turning what looks like fish on a makeshift spit. “You came back,” she says.
“It’s my campfire. ”
“Aren’t you curious about how I found my way back yesterday? ” she asks. “A wolf.
A wolf guided me. ”
Sawyer just gives a sideways glance and says nothing. “There really was a wolf here, and it didn’t attack. ”
Sawyer sighs.
“Or maybe you were so dehydrated you hallucinated the wolf. ”
“I didn’t! I’d found a lagoon and drank water by then. It’s about thirty minutes that way.
”
“And did you see anyone on your way? ”
“No,” Rory admits quietly. “I don’t think there’s anybody else around. ”
“You don’t say.
” The man sounds so smug it makes Rory want to stomp her feet. Three days pass in much the same pattern—working side by side, always ending up arguing. The shelter comes together slowly: a crude A-frame with a palm-thatched roof, barely big enough for two. Each night, they retreat to opposite sides, backs turned.
Each dawn, Rory notices Sawyer disappearing into the jungle, returning hours later with no explanation. Once, she follows his footprints along the beach until they mysteriously end at the jungle’s edge, where she finds his clothes, like he just left them there. By the seventh day, the shelter is nearly complete. They need more fresh water.
“I’ll show you where the lagoon is,” Rory offers. Sawyer considers for a moment, then nods. They set out with makeshift containers. “You never told me what you were doing at the resort,” Rory begins.
“Why would I tell you? Did I ask what you were doing there? ”
“Well, I was on holiday with my—”
“That was a rhetorical question. ”
Rory pouts.
“Well, why were those guys chasing you on the docks? ”
Sawyer’s jaw tightens, but he stays silent. “Were you hiding from someone? Running from the law?
”
“Drop it. ”
“We’re stuck here together. I think I deserve to know. ”
“You don’t deserve shit.
You forced your way onto my boat. Everything that’s happened to you since is on you, not me. ”
Rory storms ahead, clenching her fists. He’s not wrong, though.
She’d fled the resort with no plan because she felt that if she didn’t do it that very moment, she wouldn’t have the courage to. She’s so caught up in her thoughts that she doesn’t notice the change in terrain until it’s too late. One step, solid ground. The next, her foot sinks into something soft.
“Sawyer? ” She takes another step and sinks deeper, the ground swallowing her up to her calves. “Sawyer! Come quick, help!
”
She tries to pull her legs free but only sinks deeper. Now it’s at her knees. “Don’t move! ” Sawyer’s voice comes from behind her, tight with tension.
“I’m serious, Rory. Stop struggling. ”
“I’m sinking! ”
The quicksand reaches her waist, cold and suffocating.
“I can see that. But you need to keep still. ”
“Get me out! ” she screeches, tears springing to her eyes.
“I will. But you need to stop thrashing around. ”
“I can’t! ”
“Look at me.
Rory, look at me. ” His voice cuts through her panic. “I’m going to get you out, but you need to trust me. Can you do that?
”
She hesitates, then nods. “Good. Now, lean back slowly. ”
“What?
You’re insane! ”
“Try to float on your back. The sand is denser than water. Do it, Rory.
”
Something in his voice compels her to obey. Slowly, she leans back until she’s half-floating. The sinking slows. “Good,” Sawyer says, stretching out on his stomach at the edge.
He extends a branch toward her. “Grab this and hold tight. ”
He pulls, inch by agonizing inch. When she’s close enough, he reaches for her arms, his hands closing around her wrists.
With one mighty heave, he pulls her free, sending them both tumbling backward. Overwhelmed, Rory wraps her arms around him, burying her face against his chest. “I was so scared. I thought—if you hadn’t been here…” A sob catches in her throat.
Sawyer goes rigid at the embrace, but after a moment, his hand comes up to pat her back awkwardly. “Sorry,” Rory says, wiping tears. “I just—thank you. ”
She holds on a moment longer, savoring the solid presence of another human being after so many days of isolation.
—
The quicksand incident changes something between them. Not dramatically—Sawyer still scowls more than he smiles—but the edge of hostility dulls. “The roof leaks,” Rory points out after a sudden rainfall. “I’m aware.
”
“I read somewhere that if you layer the palm fronds in an overlapping pattern, starting from the bottom…”
“You read about desert island survival in your spare time? ”
“National Geographic,” she admits. “I had a subscription. ”
To her surprise, Sawyer doesn’t dismiss her suggestion.
“Show me. ”
Working side by side, they rebuild the roof. When the next rain comes two days later, they stay dry. “Not bad, Bookworm,” Sawyer concedes.
Week three brings a successful fishing expedition. Sawyer fashions a spear from a straight branch. “How did you learn to do all this? ” Rory asks.
“Boy Scouts,” he deadpans. Her first attempts are comically bad. Sawyer watches with what looks suspiciously like amusement. He repositions her hands, shows her how to account for the water’s refraction.
When she finally spears a modest fish, his “not bad” feels like high praise. “We need a signal fire plan,” Sawyer says one morning. “Something ready to light if boats pass. ”
Rory’s heart leaps.
“You think someone might come looking? ”
“I don’t know. To be honest, it’s worrying no one has come for us yet. ”
“Surely people are looking as we speak.
”
Sawyer gives her a cautious look. “People are looking for me. But they know very well I don’t want to be found. Perhaps they’ve given up.
And you—you mentioned getting into a fight with your fiancé before leaving the resort. ”
Rory frowns. She doesn’t remember mentioning that. Then again, she talks a lot.
“You think Martin will assume I left him and won’t think of reporting me missing? ”
“Could take him a while to realize when or how you disappeared. Could take a while for a search party to be sent, if ever. Our best chance is to count on random boats passing by and signaling them.
”
They build a signal pyre on the highest point of the beach. Sawyer shows her how to start a fire with limited tools. “Keep practicing,” he tells her. “If you see a boat while I’m not here, don’t wait for me.
”
The implication that he might be gone when rescue comes disturbs her more than she expects. “Where do you even go? ” she asks that night. “In the mornings, I mean.
”
He doesn’t reply. Sometimes when Sawyer disappears at dawn, Rory can’t shake the feeling of being watched. Once at the lagoon, she spots a flash of black between the trees—a shape eerily similar to the wolf. “Hello?
Are you there? ”
Nothing but birdsong answers. One month into their isolation, Rory realizes something that fills her with both relief and renewed anxiety. She hasn’t had her period.
The baby is holding on despite their harsh circumstances. She places a hand on her still-flat stomach while Sawyer is off on one of his morning disappearances. “We’re going to be okay,” she whispers. “Somehow.
”
Morning sickness hits her hard. Then one day, Sawyer returns from an excursion and silently places a gnarled root beside her. “What’s this? ”
“Ginger.
Chew it. It helps with nausea. ”
Rory stares at him. “How did you know?
”
He says nothing. Days blend into routine. One afternoon, Rory builds up her courage. “Have you seen the wolf around?
It’s big and black with golden eyes. I didn’t hallucinate. It’s still there, Sawyer. ”
His hands freeze momentarily.
“There are no wolves in the Caribbean,” he says, expression carefully neutral. Rory narrows her eyes. He’s hiding something. A week later, as they sit by the fire, Rory gathers her courage.
“Did you break the law? ”
Sawyer’s head snaps up. “Why do you ask? ”
“Those men at the resort—they weren’t just looking for you.
You’ve been running from them. ”
He studies her for a long moment, then gives a single reluctant nod. “You’re going to ask me what I’ve done? ”
Rory considers this.
A month ago, she might have demanded answers. But now she knows Sawyer in ways that go beyond words. “Do you want to tell me? ” she asks softly.
“No,” he admits. “Then no,” Rory says with a shrug. Sawyer searches her face, brows furrowed, then his shoulders relax slightly. Something has shifted.
The island remains unchanged—isolated, dangerous—but it no longer feels quite so hopeless. Not when faced together. —
Dusk settles over the island as Rory gathers firewood at the jungle’s edge. Sawyer has disappeared hours ago on another mysterious excursion.
“Just once, it would be nice if he’d tell me where he’s going,” she mutters. A soft, dry rustling freezes her mid-motion. A snake slithers across the fallen leaves, its diamond-patterned scales catching the fading light. Everything about it screams venomous.
Carefully, she straightens. “Easy,” she whispers. “Just stay calm. ”
The snake’s tongue flickers out.
Rory takes one slow step backward, then another. The branch beneath her foot snaps. The snake coils instantly. Then a black blur explodes from the undergrowth.
The massive black wolf leaps between her and the snake, a growl rumbling from its chest. The snake strikes with lightning speed, fangs sinking deep into the wolf’s foreleg. A high-pitched yelp cuts through the air. The wolf shakes its leg violently, flinging the snake against a tree trunk, then finishes it with a single bite.
“Oh my god,” Rory breathes. “You saved me again. ”
The wolf turns to her, golden eyes clouded with pain. “You’re hurt.
We need to get you back to the shelter. ”
The wolf looks up at her, then back toward the jungle. “Please,” Rory says, voice breaking. “Let me help you.
”
Guiding an injured wolf through the jungle proves challenging. By the time they reach the shelter, the wolf’s breathing is labored. Rory cleans the puncture wounds, already swelling and hot to the touch. “I don’t know what kind of snake that was, but it’s definitely venomous.
”
The wolf’s massive head eventually comes to rest on her lap, body trembling. “You’re going to be okay,” she promises, stroking the silky fur. “I won’t leave you. ”
The wolf’s golden eyes fix on hers.
For a moment, she feels as if she’s looking at someone familiar. Then the wolf convulses. Fur recedes into skin. Limbs elongate.
The skeletal structure shifts with audible cracks. Rory scrambles backward, a scream tearing from her throat as the impossible transformation completes. Where the wolf had been, Sawyer now lies naked on the sand, curled in pain, breathing ragged. “Sawyer?
” she whispers, her mind unable to process what she’s just witnessed. His eyes—the same golden eyes she’d been looking into moments before—flutter open. “You’re the wolf,” Rory murmurs. He nods, wincing.
“Don’t tell anyone. ”
“Who would I tell? We’re on a deserted island. ”
“Good point,” Sawyer mumbles, eyelids drooping.
Then Rory sees the angry red swelling of his arm. “Sawyer, you’ve been poisoned. ” She presses her palm to his forehead. He’s burning with fever.
“It’s fine,” he slurs. “Don’t worry. It’ll heal. ”
“What do you mean it’ll heal?
Sawyer, this is serious! ”
“Just needs sleep,” he mutters. “Shifter metabolism. ”
His words dissolve into incoherent mumbling.
She bathes his forehead, forces sips of water between his parched lips. The puncture wounds turn an angry purple, red streaks extending up his arm. “Don’t you dare die on me,” she whispers fiercely. “I can’t do this alone, Sawyer.
I can’t have this baby alone on this island. ”
His only response is delirious muttering. “Camila. I’m sorry, Camila.
I’m so sorry. ”
Rory’s heart twists at the raw pain in his voice. A day passes, then another. Rory barely sleeps.
By sunset, something strange begins to happen. The angry purple starts to fade. The swelling minutely reduces. Hope flickers in her chest, but she dares not embrace it fully.
Not until those golden eyes open again. —
The first rays of dawn filter through the shelter when Rory feels it—a change in Sawyer’s breathing against her palm. Her eyes fly open to find his already watching her, golden-brown and clear for the first time in days. “You’re here,” he whispers, voice rough.
“Where else would I be? ” Rory’s own voice catches. Without thinking, she brushes sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. He captures her hand.
“I’m fine,” he whispers, squeezing her fingers. “I was never in danger. ”
“You saved me again,” she murmurs. “That snake would have killed me.
I thought I might lose you. ”
His thumb gently wipes away a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. “I told you I would heal. ”
“Your wound—it’s almost gone.
That’s not normal. ”
Sawyer’s expression softens. “No,” he agrees quietly. “It’s not.
Not for humans, anyway. ”
Rory takes a deep breath. “The wolf—all this time, it was you. ”
“Yes.
”
“Why didn’t you tell me? ”
“We’re not supposed to reveal our abilities to humans. I was born this way. It’s what I am.
”
“And there are more like you? ”
“Yes. We live in packs, mostly. ”
“The men at the resort—were they…?
”
“Some of them were. The others were federal agents. ”
“Why were they chasing you? ”
He seems to yield.
“I was the alpha of my pack. The leader. As such, I also had a human life. I ran a company.
A big one. Until one day I couldn’t. ”
“Couldn’t? ”
“Wouldn’t.
So I left. ”
“And they want you to go back? Against your will? ”
“Yes,” he murmurs.
“For financial reasons. ”
Rory senses there’s much more to his story—depths of pain he’s not ready to share. “You’re safe here,” she whispers. His eyes search hers.
His hand slides into her hair, and their foreheads touch. Their lips are so close. Then memories of his fevered murmurs come back. “And what about Camila?
” she can’t help but ask. Sawyer freezes. “How do you know that name? ”
“You called for her.
When you were delirious. ”
His expression hardens in an instant, as if a door has slammed shut. “Camila is dead,” he says flatly. “I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s not your fault. ” He struggles to his feet. “I need some air. ”
Rory’s fingers brush his wrist.
For a moment, he looks back at her, raw pain beneath his composed exterior. Then he’s gone. —
Something has changed between them. Every glance carries weight.
Every accidental touch lingers a heartbeat too long. When Rory wades from the lagoon, Sawyer’s gaze trails every bead of water down her body. His casual touches—a palm at the small of her back, knuckles brushing hers—spark along her skin. At dusk, he kneels behind her to teach palm frond weaving, his chest a furnace against her spine.
“Like this,” he murmurs, voice low near her ear as he guides her fingers. She leans back against him. She feels his sharp intake of breath, the momentary tightening of his arms. He doesn’t move away.
“We should get some sleep,” he says instead. “Early start tomorrow. ”
Then one night, Rory wakes to restless movement. Sawyer paces at the shelter’s entrance, silhouetted against the moonlight.
“What’s wrong? ”
He freezes, back to her, shoulders rigid. “Go back to sleep, Rory. ”
Instead, she rises, drawn to him.
He inhales deeply as she approaches, eyes closing as if in pain. When he opens them, they fix on her with predatory intensity. “I can smell you, Rory,” he says, voice rough. “Every emotion.
Every time your pulse quickens when I’m near. ”
Understanding dawns, heat flooding her cheeks. “You mean you can smell my attraction? ”
“Yours calls to mine.
It’s been driving me crazy for weeks. ”
“How do I smell now? ” she asks, breathless. Sawyer moves with startling speed, suddenly right in front of her.
He lowers his face to the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply. “Like heat,” he murmurs. “And want. You’re like a flame in the darkness.
”
His hands frame her face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones. “When you’re near, the wolf wants to claim you. Make you smell like mine. ”
“There are no other predators here,” she reminds him.
“I’m the most dangerous thing on this island, Rory. ”
“Not to me. ”
Their first kiss isn’t gentle. His tongue sweeps inside, tasting her deeply, and she meets his hunger with her own—weeks of denied desire erupting in a desperate clash of lips and teeth.
“Are you sure? ” he asks, possessive flare in his eyes. In answer, she kisses him again. Dawn finds them still entwined, first golden rays warming their skin.
Rory wakes to Sawyer’s fingers tracing the curve of her cheek. That’s when she sees it over his shoulder—a glint of metal on the horizon. Unmistakable. “Sawyer!
There’s a boat! ”
He turns, following her gaze. “The signal fire. We need to light it now.
”
—
The signal fire roars, black smoke streaking the clear sky. Rory shields her eyes, heart leaping as the distant boat veers toward them. “They’ve seen us! ”
Sawyer stands rigid.
The color drains from his face, his body tensing like a predator sensing danger. “Sawyer? ” Rory touches his arm, concerned by his sudden change. He grabs her hand, pulling her back toward the treeline.
“What’s wrong? ”
Once they’re out of sight, he releases her. “That’s not a rescue boat,” he says. “That’s my pack.
”
“Your pack? Are you sure? ”
“Even at this distance, I can smell them. If they find me here, they’ll force me to go back.
”
“Maybe that’s not so bad. If I can face Martin, surely you can—”
“You don’t understand. There’s more to it than I told you. ”
“Then tell me now.
”
Sawyer’s gaze meets hers, raw with pain and shame. “My real name is Sawyer Blake. ”
The name triggers a memory. “Wait—Blake Global Holdings?
That Blake? ”
He nods grimly. “CEO and majority shareholder. Or I was until last year.
I’m a fugitive. ”
Rory struggles to process this. “Explain. ”
“When my father died, I inherited a company built on corruption.
Corner-cutting. Environmental violations. All buried in shell companies. When I discovered the truth, I started gathering evidence, planning to clean house.
Camila was an environmental lawyer I hired. We fell in love. ”
“She was going to help you? ”
“We were going to expose everything together.
Then the board discovered what we were planning. They gave me an ultimatum: drop the investigation, or they’d expose the pack. Our existence. I chose to protect my pack.
” Self-loathing saturates his voice. “Two days later, Camila’s car went off a cliff. Brake failure, they called it. ”
Horror washes over Rory.
“Your own board members killed her? ”
“I know who was responsible. That same night, they framed me for the crimes I was trying to expose. My pack council ordered me to turn myself in.
I refused. ”
The boat engine cuts off. They’ve reached the shallows. Voices call from the beach, searching.
Sawyer takes her hands. “I can’t go back. Not to a pack that would sacrifice justice for safety. ”
“What about clearing your name?
Finishing what you and Camila started? ”
“All the evidence is gone. ”
“Tell them I died,” Sawyer says, words rushed. “It’s the only way.
”
“I can’t just leave you here. What about your future? ”
“I’m a fugitive shifter with enemies in both human and pack worlds. There is no future for me out there.
Those men killed Camila without hesitation. They wouldn’t spare you. Especially not you and the baby. ”
His hand moves to rest on her stomach.
“This is my home now,” he says quietly. “My penance. You go back, build a life for your child. Promise me you won’t look back.
Don’t waste your life thinking about me. ”
Footsteps approach through the undergrowth. They’re almost out of time. “Okay,” Rory agrees, tears spilling down her cheeks.
“I’ll do it. ”
He pulls her close, his kiss desperate and tender. “Thank you,” he whispers against her lips, “for making these last weeks worth living. ”
Before she can respond, he’s gone, disappearing into the dense jungle.
Rory wipes her tears, forcing her expression into one of relief and exhaustion as she steps back toward the beach. The performance of her life is about to begin. Three men emerge at the edge of the trees, tall and sharp-eyed, their presence unmistakably predatory. It’s the right choice, the only choice for her child.
But as the boat pulls away from the island, leaving her heart behind, Rory has never felt more adrift. Find me, she thinks desperately, hoping somehow he can sense her across the growing distance. Find me again. —
Two years later, Rory rocks gently in a secondhand chair, her daughter cradled against her chest.
Her baby is fifteen months old with hazel eyes and dark hair, but a fierce little spirit that belongs to someone else entirely. Coming back had been harder than expected. The media storm—*resort guest survives months on deserted island*—lasted weeks. Her story held.
Martin showed up at the hospital, all smiles for the cameras. Offscreen, the mask dropped. “You can’t seriously be keeping it,” he hissed, eyes on her belly. “Think about your career.
Think about me. I’m not ready to be a father. ”
Rory laughed genuinely. After what she’d survived, his selfishness felt laughable.
“There is no us anymore, Martin. And this baby isn’t yours in any way that matters. ”
He signed away his parental rights—a final act meant as punishment, but one Rory accepted as a gift. She found a job teaching swimming at a private school.
The hours suit her daughter’s needs. It’s a good life, quiet, steady. Only late at night does she let herself remember golden eyes, gentle hands, a voice that once spoke to her soul in two languages—man and wolf. She’s never told anyone the truth.
Not about the wolf. Not about Sawyer. A sharp knock at the door startles her. She glances at the clock.
Midnight. Another knock, more urgent. She peers through the peephole, and her heart stops. With trembling hands, she opens the door just enough to confirm what she barely dares hope.
He’s thinner. His hair is longer. But it’s him. “Sawyer?
”
“Hello, Rory. ” His voice cracks something open inside her. Tears blur her vision—joy, fury, disbelief. “You’re alive.
How did you find me? ”
“I told you once that I could find you anywhere. ”
“Why are you here? What happened?
”
“I turned myself in. Six months after you left, I signaled a ship. Went back to face the charges. Turns out someone was building a case against the board.
They needed my testimony. The evidence was gone, but Camila had backups. Smarter than any of us knew. ”
“So you’re free?
Completely? ”
He nods. “As of three weeks ago. The real criminals are behind bars.
My name is cleared. ”
“Why now? Why come back to me? ”
He steps closer.
“Because I lied to you, Rory. When I said my life was over. When I said to forget me. I was trying to make it easier for you.
But I never stopped thinking about you. Not for a single day. I had to see you. Had to know if there’s a chance.
”
A cry from the baby monitor cuts through the silence. Sawyer stiffens. “The baby. ”
Rory nods.
She returns moments later, daughter in arms. Sawyer stares at the child, awe and uncertainty battling in his expression. Rory tilts the baby toward him. “This is Camila.
”
Sawyer inhales sharply. “I named her after someone important to me,” Rory says. “To honor what we shared. ”
Emotion ripples through him, raw and visible.
“Camila,” he whispers. “Camila, this is Sawyer. He’s someone who has waited a very long time to meet you. ” He reaches out, pauses, glances at Rory.
She nods gently. He touches Camila’s hand. Her fingers curl around his. “She’s wonderful,” he says, voice hushed.
Rory’s tears spill. “I never thought I’d see you again. ”
“I know. ” He brushes a tear from her cheek.
“I thought staying away was right. And now—now I think we’ve both suffered enough. ” He cups her face. “If you’ll have me, I want to be part of your lives.
Both of your lives. ”
Rory leans forward, careful of the child between them, and kisses him. Soft, sure, a beginning. “You’re here now,” she says.
“That’s what matters. ”
Outside, the rain falls steady. Inside, three lives begin the quiet work of becoming one.
