Page 14 of Wild Life

She lowered her head, smelling the offering. “Fish?”

I rolled my eyes. For a scientist, she wasn’t too good at figuring things out on her own.

Her focus roamed over the salt-crusted meat like it had been poisoned. Maybe if it had been, then she’d leave me alone for good.

Maris sniffed at it again.

The Screech Owl was so particular, it was grating my nerves.

I grabbed a piece for myself and scraped off some of the salt coating before putting it in my mouth. The chewiness was stiff. It still needed a few hours more to cure until it was perfect, but it was tasty enough.

She watched me the whole time, probably wondering if she was hungry enough to eat food from the man she assumed was holding her captive rather than die of starvation. Starvation would work fine, more fish for me.

Eventually, she caved. Her jaw worked as if she were chewing the bubblegum I used to love from my old life. She let out a greedy sigh, satisfied with the fish. “Thanks,” she murmured.

I handed her another piece, and we ate together in much appreciated silence.

Chapter 7

Knife to the Head; Hand to the Throat

Maris

My belly was full of salted fish, which I never would have guessed I’d like, but then my stomach had threatened to open up and eat my own hand. By the time I’d realized my burps tasted like cod liver oil, I had inhaled nearly half of Cryptid’s stash. That had been my sign to step away from the fish…hands in the air…nobody gets hurt. Or throws up from putrid breath.

With one basic need checked off Maslow’s hierarchy, it was time to move on to the next. My successfully distended stomach was pressing on my other organs, namely my bladder, and I needed to pee. Badly.

He had stalked off with his devil-pig before I could ask him about an ideal spot to relieve myself. It probably didn’t matter anyway. It wasn’t like I’d find a clean bathroom or a porta-potty around here. This was apop-a-squat-by-a-treekind of a place.

I was no stranger to peeing in the forest while on assignment. Typically, I had a guide to advise me on a safe location. Urinating in wild cat hunting territory was neither advisable nor enjoyable.

I set out for the thicket of trees a few feet away from the hut. After emptying my bladder under one of the tall trees, I decided to explore. If I ever wanted to get back home, I needed to figure out where the hell I was.

As I walked, I hoped that I would find some landmarks to map out a path, but every tree resembled the other. I heard the faint sound of water rushing in the distance. A watering hole must’ve been nearby, which made sense—he had chosen this area for his hut for a reason.

My feet stung from the thorns and weeds that protruded from the brush. I loved nature, but shit, I never thought I’d be barefoot and stranded in the middle of it. I wished I had worn my hiking boots before falling overboard.

My neck was covered in sweat from the suffocating humidity. Thank God, I had opted for a breathable white short-sleeve shirt with a slight scoop neck and stretch pants before the storm. It was my most comfortable outfit for warm weather.

Although, traipsing around nearly naked with a strategically placed loincloth like Cryptid would have felt a whole lot better—not that I was still thinking about his lack of clothes or anything.

It was hard not to notice the sheen on his muscles when they flexed. It was like he was covered in oil or whatever muscle-magazine models used to highlight theirgym gains. However, muscle-mag models were scrawny compared to him. He was a mammoth of a man, with more ridges on his body than the Grand Canyon. His bronzed skin only emphasized his physique—hard, like that of a gladiator. Specifically, the ones from the movies. I had a hunch that the historical ones wouldn’t have been as pretty as those portrayed by Hollywood.

A rush of heat rippled through me. The air grew ten degrees hotter. I lifted my hair and flapped my hand over my sticky hairline, anxious to cool off.

Even more distracting was his face.His eyes.Dark-brown orbs that seemed almost limitless. They hinted at secrets, and I was curious to find out exactly what. Who was he, and how had he ended up living in isolation?

Maybe he really was from an untouchable tribe. He was certainly skillful at surviving in this environment. But where were his other tribesmen? And did that mean there were other people nearby? A lump formed in my throat as images swirled in my head of an encounter with Cryptid’s family and friends. I wondered how they would react to my presence.Not well, Maris. Not well at all.

It’s possible he had defected and chosen to live on his own as an outcast. A rebel. He certainly had the attitude to fit the theory. He never uttered a word, but I was certain he understood me when I spoke. Also, his cabin was completely furnished with modern luxuries like a four-poster bed and makeshift sheets, as if there were one of those bohemian home decor shops nearby.

He wasn’t holding me hostage. In fact, he hated me, and the feeling was mutual. If the jerk had been keeping me captive, he wouldn’t have left without tying me up or locking the hut door…or whatever else jungle Mafia daddies did to their captives. His absence was proof that I still retained my freedom, at least.

I had walked for too long and nothing appeared familiar. There was no sign of a beach anywhere, despite the forceful sound of rushing water. If only I could get to shore, I could build a fire—send a smoke signal so that the team could find me. What if they had already been here and left? Dread lumped in the pit of my belly.

The sky was dimming. Spots of sunlight still broke through the thick canopy of leaves overhead, though less forcefully than when I had started my excursion. The brush had also grown more unruly, scraping my arms and face as I traveled.

I was lost.

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