“It’s better than getting clawed to death!” He took a deep breath. “You need to go back. Whatever you saw in that laboratory, pretend you didn’t. Just long enough until we can think of a way off the island.”
“You don’t understand,” I said bitterly. “They lied to me—Father, Montgomery. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve heard rumors … there was a scandal.…” I shook my head. Tears were threatening to spill, and I hated myself for the vulnerability. Years of my life had hinged on this one question: What type of man was my father?
And now I knew.
But Edward didn’t. He thought I’d simply come to reunite with an estranged father. I leaned forward, cupping my face. “You don’t understand.”
He paused. The tic in his jaw started. “I know about the scandal,” he said.
My head jerked up. “How?”
He studied me as if anticipating my reaction. “When I was in London—”
Something growled in the trees, silencing him. I lost my footing and nearly slipped into the creek. It was an ungodly noise, not human or animal.
Edward flexed his still-bruised knuckles, his words forgotten. “We have to go back. Can you run?” He glanced at my bare feet.
“I’ll manage.”
We tore through the jungle. The ground sloped downhill and we stumbled over vines, over thorns, through dense foliage that clawed at our limbs and tangled our feet. I tripped on a twisted root and slammed into the ground, my knee finding a sharp rock, my hands sinking into the moist layers of rotting leaves. I wiped the stains of the island on my dress as Edward pulled me to my feet.
“Sh,” he said. “Listen.”
We stood together, my head so close to his chest that I could hear the thump of his heart. There were always sounds in the jungle. Insects. Birds. Creaks and cracking, like whispers. As if someone was always following, watching from the ever-present screen of leaves.
“I thought I heard …” His whisper trailed off. For a moment it was just us and our heartbeats in the wilderness.
And then the thing snarled again, sudden and shrill. I could feel its rabid excitement.
Whatever it was, it had caught our trail.
We darted in and out of the foliage, making our way along the narrow spaces between trees, following the slope downhill. As if the island were guiding us. To where, I didn’t know.
I glanced back fleetingly, wondering what it was—a wild animal or something worse. But the jungle was too dense. It could have been a stone’s throw away and I wouldn’t have seen it.
My feet screamed for relief. We came to another stream, and Edward dashed across some rocks, but I paused for a second to catch my breath with my aching feet in the cool water. My heart thudded in my ears. When I looked up, Edward had disappeared amid the undergrowth.
Behind me the thing screamed.
“Edward!” I called. But the rush of the stream drowned my words. I struggled out of the water, slipping on the mud. My fingers clawed at the soft bank. The twisting thorns along the side tangled in my hair, grabbing at my dress, carving their mark into my arms. The island had its claim on me. I tore at the thorns with my bare hands, feeling stings of pain but not caring. The island wasn’t going to make me its prisoner.
A vine of thorns snapped back and struck me across the face. I stumbled back into the water, gasping for breath.
If the island wasn’t going to let me through to Edward, I’d find another way. I moved with the stream, fast as I could, following its winding bed. The water would wash away my scent, I realized. There’d be nothing for any animals to follow.
Except Edward’s trail.
I tried to tell myself he’d be fine. He was stronger than he looked. He was a survivor.
I stopped to catch my breath. For what felt like hours I stood, listening, hearing nothing. Whatever had been pursuing us, I’d lost it. I sank into the water, letting it soak me through, and mixed my tears with the stream water of the island.
LATER, I FOLLOWED THE twists and turns of the stream until my feet were numb. I found a gnarled stick to use as a crutch for my left foot, which bled from a gash on the toe. My thoughts grew more frantic with each hobbling step forward. I listened for the dogs, to find my way back to the compound. It would mean facing Father, swallowing back my disgust and disappointment and fear, but at least I’d be alive. Why hadn’t he told me the truth about the deaths?
What else might he be lying about?
One way or another my whole life had led to this moment, to him, and now I had nothing. I couldn’t return to London. I couldn’t even be sure about Montgomery anymore.
It was useless anyway. I was hopelessly lost and hadn’t heard the dogs for hours.
The stream turned, and a rotting footbridge with a handrail blocked my progress.