It tells me nothing about my mate.

What’s her name? What does she do during the day? Does she work? How long has she lived here? Is she a local? What does her voice sound like? What does she taste like? Her favorite gemstone? Necklaces or rings? Does she prefer gold or silver—I’ll need to know how to decorate our nest.

The questions are endless. I’ll know in time.

I creep closer to the house, hoping to catch sight of her through the shutters.

Magic hums to life in my veins as I shift my ears back into my normal form. The wooden wall brushes my webbed ear as I focus on what lies beyond. The faint thrum of electricity, gurgle of plumbing, a low whine from one of my mates’ machines, but nothing from her. Her scent and the bike are the only indication she’s home.

My eyes drift shut, listening to the sounds within the den, my feet faltering beneath a window when soft snores seep through. My instincts run rampant. I need to see my mate. I must find out if my suckers would leave marks on her supple human flesh. I yearn to lay my eyes on her and memorize every curve.

I summon my magic to the surface to partially shift, tentacles unfurling, raising me higher to peer through the window, but I can’t see anything through the shutters.

A frustrated growl builds in the back of my throat. My mate’s intelligence is a hindrance to me.

An ant begins crawling up my arm, and I squash it before it can make it any higher. Vermin.

I slide my fingers along the corners of the shutter, nails elongating into claws as I shed my human form. The tips dig beneath the old wood. It slowly lifts away from the wall with a loud groan that silences the creatures of the forest.

I shift back to two legs. Excitement purrs to life at the prospect of interacting with my future bride. My hand flattens against the rough wall to listen to any sounds coming from inside. The elation dwindles away with the passing minutes.

She’s not coming out.

It’s for the best. Our den should be prepared before she realizes I am her mate and she leaves the island to spend the rest of her days with me. A few days is nothing to a lifetime.

I continue my perusal of the house. Blades of grass rustle beneath my feet before changing to wood. The steps leading up to the front door creak. I falter, but no sounds follow from inside.

My molars grind together. Any predator could come to harm my mate, and she wouldn’t wake at their approach.

That is not acceptable.

As long as she is home, I will be here, protecting her. It is my duty. I will never leave her side.

My hand wraps around the door handle, and my head tips to the side. How odd. I’ve never seen such technology before. There is no hole where a key is inserted to unlock it. Instead, it’s… What is the term? Digital?

I push the handle down. A loud, sudden beeping blares through the forest, and I jump back, shifting in an instant to destroy the threat. Yet the area remains desolate save for the sounds of frantic footsteps coming from inside the⁠—

I leap from the porch, darting past the line of trees until I’m certain her human eyes will not see me in the distance. My skin morphs, shifting colors to blend into my surroundings.

The front door never opens. The curtains behind the shutters never flicker. The beeping stops after several long minutes.

A purr rumbles to life in my chest. I was wrong to doubt my smart mate. She wouldn’t leave herself exposed to predators—not that it matters anymore.

From this day forth, I vow she will never again worry about her safety. She is my mate. My bride. She belongs to me.

OceanofPDF.com

3

Cindi

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The gun trembles in my grip.

They’re here.

The Gallaghers are here.

They’re at my door. They’ve come to kill me.

If not the Gallaghers, then the pirates.

“Come on. Come on,” I whisper, willing my phone to work faster as the alarm blares.

I dart my eyes between the locked workshop door and my device, my trembling fingers flying across the screen to enter the password for the security camera. My injured hand screams at me, louder with each swipe.

I flatten myself against the wall, hoping and praying I’ll make it to the hatch on the other side of the room before they knock down the door. He’ll have men outside. It won’t matter how quickly I make it beneath the house. Someone will see me running.

Fuck, why didn’t I hide an emergency pack in the forest in case I needed to make a quick escape?

The alarm continues blaring through the house, pounding against my head as viciously as the Gallaghers will once they get their hands on me. They’ll want to keep me alive for what I’ve done, to exact their pound of flesh and the data I store in my mind.

I turn off the gun’s safety and point it at the door.

The application finally loads. Sixteen surveillance videos blink into view. A cold sweat skates down my spine as I click through each footage. Once. Twice.

Four more times.

Nothing.

No Tommy. No Gallaghers. No pirates.

No one inside or outside.

That can’t be right. The alarm wouldn’t go off by itself.

Maybe it was an animal, or a random thinking they could rob me while I’m asleep, or maybe a glitch caused during the assembly process because of my limitations.

The empty screens don't make me breathe any easier. The Gallaghers are out there. I know it. They’re watching, waiting, playing me for their own sick game.

I hit Rewind on the security tapes, muscles bunched, ready to see the ghost of the man who haunts my dreams.

I killed him. I know I did.

I think.

There was no social media covering his funeral, but he was removed from the company register. That’s all I have to go off.

That, and the lack of a heartbeat when I left him on the floor.

Someone’s out there. I can feel it. My short breaths make my head swim as I navigate the shitty, user-unfriendly app Deedee’s friend made.

A figure appears in the camera installed on the porch. I hit Pause, frowning. What the… I rewind the footage, watching him or her—or it—move in reverse, from the front of my house to the windows by my bedroom, circling my place before retreating into the woods.

The figure is nothing more than a giant blob of darkness that doubles in size in front of my bedroom window.

I scroll back, earlier into the night when the sun set and I had just gotten back home. On the screen, my face is as clear as day, as is the fly that landed on my leg and the puff of fumes from the exhaust.

How could anyone pull something like this off? This is far more advanced than anything I know exists. What would turn a person into a black blob on screen? At least two feet around them is blurred and distorted.

I scramble to the safety of my hiding spot to grab my laptop off the bench before scuttling back beneath the desk. With the gun in my clammy hand, and the device in my other, I pull up the tapes. Maybe there’s an issue with the app on my phone.

But no. All sixteen camera angles show the same thing.

I silently tap my foot on the floor. I don’t feel safe stepping foot outside to do an in-person check. I don’t feel safe inside either.

Cold sweat trickles down my back. I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, debating whether to wake Deedee up to send out an SOS.

It was probably a fucking poltergeist. Tommy’s actual ghost, not a figment of my imagination.

Whatever it was, it can wait until morning. Until then, the Glock is never leaving my hand.

I lower the laptop to the floor, rise to my feet, then tiptoe to the door. According to my security cameras, the living room is empty. Still, I hesitate, a scream lodged in my throat, ready for any sudden movement.