Page 6 of Prey for Me

And my sister…!

“Faith! No…” I whisper, eyes snapping open but unable to recognize anything around me.

My world spins out of control as I try to lift myself off the ground. I know I can’t stay where I am, or I’ll pass out and drown. I bring my bloody hand to my mouth to stifle a scream. No, not bloody. It’s bandaged and clean, though my skin and forehead are covered in what looks like blood. That’s when I notice that my blood smellsstrange.And the blood dripping down my face and onto my skin is a weird, coppery color, not crimson red or the blackish hue of a clot.

I sniff and flinch. My confusion amplifies as I realize it’s…

“Iodine?” I whisper. At least, I think.

My mother was a doctor, and she used it to treat infections when we were younger, to prevent the buildup of bacteria, as she would explain. As if Faith or I would grow up to be doctors like an alpha woman could dream of being. But why would I be covered in iodine out in the middle of nowhere?

I can’t make sense of it. Worse, I am bleeding between my legs, the remnants of my long-forgotten period. And that can’t be good either. Who knows what predators lurk in this forest?

Looking left and right, I try to figure out how I tumbled out of a tree trunk down a beach and didn’t notice a thing. And I fail miserably at piecing together whatever sequence of events brought me here, as it dawns on me that I’m not further away from the forest. Somehow, I’m deeper, closer to the heart. Staring in astonishment, I finally notice that I dragged my feet not out of the ocean, but out of something that resembles a natural hot spring. That explains the humidity that feels denser than a tropical island typically is, steam wafting around me, soothing and thick. I also notice, to my absolute horror, my dress isn’t on my body anymore, folded neatly beside where my head had been.

I lunge for it, feeling violated, but knowing nothing has happened to me. Not yet, anyway. At least… I don’t think so? Because, as I observe the rest of my surroundings and my body,I come to understand that someone must have rescued me. An expert bandaged me, all my cuts and bruises covered in iodine and some type of natural polutice. They must have decided to wash me first before they got to work, since I smell clean.

But why not wake me? If one of the royalists survived, surely they wouldn’t have undressed their omega crown princess and then left me defenseless in the dark. And it is so very dark despite the moon and the starlight twinkling up above. The moon shines almost blue, it’s so big and bright, the sky a tapestry of a million sparkling stars. And yet still, having grown up in castles and metropolises all my life, I’ve never been somewhere so devoid of the sound of people or artificial lights.

“I have to get out of here. Whoever saved me…” I murmur to myself, standing with a lot more ease than I’d expect after surviving a plane crash and a shark attack.

I locate my shoes on a stump near a pathway that looks oddly human-made. They’d been set out to dry, by the way the ferns part overhead, the moon directly above my head. I figure the sun was shining not too long ago, and I can’t help but be thankful when I slip them on. Honestly, I don’t remember if my shoes were on or off when I leaped from the plane, but whoever healed me paid special attention to gathering and drying my clothes, as well.

Looking around, I find a rather large stick to defend myself with. I want to wait to see my rescuer and thank them and beg them for help. But something strange twists in my gut, driving me to walk. Slowly, I pick my way through the brush, second-guessing my rash decision every step of the way. But I trust my instincts. They’ve rarely been wrong. And everything in my being is screamingrun.

Though I can’t run, I shuffle as fast as I can, using the stick like a cane when it becomes too hard, since I can’t rest for long without being caught. My body aches, and I’m still shaking,shivering like I have a fever. I still have a fever. It must have gotten worse. I don’t think my period will last much longer since that ache is gone. But my belly still feels hollow, vagina oddly wet, and inside…

Wait! Why does it ache so deep inside?I think, sniffling, fearing the worst.

But no, I know that feeling well. That violation. And this feels worse because the name for it is on the tip of my tongue, crawling against my sweaty skin, but I force myself to shake it off. It’s impossible. I’m a heatless, heartless omega. I would be wombless, too, if Father hadn’t intervened. It can’t be what I’m thinking. It just can’t be!

“I’m not in heat,” I whisper out loud and repeat myself until my panic is quelled.

I’m sick, made worse by injury and exhaustion. There is no way I’m going into heat for the first time on a mysterious island. There’s simply no way.

I keep picking away, stabbing my stick into the soft dirt as I climb the manufactured path. I can see pieces of square brick and round cobblestone now, so it’s certainly man-made. Honestly, I don’t know the difference in the building material, if there is any. But I do see the path must be leading somewhere. I just hope I’m not walking a crooked line into danger. The forest is surprisingly devoid of what I expect as I travel: wild animals and people. I hear the occasional hooting of an owl, or the brush of what I hope isn’t a snake. But for the most part, it’s oddly silent. Too quiet. It gives me chills.

“Huh?” I whisper as the path suddenly splits, and I halt in my tracks.

One is pristine, too well-kept, and winding into darkness. The other is jagged, an unmaintained mess, and leads towards a mysterious pulsating light. Both appear to be the beginnings of a horror movie. And I’m not interested in becoming more of a finalgirl than I already am. So I let fate decide, since luck is the only thing that has kept me alive so far.

I hold my stick in the center of the path and let go. It falls towards the light. I bend down, pick it up, and keep walking. I walk for so long it feels like the sun should be rising, but I know that’s just because I’m hurting. And then, suddenly, the tropical forest melts away and the ruins of a crumbling city greet me. I look out in awe at the sprawling skyline that appears to have been nuked. The scars of war mark every building I can make out: bullet holes, craters from bombs, and vanquished fires scorching the stones black.

However, the scene also evokes a sense of peace. Now I know that people used to live here. Someone other than a royalist sycophant might still live here. I try to figure out a game plan when I find the origins of the pulsating light. It’s been sweeping the city slowly, leaving it in darkness at a steady pace. I turn, look up, and up, and then I freeze.

At the top of a great hill is a lighthouse, but oddly, part of the signal is directed at the city rather than the sea. And near it, at the base of the cliff, is a prison complex. It’s in tatters just like everything else, but from a distance, I can still make the name out.

It can’t be, but the truth is staring right into my face, and I mouth the name with alarm before I whisper, “Providence?”

The name of the infamous prison island slips from my lips before I can stop myself. I know that’s impossible, and yet I’m looking at the evidence. There’s only one prison island in this part of the world. A prison island shut down ten years ago. And somehow, of all the rotten deserted hellholes I could’ve washed up on, I’m on Providence, an asylum and maximum security prison for deranged alpha criminals.

“Shit! I’m screwed if anyone from there is still out here.”

I back up, whip around, and then come to a stop. I stare at the forest, and it stares back at me. To be exact, I see five pairs of gleaming eyes peering back at me. I look away, backing up slowly to avoid the predatory glint of their feline gazes. Cats? Or something bigger, faster, and looking for a snack?

Glancing around, I don’t see a single escape route. It’s either head into the city that may still have crazed prisoners roaming around, if they aren’t all dead, or run into the forest, where a pack of big cats might maul me. Both options are worse than bad. But I decide the city is the safest option. More so than when I began this journey, I feel as though someone else had to survive the crash. And I guess I’ll take my chances with a royalist. Who could’ve survived here for a decade otherwise? Especially after whatever war broke out on the island?

I clutch my stick and start hobbling alongside the edge of the forest. I don’t want to risk getting too close, but the broken pathway hugs the edge before curving left. I’m making good progress until something shifts, and a jolt of terror stabs me in the gut.

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