“Is the fox going to hurt us?” I ask. “Should we take our weapons?”
He frowns. “The fox isn’t going to hurt anyone,” he says. “Not unless it’s rabid, which is not outside the realm of possibility. But there’s no fucking doubt in my mind we should bring our weapons.”
We arm ourselves and head to the waterfall.
Shortly after Derek died, we poured ourselves into finding whatever we could. Looking for every single damn camera. It took us several weeks before we finally found one, tucked way above the very top of the cave. And then we went searching, looking for whatever we could. I didn’t want to go with him to the waterfall. I almost lost him there, and I didn’t want the memory of that again.
When he said he didn’t see anything, I took it for granted. I convinced myself that the two remaining cameras were somewhere else or hidden so deeply that we’d never find them.
When we reach the waterfall, he reaches for my hand and squeezes. I squeeze back. It was devastating nearly losing him. I had to do everything I could to save him. Even though I hate that we’re here, that we’re stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere, every possible modern convenience gone, a part of me loves this. Him. Us. I pull a little closer to him.
“I love you,” I say simply.
He pauses in his walk and turns to look at me, his vibrant blue eyes boring into me with the passion only Cy possesses. It never gets old, telling him this. Watching him savor the exchange between us, drinking it in. Accepting that I love him, stripped down as it were, in the middle of nowhere. Just the two of us.
“And I love you.” Leaning down, he cups my jaw with his palm and brushes his lips across my cheek. “And no matter what, as badly as I want off this island, it’s one thing that I’ll never forget.”
He’ll never forget that he loves me? What does he mean? For some reason, his words don’t give me the assurance they usually do but stir something fearful in me instead. Does he think when we get off this island that we won’t be together anymore?
Will we?
When he pulls away, I hear a whirring sound. Frowning, I look at him. His ice blue eyes are narrowed, his jaw tight. On instinct, he draws closer to me, framing me with his body to protect me.
“What was that?” I whisper. I look around me wildly, expecting to see some kind of enormous, deadly insect, but see nothing at all.
“Stay right there,” he says tightly. “Do not move.”
I don’t even breathe or blink my eyes. I’ve grown used to doing what he says. I’ve learned there’s damn good reason to. His eyes focused above my head, narrowed into nothing, little more than slits, he slowly takes his knife from his belt and holds the heavy handle in his hand. My mouth is dry, my pulse racing. I was attacked by a boa here before, and I know it could happen again.
I tremble, watching his nostrils flare as he slowly, silently, draws his machete back. Then with a savage yell that makes my heart leap, he slices the machete through the air. On instinct, I scream, covering my head and whimpering. Oh God, oh God. Something hard falls to the ground beside me, when he yells again, and I watch as he knifes the air behind me a second time, a second thump hitting the ground beside me.
He’s panting, the arm not holding the knife holding me close.
“Got the motherfucker,” he mutters. I can’t open my eyes. God, what the hell was that?
“You’re alright, baby,” he says, breathing heavily. “Come here.”
There’s tenderness and raw pride in his tone. I open my eyes, my shaking hands reaching around him to take hold. I look to the ground and whimper when I see the enormous body of a decapitated boa constrictor. And beside it? A mutilated camera.
“Cy,” I cry. “Oh God. You found it.”
“Yep,” he says triumphantly. “And guess what? Found dinner, too.”
How can he still joke at times like this? Okay, no. He isn’t joking.
Damn.
I give him what I guess is a rueful smile. “Good… job?” I tell him. Still not much of a fan of snake soup.
He chuckles, then takes another look at me. “Aw, honey,” he says, gentler than he normally speaks. “You’re shaking, baby.”
He strokes his hand up and down my back, holding me to his bare, sweat-soaked skin. He’s still panting, his body still taut from the exertion, as if he’s ready to strike again.
“I didn’t know what you were doing,” I whisper. “Snakes are a little scary, you know.”
He nods, his voice sharpening. “They are. But not as scary as those motherfucking cameras.” He glares at the camera with more hatred than he does the snake. After I’m calm, I slowly pull away from him, bend, and pick up the camera.