Beaten. Broken. Damaged.
Morgan’s life isn’t hers and as far as her tribe is concerned, it never will be. Love wasn’t for her. She served one purpose. Look beautiful and make babies. That was until she ran.
All is well with her new life of solitude until Wyatt comes along. Who told him to come into her hospital bloody and beautiful? Never had a human been so irresistible.
Arrogant, rugged, gorgeous Detective Wyatt threatens her new existence without pity. He’s used to getting what he wants from women and he doesn’t expect her to be any different. He isn’t used to playing by anyone else’s rules including Morgan’s.
How wrong was he? She was dangerous to him. Being with her was suicide. Once word made it back to the tribe, they’d both be killed.
Solitude or Love?
Life or death?
The choice was made.
The skies darkened as the storm descended. Leland had run to check on our elderly neighbors for the
last time before we sheltered in place. I watched him enter their house through one rain smeared
window and kept a lookout for her in another. It was our chance to run. Mom and I had been planning
for this and we had been perfecting our getaway ever since hurricane Katrina had put fear into the
hearts of everyone along the eastern coastline. We weren’t even sure we would survive the swim, but
we had to try.
Anxiety rippled through me as the rains fell angrily on our little island and the winds bent the palm trees
nearly to the ground. I watched, making sure he was still with the neighbors as I waited for her call. Then
I heard it. Mom yelped from the pier. I jumped up and peeked out the kitchen window. Leland was still
preoccupied. I made a run for the front door buck naked. I had to get to the pier. I had to get to Mom. I
was almost there when he saw me.
He yelled my name from the neighbors’ doorway. “Morgan!”
I refused to turn back.
Mom called my name louder. “Morgan!”
I was almost to her, almost to the pier. He was gaining on me. His feet grew louder as he came closer.
My feet were louder, more urgent. I couldn’t figure out which hurt more, the stone rain pelting my bare
skin or my bare feet hitting the wooden planks of the pier as I bolted for the rough dark waters. Then I
felt his fingertips slide roughly from my shoulders down my back. I ran faster. He’d missed me, but not
by far. He kept at it until my drenched, waist-length hair was within reach. “Gotcha!” He yanked me to
the ground and started dragging me back toward our house. He didn’t say another word. He was used to
me running, but this time was different.
I wasn’t going back. I yelped for Mom, kicking and screaming as I grasped at his hands, claws drawn. She
came to my defense, jumping on his back and digging her claws deep into his flesh. He grunted and
bucked, trying to shake her, but she stayed embedded in him until her poison seeped in and subdued
him. He involuntarily released his grip on my hair as his body crashed to the soaked wooden planks.
She frantically helped me to my feet, almost falling in her efforts. My bloodied side didn’t slow us. We
ran until the pier ended and dove headfirst into the angry ocean. Facing possible death was better than
the existence we had there; Mom and I were sure. We took true form together, allowing the sea to fill
our gills and heal my wounds. We swam wildly away from our hell side by side that night. We’d be
hunted for this. It didn’t matter; there was no looking back.
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